Forgive Don't Forget (Part Two)
by Dayreadernitewriter
Summary: (AU) My eyes flit from her wringing hands up to her eyes and back down again, several times. All that had built up between us—the secrets, the lies, the half-truths, unrevealed feelings…everything I had to keep from her. She knows. Now she knows. And she's…still here… She's still here…
1. Wishes

**Forgive Don't Forget (Part 2)**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 -** Wishes

 **Tris's POV:**

* * *

I thought it would be near impossible to get let out of that hole in the ground they call a hospital. But as it turns out, the nurses pretty much had the paperwork all ready for me to sign saying "I understand that I'm refusing care, blah, blah, whoop tee doo, get me the hell out of here!" I'm fully aware they hate me and that I'm the worst patient ever, and frankly it worked out in my favor.

All of the nurses gave Tobias a lovely, "Bye, Caleb!" as the elevator door closed. I looked up at him just as he was rewarding them with his panty-dropper smile, which he immediately wipes off his face the moment he glances down at me.

"What?" he asks in jest while still looking nervous. "They…let me stay."

I don't answer because I know the real reason they let him stay was because they heard every word I said to him and didn't have the heart to turn him away. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for what I said to him. It's not so much the detailed account, although that was horrifying for him, I'm sure. But it's more of how I _compared_ him to Eric. I wonder how he feels about it—I'm hoping he saw right through that aspect. _Jesus, I fucked up…_

We exit the elevator, Tobias toying with the ends of my hair the whole ride down, and head for the circle drive to see Bud waiting for us. I look up at Tobias, who just shrugs, "Ownership comes with perks."

I nod my head in appreciation at the thought, seeing as riding the bus or even a cab doesn't seem wonderful right now. I'm sure Bud is aware of my injuries and won't drive like an asshole. But I feel a twinge at this new aspect of Tobias's life that I haven't been a part of yet. _Take down the dramatics, Prior, it's only been a few weeks. Why does time always seem to be on its own continuum for the two of us?_

"Hi, Tris," Bud greets as he takes my duffel bag from Tobias. "Lemme give you a—"

"No, I got it," Tobias jumps in front of Bud, almost bowling him over, as he expertly helps me out of the wheelchair.

In all reality, it's a better decision for Tobias to do it seeing as Bud was going for my hands, and I almost stupidly let him, where I should be helped up by the elbows. But, I still feel sorry for Bud and give him my best eye roll and smile referring to my own personal helicopter.

"I saw that!" Tobias yells to me over his shoulder as he pushes the embarrassing, ridiculous wheelchair back to the hospital doors.

"Would he mind if I open the car door for you?"

"Better let me," I comment as I open the door and slide in slowly.

"Beatrice!" Tobias grunts rather loudly as he jogs across the street and practically hurls himself into the car.

"What? I know, I know, chivalry's not dead—"

"Fuck chivalry. You have a punctured lung and fractured—"

"So, Bud?" I smack Tobias's hand away as he reaches over me to buckle me in, huffing out an annoyed breath at me in retaliation. "Tell me."

I take Tobias's hand before he can pull it away and hold it in my lap, which seems to pacify him as he kisses my knuckles and takes the middle seat next to me.

"She's okay. Real worried about you, though. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Got it. Who's been taking her to chemo?"

"Lynn."

"Seriously?"

"God's truth."

I laugh under my breath at the hilarity of that—Lynn actually visiting me at the hospital, coercion or not, and taking Tori to chemo in the middle of the night, coercion or not.

Damen is actually fairly close to the hospital and e have to cross over on our way to Tobias's apartment. He squeezes my hand as I gaze down the street toward Parkland, shaking my head, not knowing what the hell I'm going to do.

"You don't have to think about it now," Tobias whispers putting his arm around my shoulders, kissing on my temple. "But you don't _have_ to go back there, you know—"

"It's my home," I state plainly wanting the subject to be dropped at the moment.

Knowing Tobias, he'd want to do the honorable thing and _offer_ for me to move in with him and there is no way I'm falling into that trap. Not that I would _feel_ trapped, I think it would be more of a trap for him—one he unintentionally set. _How the hell would he ever get out of that situation?! Poor guy!_

I take a deep breath feeling so thankful that Tobias knows not to waste syllables on idle chit-chat with me during the car ride. Although I know it's not just for my benefit, he hates that shit just as much as I do. I love the moments between us, where we're just lounging. Although we never got to do a whole lot of it. But when we did, I loved sitting in his leather recliner (which, of course, I made fun of him for having), reading while he worked. He shook his head as I angled the chair more toward the balcony than he prefers—but that way I had a view of him out of the corner of my eye, looking sexy in his glasses, working at the table while still being able to enjoy the balcony view and my book. _Multi-tasking at its finest—_

"Hey, Tris, call me when you need a ride."

I shake my head out of my thoughts to see that we're parked in front of Tobias's building and Bud is handing me his card.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'll just take the bus or the El—"

"No," Tobias interrupts taking the card out of Bud's hand. "Thanks, Bud. She will."

I clear my throat and purposely scoot myself out of the car, opening the door and struggling to get out, but I achieve it before Tobias gets there.

"Tris—"

"I'm fine."

He backs away, getting the hint that _he doesn't speak for me,_ and grabs our bags as I look at him with softer eyes.

"Sorry, did you want to get the bags?" he remarks annoyed.

"Tobias, I just—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Miss Independent. Shall we?" He gestures throwing the bags over his shoulders and leading me by the small of my back. _I love...that..._

"Yes, Mr. Control Freak, let us away."

He stops short as we both stand there staring at the glass doors to this building, waiting for him to open them like usual.

"Get the damned door," he states seriously. "Do I have to do everything for you?" I take him at his word for ½ second until he grins and leans in kissing me on the cheek. "You know I would have you followed with a professional door-opener, if you would let me."

"Not gonna happen, Eaton."

"No, shit. Come on," he says pretending to struggle as he opens the door.

I grin until I see that Gregory guy look at me with wide surprised eyes and the many shitty memories come back of this lobby—Tobias kissing Kirsten (I think that's her name) right where we're approaching. That's an image forever imprinted in my mind—him pulling her close to him by her hips and smirking that bullshit smile after a night of mind-blowing sex.

I must have slowed down because Tobias places his hand on my lower back prompting me to keep walking, but I dodge it and walk toward the elevator instead as he gives me a confused look. He doesn't know I saw that event transpire, and I'm sure as hell not going to bring it up.

"Evening, Mr. Eaton—"

"Don't speak."

I think I'm as confused as Gregory, watching Tobias approach the desk. I can only see the back of his head but I can still imagine what his face looks like based on his tone of voice and the look of fear on Gregory's face. _Poor guy. I was a total bitch to him the other morning and—_

"Tris Prior. You will add her name to the Approved Visitors list...again. Not that it's entirely necessary because this," he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, taking three long strides backward and shoving something into my hand without even looking, "is her key. She will come and go as she pleases and add whomever she desires to your beyond ridiculous list as well—"

"Mr. Eaton—"

"Don't…speak!" Tobias grabs Gregory by the tie bringing him within inches of his face. "I sincerely hope working with Marcus Eaton was worthwhile, along with the sexual favors provided by Miss Juares. She never quite got me there, but you seem to be content with ground beef while I'm a filet kind of guy."

 _Is it weird that I think that comment is awesome and endearing, yet simultaneously makes me want to puke?  
_

He pushes Gregory away roughly. "Get your shit together because you're about to be fired."

"You can't—"

"You have five minutes."

As if by perfect timing the elevator beeps and we board leaving Gregory with a very shocked look on his face.

About ten seconds pass before Tobias mutters, "Sorry."

I just nod my head soaking in the awkwardness of that exchange, not wanting any explanation right now.

"Did you, uh, know I took your name off the list?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Oh." He shifts his weight as I wait for him to continue. "I didn't want to. Gregory was involved and I—"

"Filet, huh?" I interrupt wanting to wait just a little longer before we open up any cans of worms.

"Ha…" I watch his cheeks turn a lovely shade as the elevator doors open and he ushers me out and to the left. "Well, it's a superior cut."

"Hmm." I shrug my shoulders, nudging him. "Thought I would be more like a _rib_ -eye." I chuckle to myself at my little joke, which as it turns out, he doesn't find funny. "Too soon?"

"It will _always_ be too soon, Tris," he admits pushing a forceful breath down his throat as we approach his door.

"But, uh…ground beef didn't 'getcha there?'" I ask suggestively hoping that was an accurate implication. _Why do I always want to know this shit?!_

He shakes his head. "Mmm mmm, sure didn't."

It makes me feel, yes, quite proud, that I had absolutely no problem with "getting him there" in that aspect of our relationship. In fact, it was over sooner than expected. _Hmm!_

We stop in front of his door and I watch his mouth as he purses his lips.

"Turns out, I have very refined taste." He runs his knuckles down my cheek, grazing my neck and down my side until they come to rest on my hip bone and he draws circles with the backs of his fingers.

I swallow as goosebumps race up my arms and I step closer to him. "I would say _I'm_ the one with the refined taste buds, wouldn't you?"

I see his eyes darken as he takes a controlled breath, stilling his knuckles on my hips and rubbing harder circles with his thumbs. Until he pulls away, rather abruptly, and faces the door. "Care to do the honors?" he asks referring to my key.

"Okay, sure." Inserting the key into the hole, I give him several side-long glances that he completely dodges.

"It's purely symbolic seeing as I'm, uh, having the locks changed."

I nod my head, assuming that has something to do with Gregory, Nita, and sexual favors. _Vomit!_ Then, pushing the door open, we walk into the totally darkened apartment as Tobias quickly shuts the door and pulls the chain behind us. We both stop as he flips the lights on, taking in the scene of his apartment. I stay in the doorway unable to speak. And he just shakes his head, pushing on, walking into each room, seemingly checking every crack and crevice for...something.

"What the hell is he doing?" I ask myself being momentarily distracted until my gaze returns to the mess that is his apartment. I walk in slowly, sighing in disbelief. "Tobias…"

I get tears in my eyes as I walk in and look to the right—the table and the floor is strewn with papers. Walking past the dining room table, I see the living room to my left—his pillows and unfolded throw blankets in a heap with several empty rocks glasses on the side table, some broken on the floor. I keep looking around the corner and there are upwards of ten empty whiskey bottles on the wet bar.

"Ohhh…," I whisper hoping he didn't hear the pity in my voice as I walk by the kitchen seeing coffee beans and broken mugs on the floor.

"Yeah, so…" I look up to see him leaning on the wall in the hallway, not making eye contact with me. He scratches the back of his head as I walk over to him. "I'll, uh, clean this up. Shit, I didn't even know it had gotten… Well, I haven't spent much time here and… So, I put your stuff in my room." He clears his throat nervously. "I hope that's—"

I wrap my arms around him tightly, preventing him from more unnecessary stuttering as he lets out a breath in relief and rests his chin on my head. I hadn't thought for a second that he may have been having a tougher time than I was. When I screamed at him in the street that _I_ could barely function, turns out he was right there with me...but worse.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't say you're sorry," he orders putting his hands on my shoulders. "You didn't do anything wrong... I did," he laughs at himself, letting me go and backing up, heading into his bedroom.

I sigh, not knowing what to say because he doesn't know how much I know, yet, and follow him into his room. He's standing there staring at the scene—comforter strewn on the bed, sheets on the floor but partially hanging off the bed, two glasses of red wine, one with lipstick around the edge, and my orchid picture lying on the ground…broken.

My mind goes to the worst, yet, most likely, scenario of what took place…right here. My first response takes over—flight.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I stare down at the floor at the sheets, knowing I had pretty much just pushed Tris away and left her in the hall, but I needed air. My mind is flooded with a mix of embarrassment and irrational humor at the first glance of my apartment, which now, objectively, looks like a tsunami came rolling through. Upon doing a thorough Nita check, knowing that's yet one more thing to explain to Tris, I saw her standing there with a guilty look on her face and I could barely handle it. Especially when she actually tried to comfort _me_ , and I readily accepted it, which is total bullshit. I don't deserve that. I'm the one that left _her!_ I still can't even believe she's here… _Why is she here?_

 **Flashback:**

My phone died and therefore I have no idea if it's "Tris time" or still "project time." I've been in project mode for what definitely feels like awhile, but time seems to be losing it's meaning. And I fully realize how little sense that makes.

"Hey, Four."

I do a double-take and squint my eyes to make sure I'm seeing her correctly. Small, built frame, weird hair, perma-annoyed face. Yes, it's definitely—

"Lynn. What are you doing—"

"Stopped in to visit the head case," she answers before I can finish, resting her boots on the edge of the table. _Not okay!_

"Don't call her that and get your boots…off…my… _project,_ " I grunt pushing each foot off roughly.

"Is that inaccurate?"

I narrow my eyes at her, guiltily not responding. "Your name wasn't on the 'no visitors' list…was it…"

"Nope. Walked right in."

I flit my eyes up to her nervously as she practically smiles at me, most likely relishing in my misery. "So, uh, you saw her? How did… How did she look?"

"Like horse shit."

I struggle with conversation with a _regular_ person on a _regular_ day. I cannot handle Lynn in this situation. Shaking my head, I look back down at my project, just now noticing my alignment is completely off.

"And what the hell are you _doing?_ Is that a…? Never mind, I really don't care."

"Great. Now are you going to tell me… _any_ thing?" I continue to look down at my notes but I'm dying for her response.

"She asked about you. Well, almost. I cut her off." _Did I hear that correctly?!_

"Why!? Wait, what!? She asked about me? What did she say? What did _you_ say?"

"Wow. Those are a _lot_ of questions. I don't think you've _ever_ talked to me this much."

"Nor you, me."

"True."

I look at her plainly, waiting, so, so, so, patiently for her to tell me what the fuck Tris said!

"I just told you all I know." She shrugs looking at me as if that's an _obvious_ fact.

" _Why_ ," I grit before deciding to relax my face, "did you cut her off?"

"I saw you moping on my way in." She shrugs again. "Walked right past you, in fact. Didn't even see me." She drums her fingers on the table and nods her head. _Who gives a shit?!_

"Continue…"

"It's obvious to me, being the all-seeing eye that I am, that you two need to work your own shit out. Bye." She gets up swiftly and heads for the elevator.

"Thank you for…mmm…absolutely nothing, Lynn."

I get no response apart from a quick wave of the hand over her shoulder.

I spend not another minute thinking about Lynn because _Tris asked about me! Why would she do that?_ I Already know the answer to that question—she feels guilty.

There's a part of me that feels pretty good about that assessment because hopefully that would mean some of the horrendously awful things she said to me were falsified—things I may not ever get over, to be honest. Her comparing me to Eric after so many reassurances that I'm _nothing_ like him may just stick with me forever. I don't easily let things go. _Understatement._

Yet I still don't want her to feel an ounce of guilt. I knew she needed to yell, she needed to blame, she needed to make some sort of sense of what happened to her.

Christ, all I've wanted, for _years,_ is to make sense out of what happened to me. _What the hell am I saying? It didn't happen to me! It was your mother, you self-centered piece of shit!_ I've wanted to cry, to yell, to scream since the day she died. Even before then, actually. But at the time, I didn't want her to see how affected I was. It took me years to come to that realization...

"God, I need to stop thinking about this..." I groan, laying my forehead on the table with my eyes open.

The mix of the red pen and gray pencil with the A: LOG backdrop is crazy this close up. Especially if I try to cross my eyes. _Whoa! Is this what it feels like to do ecstasy? Uriah attempted to get me to do it once—_

"I'll say this one time and you _will not_ comment. Got it?"

I snap my head up at Evey's voice to see her standing there with actual concern in her eyes. "If I say yes, is that a comment?"

"No."

"Then, yes."

"Okay, just...don't leave."

I stare at her, really wanting to ask pertinent questions. Such as, "Why would you say such a thing?", "Did Tris say that?", "What the fuck happened?" while also stating the obvious, "Of course, I'm not fucking leaving!"

"Okay?" She looks at me like she's expecting a response.

"You told me not to comment—"

"Acknowledgment is not commenting."

"Noted."

I nod my head sizing her up. She reminds me of Tris—she speaks before realizing exactly what she's asking of someone.

"Bye, Tobias."

"Bye, Evey." I watch her walk away. _Say something! She was your saving grace...literally!_ "Hey!"

"Yeah?" She pushes the elevator button.

"I'm not a hugger but…um…if I were, I would hug you."

"Noted."

Thank the Lord the elevator doors immediately open. I scrub my hands down my face realizing how sufficiently awkward that was. _Could I think of nothing better to say to the woman who saved Tris's life? Apparently not, motherfucker!_

I thunk my head down onto the table again, this time deciding to give my eyes a rest. Counting down from 30—29, 28, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20…19…18…17…12…2… _Shit!_ ….9, 8, 2… … …

The shuffling of feet rouses me and I grab my pen ready to pretend to be working so no one will talk to me. Tris scoots her small body right across the room and stands in front of the coffee machine.

"What…the…hell?" she whispers.

It's funny because there's build-up behind it—as if the lack of shitty coffee may just put her over the edge. I laugh to myself because _I_ have officially gone over the edge, but I decide to make an obvious comment anyway.

"Coffee machine's broke."

She turns, looking at me—like really looking at me. Not through me as if I'm not really there. _This shit just gets worse and worse!_

I look down at my A:LOG and finally see where the most reasonable area for reinforcement is. _Tobias, you're truly a dumbass. Well, I've gotta give myself some_ _ _credit—this_ is brand new territory. _

I glance up again to see Tris standing there. _Fuck me! Two minutes…just two minutes without thinking about her!_

"I told you," I let out a long sigh knowing exactly what will scare her off. _What the fuck? How did I screw that up?_ Grabbing my pencil, I erase and fix my blatant error in efficiency. _5/8 thickness not ¼ inch!_ I can still feel Tris as if she were a real presence. "I won't leave you," _Alright, that's better_. "…ever."

"Tobias…"

I look up at Tris and know for _sure_ she is a figment because she is dressed in my favorite outfit—my T-shirt and nothin' but panties. It's one of my shorter shirts so I bet if I cared enough to look closer I could get a quick undie shot but why torture myself?

"I…"

I move my chair back roughly, removing my glasses. _I need to get the hell out of here—go for a walk or something._ Looking up, I see Tris walking over to me slowly. Trying to shake myself out of this one, I catch my head in my hands rubbing my aching eye sockets. I can feel the top of my head pushing into her stomach and it does nothing but remind me of when I was in the bathroom in Marcus's guesthouse, and how I could have sworn Tris jumped up on the sink. I can still feel the swishing of her smooth calves as she was swinging them back and forth over mine. Just like I can feel her hands on the side of my head right now. _And it's fucking torture!_ But just like Tris said—I'm a glutton for punishment. So I decide to reside in my little sleep-deprived, emotional anarchy haven of hell.

"You let me blame you…"

I nod my head at projected mind-reader Tris. _Wouldn't this be a fucking dream come true?_

"I needed that. And you knew..."

I agree again, loving the feeling of her fingers running through my hair.

"Thank you." _And, she's thanking me. Seals the deal, doesn't it? Reality Tris would not be thanking me._

The top of my head feels cool as Tris sighs through her nose—the effect of air on wetness. All it does is remind me of the first time we were together, and how I was blowing my warm breath on her between her legs, purely to test her reaction. She probably didn't even like it. I bet it just made her uncomfortable.

Unexpectedly on my behalf, I reach for her hand, grabbing it and kissing it quickly. My lips feel the same wetness—it's…salty. It's tears… _Is this real?_ Blinking my foggy eyes, I see a bandage that wouldn't have been a memorized image. She had an IV line in the last time I saw her. _This is…happening._ The last time my heart accelerated this quickly was when I was in the shower with her, knowing, or thinking at the time, this was going to be the last time I would hold her.

 _DO NOT FUCK UP THIS TIME! Relax… Relax… She cannot know you are tempted to join the Jessie White Tumblers just to learn proper acrobatics and not embarrass yourself as you do backflips down the hallway. Don't be that guy! Keep your cool…_

"I love you..."

 _Did she say that? She said that, right? Do I need to make sure? What the fuck do I do? Ask? No, you do not ask!_

Apparently not being able to stand it anymore, I sit up, my eyes feeling the chill air as a shock of embarrassment hits me that too many of my emotions may be showing. I lean back and pull her with me because there is no _FUCKING_ way I'm letting her take off. Before I can pull away to study her face, she touches her cheek to mine and I practically light on fire, so I pull back just for a small bit of assurance that there's no need to join Caleb.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" _So much for not asking, dick!_

"Uh, I said…I love you?" She sounds like she's gargling mouth wash. And I think she took my inquiry as an off-the-cuff quip or remark so I'm rolling with it.

"Yeah, that didn't help." _I need to hear her say it and mean it. I know it's not about what I need at this point in time, but—_

"I love you." _Oh, yeah. She meant that shit. She said it with her eyes…_

She's so close to me, and it's on her terms, not just because I crawled into a hospital bed with her where there is a lack of space, or for comfort in a stressful situation. No. She's choosing this…and _I_ am incredibly confused! _Why? Why? Why is she here?!_

The pad of her thumb brushes across my bottom lip, distracting me as I'm tempted to bite it to hold it there, but instead I just decide to keep _her_ there, pulling her closer, being careful of her injury. And even though I can see the desire in her eyes, and _I_ feel the inevitable build-up, I still need to be sure she's in the same boat. So, I gently bring my hand up, dragging my knuckles under the soft skin of her arm, loving the pink it adds to her cheeks, and rest my palm between the valley of her breasts, right over her heart. It feels like it's about to burst out of her body and I know I have some stupid, stupid ass smile on my face—or maybe just a smug grin.

And then, Jesus, her lips touch mine and I check out. I'm gone!…Goodbye world!…I've died a happy man! Which is total shit because I greedily go back for more and run my tongue over her lips, setting us both on a very heated, passionate, mind-blowing, kiss-to-end-all-kisses journey. She pulls me closer by the back of my head, as we change angles thoroughly mapping out missed areas _._ Yet I'm brought back to the reality we're facing as she tenses, trying to push through the pain. So I softly and more reluctantly than ever in my life, pull away hoping the look on my face doesn't cause guilt. My reluctance is soon forgotten as I get to lose myself in her eyes…

 **End Flashback**

I turn at the click of the lock on the bathroom door, wondering how long I had gotten lost in my own world. I sigh to myself trying to count, figuratively speaking, how many steps we've taken back, especially since she feels the need to lock the damned bathroom door. Then I hear the running water of the shower and it makes more sense. _She doesn't want me in there. She doesn't want me to see her._ I would imagine she knows I'd try to help, because, for fuck's sake, she can't even lift her right arm over her head. _How the hell does she plan to wash her hair left-handed?_

 _I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! Christ! She's self-conscious to begin with! Again I wonder how many steps back this bullshit…I don't even know what to call it…event has caused her to take. However many, I can be patient. I won't push her. This will all be at her own pace and I will be totally cool with that. 100% okay with that. She's in control. I'm a willing participant if needed. This is some real shit she's dealing with and I will not pressure her._

I had put her duffel bag on the floor in the closet, and at first, I second guessed whether or not it was too presumptuous of me to assume she would stay in my room. Well, now I'm third and fourth guessing myself. _I mean we can, at least, share a bed, right? It's a king-sized bed. I will, with extreme disappointment yet total acceptance, sleep on the other side of the bed and not lay a finger on her. Just follow her lead, Tobias…_

 _I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE SHE'S HERE! Why is she here? Why did she forgive me? We decided to talk tomorrow… I can wait… I fucking HATE waiting!_

I sigh again, they seem to be limitless since she locked the bathroom door, and walk to the closet to grab her bag. I figure I'll have her things ready for her when she's done. But I see _absolutely no bag—_ duffel or toilety-thingy.

"Fuck…Tris…," I whine seeing that she took _both_ bags, each very heavy and full of unnecessary crap ( _Thank you, Christina!_ ) into the bathroom with her. _How did I miss that?_

Feeling frustrated and helpless, I literally pace in front of the door. I stop when I hear her suck in a breath through her teeth and ball up my fists anxiously. Then I calm down when I hear the water splashing on the floor from rinsing out her hair. _How is she doing this with her ribs wrapped tighter than a drum?! She better not have taken that shit off!_

"Mmmggghhhh!" is all I can get out as I then have the pleasure of hearing her literally yelp in pain. "Fuck this shit-ass-piece-of-shit God-damned son-of-a-bitch in hell fucked up shit," I grumble among other things that don't register, yet distract me, nonetheless, from this crippling feeling of helplessness.

I stomp over to the bed, figuring I may as well make myself useful and clean up this hell hole. I throw the comforter off the bed, rip off the fitted sheet tossing it on the floor on top of the other sheet seeing as they were both tainted by another woman— _holy…fuck…wine glasses…bed sheets on floor…broken…orchid…picture… LIPSTICK!  
_

I drag my feet over to the bathroom door at least now understanding why she went into the shower unannounced—there's nothing like visiting the scene of the crime. I should know! The nasty part of me is thinking— _Hey! Remember when I walked in on you NAKED because you just fucked another dude? Paybacks!_ Yet, the better part of me, which always seems to win out when it comes to Tris, feels awful that she saw this.

I knock on the door seeing as the water has been turned off.

"Yeah?!" she sing-songs in a weird voice.

"Can I help?" I think I may have moaned that.

"No, I got it."

I clear my throat. "Tris?"

"Yeah?" I think she may have croaked that.

"It wouldn't be the first door I've broken down for you."

She doesn't answer but I hear her shuffling around, trying to take short breaths and then she just seems to stop.

"Tris?"

"I'm fine, damn it—"

"I didn't sleep with anyone."

Again, I hear nothing but silence and a very shaky exhaled breath. After an amount of time passes and I work through my primary reaction to flee the scene seeing as she's not responding, I decide that since she's not going to talk, I am. It's probably easier to say what I'm going to say if I don't have to look at her anyway. So I sink down to the floor, with my back against the bathroom door.

"I almost did. I hate it." I roll my head right and left over the recessed panel. "But that doesn't change the fact that, Tris, I wanted to. I literally wanted to have sex with another woman. And I _wanted_ it to be in my bed. God... I couldn't even sleep in my own damned bed because I couldn't bring myself to change the sheets seeing as _you_ were the last person to sleep in them. How fucked up is that?" I laugh aloud. "In my mind a perfectly acceptable solution was to sleep with another woman, yet changing the sheets…unthinkable. But even if I had gone through with it, it wouldn't have mattered. You still would have been everywhere—in my bed, on my couch, sitting on the breakfast bar, lounging in my chair. Don't even get me started on the shower. I know you don't know the full story yet, but at the time, I wanted you gone." I pause almost regretting saying that. "I—"

"No, you didn't," she says in a groggy voice. At some point, she must have sat down because her voice is right by my ear. "You _wanted_ to want me gone. There's a difference…a big one."

I nod my head at her 100% accurate statement.

"I wanted to want someone else, too," she remarks as matter-of-factly as me.

I stare at the blankness that is in front of me making sure my mind doesn't wander off to less desirable places—

"But, I didn't."

Taking several deep breaths of composure, I decide to speak. "Um, when you say you didn't, does that mean you _didn't_ want to want someone? Or, um, you wanted to want someone but _didn't_ … ( _Damn you English language with your vague usage of the auxiliary verb!_ ) ...or you didn't…um…You tried to but…didn't—"

"I didn't sleep with David…or anyone. I…I couldn't."

The last time I performed an unintentional fist pump was when Tris agreed to go out with me via text message. It was rather embarrassing because she saw the whole damned thing. But this time, I am no holds barred, shamelessly fist pumping the hell out of this place—

"You're totally fist-pumping."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Feeling a sudden loss of support behind me, I plummet backward landing hard on my _left_ shoulder.

"Mmmggghhh," I grunt grabbing at it.

"Shit! I'm sorry! Are you okay?" I bat Tris's hand away as the injured fool tries to help me up. "I grabbed onto the door handle to lift myself up and—"

"Well, if you would have _let_ me in in the first damned place...," I grumble rolling onto my other side and pushing myself up.

"Well, don't leave evidence behind of your seductive…aspirations," she snarks.

"I didn't even know the glasses were there! That's how fucked I've been for the last however many weeks! I haven't even slept in my bed! One time! I let myself one damned time…and maybe a half… But aside from that, I've been drinking myself to sleep at the fucking office!"

She sits quietly, for once, waiting for me to finish my moment of frustration. _But I have nothing more to say about any of that right now!_

Sitting up, I can see her more clearly. Speaking of clearly, she is clearly in need of assistance. Clutching a towel around herself, she presents quite the mess. Half of her hair is wet and the other is fairly soapy.

"I look like an idiot."

"Yeah, you do. Come on." I rise up on my knees and grab under her elbows assisting her upright.

Her towel immediately falls to the ground as she stands. Which basically brings me face to face with the object of my sexual fantasies. My mouth drops open and I can't look away as she reaches for the towel, a noise coming from the back of her throat, and mine for that matter. While I basically just swat at the bare bathroom floor pretending to help her find her towel but actually trying to inhibit the process. She hasn't…I don't know what to call it—waxed or shaved. But surprisingly so, it's a fucking turn on! _Who knew?! Something about au naturel. Is it like some weird primal thing—_

"Tobias! What the fuck?!" she grits out trying to angle herself away as my cock stands at immediate attention ready for orders from its superior—Tris.

"I, I, I'm—"

"Get up, get up, get up! I can't exactly go far! Please, God, help me…"

"What? Yes, I'm here and I…will help you," I say in a daze as I finally hold up her towel, covering her butt because I'm still on my knees.

She finally achieves her 180, facing away from me and I can see her precious, albeit horrified face in the mirror. I stand, purposely avoiding her sweet, sweet, ass because I'm hard as fuck as it is, and I really don't want to scare her with my dick that is doubling as a beacon for her right now.

"Sorry, about that," she whispers nervously with her eyes squinted shut, oblivious to the fact that I can see her face in the mirror.

"Tris," I laugh.

What I want to say is—"I will come (I probably would literally come) face-to-face with your vagina any day of the week, any time, any place. You name the place (don't forget the time) and I will be there…diving in…deep." But I don't, all I do is chuckle because I don't want her to feel pressured.

"Is your dumbass laugh supposed to make me feel better?" she exalts regaining her attitude wrapping herself tightly in the towel.

"No, I'm sorry. It's—Come on! That was funny! You know it was funny!"

"It was embarrassing!"

I rest my hands on her hips and walk her forward to the sink, relishing in the redness that has spread across her face. I briefly notice the yellow that is starting to take over the purple marks and I find it amazing that I actually forgot she had bruises. _Maybe because I can't stop thinking about her thighs that I want to be wrapped around my head._

Looking up, I see her face is still red from irrational embarassment. "Beatrice…," I accuse.

"Stop! You don't get it. Look, I haven't…been able to... Jesus Christ, am I talking to you about this?"

"Apparently, you are."

I reach over to the drawer and pull out her brush as I smile shyly (yes…shyly) because it's still there. But she seems pleased as she returns my smile.

"But, I am admittedly confused as to what you're referring to," I admit with just the right amount of false ignorance. _  
_

"Never mind."

I shrug my shoulders. "Okay." But then I can't help but add my two-cents in. I kiss her creamy shoulder lightly and mumble in her ear, "I liked it."

And I get my expected and strangely anticipated response—her covering her face and shaking her head. "Oh, my God."

I decide to just leave it at that and concentrate on my project. _No expectations! No pressure! Fuck... Trying to get a brush through this is like trying to navigate through a swamp._

"Uh, Tris?"

"What?"

"Half of your hair is dry and the other half has enough of that conditiony stuff to last a lifetime. Come on." I lead her back into the shower not making her remove her towel.

"Tobias, what are you—"

"You're going to lie on this bench and I'm going to wash your hair," I remark as if she doesn't have a choice in the matter. "Now, sit."

For once, she does as she told and then spins on her tailbone while I support her back and neck, probably more than needed, lying her supine with her head at the very end of the bench.

"We've never done it this way," I comment in jest.

She does successfully stifle a laugh but I was hoping for an actual laugh. _Damn…_

Turning on the hand-held shower to warm up the water, I take my socks off, tossing them outside the shower and roll up my jeans. Gathering her shampoo and conditiony stuff that still remained on the shelf, I crouch down and run the water through her hair. She closes her eyes as I run the nozzle back and forth over her forehead, making sure no water gets in her eyes, enjoying the look of relaxation on her face. The ends of her hair touch the shower floor in a smooth, perfect wave.

"Why haven't you asked me why?" She breaks our relaxing silence in a quiet voice as I put the previously instructed amount of shampoo in my hand, massaging it into her scalp. _I can't believe I actually get to do this again._

"What do you mean?" I mumble pretending not to know what the fuck she's talking about but prepared for her to see right through it.

And I know she does when she doesn't answer me. She just waits fuckin' patiently _.  
_

"Because I quite like living in my head. You know, pretending you thought about nothing but me for two days straight, completely disregarding your injuries and other traumas, until a switch just flipped and you suddenly decided 'fuck it all, I'm just going to jump on his lap, kiss his face off, all is forgiven, end…scene.'"

I pause for a moment in reflection, something I hadn't officially allowed myself to do, even though deep down I knew something was off. This was too easy. Something had to have happened. I know Tris had basically checked out for 90% of the Nita debacle, based upon the look on her face and serious facial blood loss. I would venture to guess she didn't get beyond the fact that Marcus was threatening me and I went along with it. And she was too angry to just come to a sudden realization—an epiphany.

I do believe, deep down, she would have gotten there at some point. And I meant what I said—I'll never leave her. But I was expecting weeks and months of apologies and explanations before she even considered forgiving me.

Soft fingers touch my cheek bringing me back to reality.

"I love it when you do that with your mouth…or, um, face…yes, face."

I furrow my eyebrows and squeeze way too much conditioner in my hands. _Fuck! Am I ever going to get this right?!_

"Do what?" I run my fingers through her hair momentarily entranced by how smooth and silky it instantly feels. _This stuff is the best!_

"Well, when you come back down to Earth, you do this twitchy-smirky thing on the side of your mouth along with a small head shake, like you're embarrassed or something."

"I doubt that entirely. So, how long does this stuff have to stay in?"

She tries hard not to laugh at me and it only makes water run into her eyes. I chuckle along with her and am fairly close to her face so I rub the water out with my thumb, watching closely as she blinks her eyes several times then bringing her knuckles up instinctively to rub them. She leaves a couple eye-lashes behind as she widens and blinks her eyes a final time. I reach up, removing the stray lashes—

"Wait!" she exclaims.

"What?!"

"You have to make a wish." _What the hell is she talking about?_ "You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"Not a damned clue."

"How…is that possible?"

"How…am I supposed to answer that question when I don't know what the hell you're talking about?"

"Make a wish and blow the eyelash away."

"That's a thing?" I huff out a breath, hating this girlie shit but knowing I'll go along with it because _she_ wants me to.

"Don't worry, I won't tell. We wouldn't want anyone to know you have a soft side. It would ruin you."

"Enough out of your beautiful face, I'll blow on your damn eyelash—"

"And make a wish."

"Jesus…," I mutter but then I actually do think of a decent wish, and it doesn't take me long: I wish for forgiveness. Total forgiveness. Not this teetering on a ledge shit that I may just fall off of at any moment. Real, true, forgiveness.

"Now blow it away."

I do as I'm told, holding back a grin because she totally checked out my lips. I love so much that she loves them. I don't get it because, to me, it's just my mouth, but, hey, whatever she finds sexy, I will exploit. However, I do stop myself from running my tongue across the bottom of my lip.

"Your turn," I say seriously because she has another lash under her eye.

" _My_ turn? You're into this now—"

"Turnabout's fair play. Come on, hold still." I dab my finger on the thin skin under her eye revealing to her the second eyelash, not missing for a moment the grin plastered all over her face. "Yeah, yeah laugh all you want."

"Is this like our new thing?"

"No."

"Oh, yes, it is."

"No. Make a fuckin' wish." _Secretly love that, moving on._

I admire her face in general as she closes her eyes, but then of course as she blows on her eyelash I lean in to devour her mouth. But I stop short when I realize what I'm doing. I want things to be the same. But they aren't, just yet. But she does seem confused as she worries her lip and draws her eyebrows together. So I lean in softly, placing my lips gingerly on hers. _I mean, I don't want to confuse her! We can't have that!?_

Our kissing is soft and teasing. _Am I dying a little on the inside, like I have so many times with her? Yes._ Then I feel her tongue slowly, so damned slowly in my mouth and I think, I think, I think, I hear a slight moan come from her as I reciprocate. _Fuck, I forgot how good at this she is._ I feel her palm on my neck as she brushes her thumb along my temple pulling me closer to her. I sigh, quickly hovering over her and landing my lips on her neck, tasting her skin. I grip her hip until I can balance my weight, freeing up my hand to run it up her side until it comes into contact with bare skin. The towel had fallen away enough that my thumb grazes over her hardened nipple. Her sucking in a rather quick breath in pain and suddenly my jeans no longer fitting, at all, brings me back to this planet.

"Shit," I comment quickly. "I'm, uh…" I lift my hips as to not drag my dick over her legs, hop off the bench and I— _have absolutely nothing to say!_

"Uh," she makes a quick noise from the back of her throat as she tightens the towel around herself again.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. Can we just get the conditioner out of my hair?"

"Sure," I answer nervously, knowing I crossed a line.

She closes her eyes for the rest of the time as I hastily rinse out the stuff, squeeze out her hair and grab a towel out of the linen closet. When I return, she had already sat herself up.

"Hey, sitting up like that has to hurt. I can help—"

"You've helped plenty. Just wrap my head if you can—"

"I can."

Turns out I can't.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Well, that was an official mix of incredible and appalling. I stay silent and make no eye contact, having no idea what to say as my cheeks are a shade of fire engine red and I'm biting the inside of them to hold back emotion.

To start, the beyond awful drop-the-towel moment! But I have to admit, the look of shock and what I hope was desire, although, I'm not sure anymore, on his face and the fact that it seemed to make him incapable of movement did make me a little happy. But the fact that I was vaginally unprepared was... FUCK, THERE IS NO WORD TO DESCRIBE MY HUMILIATION!

 _Okay, okay… It wasn't that bad. I mean, it's not like I've gone native or anything. It's just… STOP thinking about this!_

Tobias is brushing my hair and actually doing a decent job of it. I smile, on the inside because I can't seem to bring myself to do it outwardly, as he hums low enough so only if one were to truly pay attention they would notice. He does it when he works too, but I've never told him that.

"Hey."

I feel soft lips on my shoulder as I make eye contact in the mirror with a concerned looking Tobias. My eyes flit over to myself. _I'm heinous._

"Let's…" he gestures toward his room. "I can help you…with your pajamas. Or not?! Only if you…want. Or, you can, um... Did you want one of my, uh, shirts? Fuck, that's um… I didn't even ask where you wanted to sleep. You can...take the guest bedroom. No! _I_ can take the…guest bedroom." _Apparently we are not sleeping in the same bed. Fuel to the fire… Douse it!_

I stand there and stare at him as he does the full out gamut—scratching the back of head out of nervousness, running his hands through his hair out of frustration and scrubbing at his face when he thinks he fucked up.

He huffs out in 100% aggravation, storming out of the bathroom. I hear him grunt and grumble as he takes his jeans off, chucking them in the hamper. The belt clinks against the side of the wicker basket. I think how totally out of character that is for him to _not_ remove his belt and hang it nicely on his belt rack.

"Jesus, Tobias…"

I back up and scrunch my body to a crouching position by my bag, while he lets out his dissatisfaction all on his own—mumbling and muttering to himself. I honestly have no clue what he's doing.

I need a minute to sit, I realize, as exhaustion hits me like a blow to the face. My euphoria, upon finding out he hadn't slept with anyone, took over my body and my mind, to be accompanied by him tenderly washing my hair and speaking to me in soft tones. _What is with that shower and intimate moments? Fuck!_

I wonder what he wished for? I wished to forget—About my anger, my confusion, my resentment. I just want to erase it all and wake up in Tobias's arms with all being right in the world.

My said euphoria seriously subsided upon Tobias practically launching himself off of me in the shower. That was definitely, yes, beyond a doubt, the most humbling moment of my life. I was the one who shoved my tongue in his mouth! I was the one trying my damnedest to pull him onto the bench, hiding my stabbing pain! I was the one grasping at his neck! He practically stayed on all fours! I realize I'm injured but a little closer, please?! Finally, contact! When he moved his hand up my side as if I'm a cracked eggshell. One nipple-graze over my bony chest and that was that!

"Fuck…" The humiliation overwhelms me and I wipe the hot tears away quickly.

 _Okay, Tris. You may have been raped. You're injured. He's just being careful. You need to talk to him. Is sex on the top of your list? Do I want a quick fuck? Nope. But, that's not what Tobias and I do! Okay, you're injured, you physically can't anyway!_

I lose my equilibrium as a thought that hadn't presented itself until this moment floods my mind— _What_ _if it's because I may have been…raped? As if he can't get past it. Or maybe because I've contracted something. That's probably smart, right? God, that makes me feel so dirty. Holy shit, please tell me I wasn't! Please, please, please!_

I try again, to control my emotions as I clutch at my towel and rest my elbow on the floor, going through my bag. The least I can do is to dress _myself_ before Tobias has to be tortured by my weight loss and bruises. I sniff back the snot that loves to accompany my fucked up temperament.

"Fucking embarrassing," I mumble blinking the fog out of my eyes and resting my cheek on my hand… … … … …

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

 _Did I leave her in the bathroom? Yes, that happened. Is she giving me a moment of space? Yes, because she's amazing._

After stuttering, and when I say stutter, I mean a party. There was a fuckin' stuttering party in my mouth. Pretty sure they had a keg! I had to walk away—gather my thoughts a bit. I look around the room in a panic as the wine glasses present themselves again. I unequivocally do not even remember how they got there! _Jesus, that was weeks ago! WHAT THE FUCK?!_ I grasp at them, missing the first time. Even my coordination is off. _I need sleep._ I walk out to the kitchen and run the water until it is scalding, plunging my hands under the faucet 'cause I'm a fuckin' idiot, to plug the drain. Did that hurt? _FUCK, YES!_ I grunt as I shake my hands off and jump up and down. _Focus!_ Dousing the glasses in soap, I carefully put them in the water to disinfect them.

"Shoulda just fuckin' thrown 'em away! But then I would have to take out the damned garbage, and that means leave the apartment, and that's not happening. Plus they're nice glasses. Tris likes those glasses because you can fit half a bottle in each one." I shake my head and laugh knowing I'm just mumbling shit to myself.

Just thinking about the memory of Tris polishing off a glass of red can make me smile...

 **Flashback:**

"Mmmm…"

I watch, grinning as she takes down the last sip of wine.

"Ima fan! I just drank ½ a bottle without even knowing it!" She's standing on the bed in my T-shirt, feeling very proud of herself.

"Well, _I_ knew it," I quip breathing hard because I'm intoxicated, and trying to teach an intoxicated girl, who seems freakishly skilled to begin with, self-defense. "Why do you think we're usin' 'em?"

"Well, they're pretty awesome—AW!" She landed hard on her back after my carefully calculated leg swipe. I thought about catching her but then changed my mind as the wine glass went flying.

"Shit!"

I dive for the glass as she tries to catch her breath because I awesomely knocked the wind out of her stubborn ass. Grabbing the glass by the stem, I do a sweet and entirely unnecessary dive roll onto the floor onto my back.

"Oh, my God," she groans.

"Did I hurt you—"

"Tell me you didn't break the glass!" I laugh at her concern for the wine glass.

"I totally…caught it," I breathe out holding it up in the air like a trophy.

"Thank God," she crawls over the bed to look down at me, having grabbed the third bottle. "Don't get me wrong… I'll drink outa the bottle any day, but…" I hold the glass up high as she pours half the bottle into the glass. "…it always tastes better in a glass."

She puts the bottle on the nightstand and slides her sexy self off the bed laying herself out on top of me.

"I'm in love with a classy lady," I comment as I pull her down to kiss the fuck out of her face.

"Mmmm…" She pulls away (which is dumb but whatever). "Holding a wine glass while making out with your girlfriend?" She runs her tongue along my bottom lip.

"I'm awesome."

"Hmm."

Before I can even react, she's between my legs. Turns out, I'm not as awesome as I thought...

 **End Flashback**

I still can't believe she's here.

I look down at the bed that now has new sheets, perfectly ready to accept Tris's intoxicating scent, and I am pretty impressed that I did that with a hard dick. _High five myself! I need sleep._

 _She was rustling around in there a few minutes ago, probably mad. Okay, just tell her how you feel. Tell her what you want. Do it! Do it now!—You want her in one of your shirts and if it's not pushing your luck you would like to help her put it on. You want her in your bed, with you in it! Tell her. She's blunt. She'll tell you if she doesn't want that!_

I march into the bathroom with a new sense of resolve, until I see her.

"Oh, babe…" I groan as I kneel down next to her.

She is…passed out…on the floor, fetal position, using a hair dryer for a pillow.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper as I slide my arm under her neck and under her knees with my other.

I strain to stand, yet, accomplish it nonetheless. _I need to do some legs, damn._ I kiss her forehead softly and walk her over to the bed, feeling the sudden need to go to the gym and run 20 miles, hit the bags for an entire hour without tape, using my left arm only, and do 21 minutes of wall sits without a break. _Then I can do yoga! No, yogalates—pure torture. Then, Jazzercise._

I lie her down as she sighs and tries to roll over onto her right side, making some guttural noise.

"Tris, you need to lay on your back, come on."

"Mmm mmm…" She dozes off and I don't know what to do. _She can't sleep on her right side!_

I remember Evey propping a pillow under her rib cage when I was spying once (I only spied once-and-a-half). I run out to the living room, grab a useless decorative pillow that serves no purpose except to crowd up my apartment, and run back. _How the fuck am I going to do this?_

"Babe? I mean, Tris?" She doesn't move, so I reach over, lifting her up and preparing myself for the inevitable—

"What…the…fuck, Tobias!?" she cries out in pain. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Not today."

After I place the pillow, hoping I did it correctly, she exhales out in pure relief. "Ohhh… Thank...you."

I chuckle at her swift change in tune after the pillow is in place while I sit for a minute just watching her breathing even out. Then I go into the kitchen, dry off the disinfected wine glasses and hang them in the back of the wet bar, rotating the others to the front. I laugh at myself for rotating my glassware. _What kind of douche does that?_ Then I make sure the chain is secure at the front door, turn off the lights, make sure the chain is secure, put her duffel bag in my closet, and make sure the chain is secure. When I'm happy, relatively speaking, with my progress, I tiptoe into my room, kiss her on the head one more time before turning the light off and heading to the guest room—

"So, that's actually happening?" she mumbles.

"What is?" I whisper wondering if she's dreaming.

"Are we roommates?"

"No—"

"Then, please, sleep with me. I miss you." She says that last part with an unintentional pout.

So, excited as all hell, I race to the other side of the bed and crawl in lying on my side. I tuck her hair behind her ear. "Better?" I whisper.

"That's not your side of the bed," she says like a crab ass. "It's weird."

"Okay," I whisper, happy at her use of the word "sides" but confused as how to solve this problem because she's on _my_ side of the bed.

Until the upside presents itself—Now I _have_ to sleep close to her! I stealthily slip out of bed and sprint to the other side climbing in right behind her. I slide my arm under her neck and scoot myself flush with her perfectly.

Puzzles pieces, magnets, however the fuck you want to liken it. We click into place as a simultaneous sigh-groan comes out of both of us.

"Fuuuuucckk," I say. _Totally not romantic. So not cool... It just came out—_

"Soooo fuuuuuucckk."

 _God, I love you…_

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 _God, I love you, too…_


	2. Stitches

Chapter 2 – Stitches

* * *

 **Marcus's POV** : Wednesday evening

I always found it to be a weak nervous habit, the amount of pacing Tobias used to do when he was being overly thoughtful, angry or any other type of useless emotion that seemed to suddenly overtake him. His knee jerk reactions seemed a debilitation, in my opinion. However, with the amount of back and forth wandering _I've_ been doing, along with my foul temper, turns out my son is more Eaton than I thought.

I lean my forearm on the floor to ceiling window in my office and look down, focusing on the disgusting waters of the Chicago River as a tourist infested boat makes its way toward the lake. Being high up and looking down at others brings me unfounded joy and could there be a more perfect analogy? It's near shocking to me that my son has a fear of heights that can practically incapacitate him on command.

The ring of my cell phone makes my head jerk back causing a very painful sensation in my neck. It seems a common reaction, as of late, each time an alert shows up on my phone. Pulling it out of my pocket I see a name I had been torturously anticipating—Kim Kang.

 **Flashback:** Saturday evening

Biting my nails. Add it to the list of nervous habits I've been picking up on since I got the phone call from Joseph that his son had been arrested. The kid is so fucked in the head that he was screaming in absurdity and beating his head on the bars. Apparently he got it in his stark raving brain that he killed the girl.

After practically hanging up on Joseph, I sit for a moment pondering my glass of Scotch. It being my third, I suppose it's time to stop. So I hurl it against the wall, trying to dispel my anger in more productive ways. My secretary used to be quite good at diverting my attention. Had her at my beck and call until my ingrate of a son flashed his smile, telling her she's worth more than what I can give her. That super-glued her rather loose legs together.

"Can't even fire the dumb bitch," I grumble. "Sexual harassment bullshit—"

"Oh, it's not bullshit. If used well, it can be quite the trump card!" The all-too-excited voice of Juanita drills holes in my eardrums.

"I would imagine you've mastered the art?"

"Should have used it on your son," she quips waltzing toward my desk.

"Well, we all make mistakes. And I have a feeling, _you_ are one of his."

"Don't make me mad, Marcus. I'm on my way to the hospital!" she emits in delight.

"And why would I give a shit about that?" _I'd love to put this bitch in the hospital!_

"Why, I'm going to visit your son and his guilty conscience."

I try my best to hide my confusion. But I have no idea of my son's whereabouts currently on account of Jack Kang's inability to communicate with me. The amount of money I paid him and he up and disappears. _I should've seen that coming._

Juanita laughs as she perches herself on the edge of my desk. "Did you not hear a word I said the last time I was here?"

I don't answer, waiting to see where she's going with this. I remember every word she said—not that I believed it all. Tobias hadn't gone near Beatrice. He had entirely lost interest. But I had to try to stop Eric at the offhand chance Juanita was right about Tobias putting pieces together. Putting Beatrice aside, if Tobias is anything like me he wouldn't appreciate being played, and I wouldn't put it past him to seek some sort of vengeance because I made a fool out of him. Contacting Carlos wouldn't be beneath him.

"I get it, no worries, Marcus. You were fairly busy man-handling me."

She points to the cheek I slapped as my insides warm at the thought. There's something about putting a woman in her place that just does it for me. The temptation is there to do it again and push the envelope. Particularly because she seemed so unfazed by it at the time. If she weren't Carlos's daughter—

"That turns you on, doesn't it? Overpowering people you deem weaker than you? Equating power to sex? Hmmm… Sadomasochism at…its…best."

I stand at the observation that hits too close to home. "Get out."

"You sure you want me to leave?" She tips her head and bites the side of her lip.

"I can't think of _one_ reason I would want you to stay."

"I can think of two…"

I avoid her eyes as she uncrosses her legs and walks around the desk toward me. I clear my throat as she props herself up in the same position she was just in, however now she's dangerously close to me.

"One being, well, me…" She looks up at me through thick, thick, eyelashes. "Think about how your hand felt when it connected with my face…causing just enough pain to hear me yelp for you…but not enough to injure me. Did that make you feel something?"

I look away, but the memory presents itself again. And, there is something about hearing it come from her lips… _Did she like it?_

"Because I felt something…right, down, here." I glance as she walks her fingers down to touch herself between her legs, that are spread further apart than expected. "Something about you being in control…over me. Marcus, do you want control over me?"

My eyes are glued to her swift fingers as she pops open the buttons on her blouse and her quite buxom breasts present themselves to me. Two perfect mounds begging for my fingers to bruise them.

"I've never been one to relinquish complete control. But with you... Well, you made me feel so small and scared. Um…I couldn't stop thinking about how you put me in my place. No one _ever_ does that, you know?"

"Mmm hmm."

The images—the slight bruising I could inflict, the chokehold I could put on her, yanking her head back by the roots. How many times could I smack her before she came? Where could I smack her? Back-hand her? Or more…

"Show me…"

She licks her lips, but I have no interest in those. It's the marks I leave behind that I crave.

I'm out of my chair gripping her by the shoulders before she can even think twice. My fingers sinking into her biceps as I turn her, wrenching her arm up behind her back, slamming her facedown on my desk.

"You want power?"

"Yes," she whimpers as I hit her in the ass hard with my palm.

Holding her down with my left hand I fumble with my belt and zipper with the other. _Fuck!_ I'm so worked up I can't even whip my dick out. I smack her again just for good measure, loving the noise she makes and because I need it. I'm not in my 20s anymore so this may take a moment. _Please, only a moment!_ Finally, I'm free and she's squirming for me—whimpering, crying…and I love it. I stroke myself quickly not wanting to embarrass myself as I wrench her skirt up. Her sweet tight ass is asking for me and I can see her thighs shaking nervously. She's not going to know what hit her. Aligning myself I run my hands up her taut hamstrings, pleased she's wearing thigh-high stockings with a garter belt. I feel something cool touch my right hand, but it's gone before I can process what it is.

Then an excruciating singeing, searing pain rips through my thigh muscle as I'm pushed back into my chair and into the wall. Nita's seething venomous eyes are inches from my face, her knee holding me in the chair putting a mass amount of pressure on my testicles.

"You bought into that, huh?"

I can do nothing but grunt and look down at the small knife she had embedded into my thigh as the room goes out of focus.

"Oh, that? It was a gift from Daddy. He sends his well-wishes by the way. Oh, yes, onto that second reason you want me here. Let me just twist the knife! Hmmm… Proverbial or literal? Mmmm… I chose both!" I feel a jarring pain eat away at my thigh as Nita winds the dagger in a pulverizing motion. "I'm spoiled like that. Anyway, like I told you last week, To-bi-as still has a bit of a thing for Trisha. And well, since we both know how Daddy feels about To-bi-as—his precious Evelyn's son. He wasn't too happy when he found out you were the one behind it!"

"I wasn't—"

"Shut-up!"

I scream and my ears ring as she rips the twisted knife out of my thigh, holding it up to my jugular.

"One quick stab and you'd be dead, Marcus." She jars the knife as I feel my pants dampen. "Look into my eyes. Do these look like eyes that would give a shit if I kill you or not? Do these eyes look like they would harbor an ounce of guilt?" I try to do as she says, but I see nothing but fog and feel nothing but weight. "Do you think anyone would mourn you if you died? If it weren't for your bleeding-heart, dead wife, Daddy would have done it years ago! Although the way things are right now… Pay attention, Marcus!" She jars the knife again and I focus. "Daddy's current disposition—he's quite beside himself… I'd be surprised if you made it through the week! But the difference between Daddy and I—I don't fuck around. One quick _slice_ and I'd walk away. Daddy would insert a dull…blade…a millimeter at a time just to watch you writhe. He's sadistic like that! He enjoys watching the life leach out of the eyes of those who've wronged him. And there is no one in the world he feels more vengeful toward than you…"

Suddenly she stands as if nothing happened while I grab for the blood that is probably gurgling out of my thigh seeing as my pants are an ochre color of red.

"So anyway…I'm on my way to do a little visit! Apparently, Daddy feels some of this is _my_ fault. You should really hire more loyal people, Marcus. People less prone to coercion…"

"What?!... Who?!...," I choke out as bile drips out of my mouth.

"'Cause I gotta tell ya, we both got thrown under the bus on this one! But the difference is— _I'm just so sorry_!" she says in her Daddy's girl voice. "I'll tell _Four_ you said hello…along with the object of his misguided affections."

"Juanita," I breathe out trying to regain some ounce of worth. "What was the…point…of your …visit? Aside from…torture?"

"If I have to put torture aside…then there is no point!... Oh, but one more thing."

I am suddenly hit with more pain than I have ever felt in my life as my groin throbs from thousands of lightning bolts being simultaneously aimed at it, over and over and over.

"Don't ever…fucking…lay a hand…on me…again!"

I'm blinded by pain, so much that I don't know where it's coming from… I hear the clicking of heels and laughter as more acidity rises into my throat. Visions of Jack, frozen bodies, screams…

 **End Flashback**

I adjust my balls as they throb at the residual memory of Juanita holding a knife to my throat and jacking me with her knee over and over. I've never wanted to actually murder someone, but I would have made an exception for her.

At least, I can say that the leftover pain from that altercation, along with the remaining scent of vomit, have been a welcome distraction from thinking about Jack. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. Even though he failed me in the end…

Glancing toward my office door, I sense the expected presence of Captain Jeanine Matthews.

"Captain! Always a pleasure, do sit." I gesture to the chair across from my desk as I control my hobble and make my way to the other side.

"Would love to say the same, Marcus. But, let me be frank, you're driving me fucking crazy and the smell in here is nauseating," she remarks as her token mix of disdain and boredom resonates across her pock-marked face.

I would imagine, at one point in time, Jeanine may have been attractive. But her atrocious personality mixed with the fact that she seems to never have had a lesson in feminine grooming makes her presence borderline repugnant. Her oddly-colored suits (today being lilac) are too tight for her 50-something-year-old build. Her gray hair is consistently pulled back in a severe bun, and the trademark dime-store-pink lipstick she seems to permanently wear sinks into the fine lines of her lips. _If she croaks, the mortician will have the sandblast that shit off!_

"Yes, my apologies for darkening your already quite-obscured door—"

"Enough. Our passive-aggressive banter doesn't fit into my schedule today. Now, what say you?" She sits in a rather unladylike manner, contrary to her speech.

"Yes, well, has the Monroe boy been transferred?"

"As instructed—an official patient at Masonic United Mental Health Care Center. Shall I monitor his daily massages to keep his stress level in check or is that beyond my jurisdiction?"

"You don't agree with his placement?"

"He's a psychotic, assailant, rapist who committed such an act in my city, so to say I don't agree with his placement is an understatement."

" _Your_ city? Rahm may disagree!" I laugh at her over-indulgent sense of importance to this city. "Hmm. Well, I must say, the boy is absolutely demoniac. I can understand Joseph wanting him gone."

"He considers this _gone_?"

"If only I understood the world that family lives in."

"White, overentitled, uneducated, red-neck farmers? What's to understand?"

"I think _you_ just may be the ignorant one in this situation, my dear." _She has no clue the power of that family…_

"Well, I'll take that bliss." _Per usual…_

"How did you sway our lovely District Attorney?" This is one of the loose ends I'm slightly concerned with.

"As you know, she's the ultimate fan of open and closed cases, particularly when I give her the credit."

"Fickle."

"Indeed."

"How much of Miss Prior's statement would you care to share?"

I need to be prepared for what Tobias throws my way. He may decide to use the Poor-Beatrice card with Carlos—using her raw deal as leverage against me, at least if he were smart he would.

Jeanine narrows her eyes at me, most likely looking for some sort of remorse to exploit. Pity, yes—the poor girl is truly worth nothing in the eyes of any of us. But, there is no remorse to be had. Beatrice sowed her own seeds the moment she got into bed with the psychotic succubus and now she's experiencing quite the reaping.

Jeanine must sense my lack of sought feelings.

"Suspected rape and assault causing serious bodily injury. She sustained broken ribs, a punctured lung, a head contusion, lacerations and severe bruising—"

"I don't care about any of that! Her _statement_ is my interest."

"Yes, I would say it should be…"

It's my turn to assess her. There is something behind her scheming eyes.

"He was waiting for her at her apartment, starting explaining how he had been watching her…and your _son_."

"My son." I clear my throat at that, unintentionally sitting up straighter than usual.

"Why, yes, Marcus. Apparently Mr. Monroe told Miss Prior that he would have gladly _killed_ him if he had the chance. I'm curious." She leans forward, unnerving me with her searching eyes. "Would you have shouldered any blame if the schizoid hick decided to pull a gun on your son? Aimed directly for his head? Splattered his brains on the thin walls of her apartment? Shards of his skull imbedded along with it?"

The image…assaults me, and the strange sensation of tightness in my chest presents itself.

"Because that's what happens when you shoot an unarmed man at close range. And I have a feeling your son doesn't carry. And I will tell you this, Marcus Eaton." She leans in even further, causing me to lean back. "I have looked into the eyes of murderers for more years than I care to count. I've only come across three who I would consider…soulless. Eric Monroe…is the third." She quickly sits back obviously pleased with the rise she has gotten out of me. "Well, I can see your son's presence has come as a bit of a surprise?"

I clear my throat…again. "I was under the impression he hadn't been in her company as of late."

"Apparently, you got the wrong impression."

The sudden bout of ridiculous emotion thinking about the imminent death of my son is taxing. Disbelief courses through me again at the fact that I never considered Tobias being in danger nor coming anywhere _near_ the psycho. Crossing coincidental paths with Beatrice here and there, fine. But not…

I can blame Jack _fucking_ Kang for that one! I was paying him enough to put both of his sons through college! Was he lying to me? By omission or not, it's still lies! Obviously, Tobias _had_ been in more contact with Beatrice than Jack had informed me. I only knew of one incident—no more than an awkward exchange at the gym. At least in the world according to Jack Kang!

As it turns out, Gregory the ignoramus was far more useful at doling out information—Tobias having other women, out all hours of the night, even about a recent run-in with Juanita and Miss Prior. I just assumed Miss Prior couldn't take no for an answer! _Assumptions… Marcus, you fool!_

I unabashedly laughed aloud upon watching the footage of Beatrice run into a disrobed Juanita. That woman is…ALL WOMAN. As much as I can't stand the bitch and want to ruin her, that is now part of the appeal. I must say, putting that footage on slow-motion was the highlight of my night. NO need for Cialis—

"For Christ's sake, Marcus. Do you have it?!"

I smile and pull a thumb drive out of my pocket, moving it back and forth between my fingers. I need Carlos Juares out of my life and this is the only way I can even come close to making that happen.

"You know this is just a drop in the bucket, correct?" I ask referring to the information on the drive—the small amount of illegal dealings I've had with Carlos, mostly political bribery—very much beneath both my and Carlos's repertoires.

"Yes, well, eventually all the drops fill the bucket."

"So, you have more information?"

She stays silent. But I can see it in her boring eyes—she does. I slide her the drive and she catches it precisely in her iron grasp.

"That easy? No warning? Promises? What if I were to tell him where I got this information from? You'd be dead in a day."

"Oh, Captain, my Captain. I have a thumb drive equally as handy…with information on you, ready to be sent through the proper channels upon my possible demise."

"I would expect nothing less. Good evening, Marcus."

"Captain Matthews."

I watch the protruding varicose veins throb on Jeanine's too-shapely calves as she exits my office. Then the second alert comes through on my phone, signaling the arrival of Kim's voicemail. With a deep breath and a reluctant mind, I decide to listen to Jack's funeral arrangements. I can only assume it will a closed casket…

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I don't know what wakes me, but it startles me enough that my right side burns from the jerking movement. Seeing as opening my eyes feels like the equivalent of deadlifting a kiloton, I decide keeping them closed for the time being is perfectly acceptable. I feel Tobias's warm body pushed up so close to mine we may as well be one person. And his breath on the back of my neck and snug, firm grip around my waist make me feel so safe and, just _… I'm so fucking happy!_

I shift my body just a little to feel the friction of his against mine, but it only causes him to tighten his grasp around my midsection. It isn't until then that I notice how heavy his breathing actually is and how I can feel his heart race—as in, all out sprint, as it's pushed up against my back.

"Tobias?" I tap his hand and force my eyes open to see the room is just as dark as when…well, I don't quite remember going to bed, so…

He pushes himself closer to me, burying his forehead into my back as a strangled noise comes out of him.

"Tobias," I pull at his hand which only makes him yank me toward him roughly as I freeze in pain not knowing what to do.

I feel sweat from his brow dripping onto my neck and his breathing is getting more ragged. He's holding me right at my injured rib. I've never seen him have a nightmare before but he's told me that he wakes thrashing and usually screaming. My stomach starts to roil at the thought of that happening while I'm in his arms. I exhale a quaking breath and try to relax my body hoping that will relax him, but it only makes me shrink into him more as he flexes his muscles around me.

I hear another unfamiliar heartbreaking noise come out of him as he rolls his body toward me, where I'm near pinned. The pain is excruciating and I can't take it anymore.

"Tobias, please, please, please, please!" I shriek trying to pry his fingers off me.

He shoots up, wrenching me with him by my neck as he chokes out something incoherent. It takes me a moment to process what happened because… … …

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I put my ear up against the closet door, taking a deep sip of dark steaming coffee. It smells like Gertie's, so I can only assume it is. I hear the screams, they're fairly incessant this time with the added bonus of hearing furniture crash against the wall. Suddenly it stops after a loud thud and I wait. This is the part that sucks—wondering how long I'll have to wait until the door opens. It always seems like an eternity and I can already feel my patience wearing thin. Finally, Marcus opens the door grinning at me.

"The door was always open son… You could have come out any time you wanted."

That's an incredibly confusing statement. "You told me I had to stay in there."

"You always _have_ done exactly what I told you to do, my boy. I appreciate that." He pats me on the back but it burns me as I suck in a deep breath looking over my shoulder at the charred smoke rising from my flesh.

Walking into the room, I take in the scene in front of me. I had expected to see my mother…limping out of the small apartment as if I'm too stupid to know what Marcus did. But I don't…

"Good coffee, son?"

"Yeah," I say under my breath turning my body 360 degrees taking in the scene of the apartment.

"May I?" He takes the steaming mug out of my hands and drains the near-scalding liquid without even a second breath.

I'm feeling the need to distance myself from Marcus, so I edge myself away tripping over something.

"Sorry about that, son. Here, Let's just clean up our mess—"

"Our?" I ask crouching down to help him pick up the pieces of the old chair.

Marcus looks at me as if I'm the one who's mistaken.

"My boy, you stood behind an unlocked door and listened while I killed your girlfriend."

"You…"

"Yes, yes! Come and see!"

He leads me over to Tris's room, branding my shoulders this time with his grip. And then there she is. I drop to my knees in front of her and stare. Her eyes are open and blank, but aside from that she's nearly unrecognizable. Smoke tufts off her seared, burnt skin as Marcus looks on proudly. He sits on the bed to put his shoe back on while I crawl up behind her and match her body with mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her. "I don't know why I didn't…do anything—"

"My boy, you _never_ do anything!" Marcus laughs as I bury my head in her neck and hold her to me. "One more thing, son… Yes, here."

I feel a scrap of something land on my hand that is clutching hers. Looking up, I see red lace panties.

"Those were some nice ones too. Well, my friend, I must go! We'll be in touch, Eric."

 _Eric…_ My chest ignites as I look down at thick, callused, fingers wrapped around Tris's bloody splinter-infested ones. _These aren't my hands…_ Shaking one hand free, I run it down my face and back up over my hair—clean shaven, military style cut _. This isn't my head._

Tris's limp body rolls away from me so I grab it before she can leave again, clinging to her.

"Baby, I'm not him. Please tell me I'm not him. Please, tell me I didn't do this…" But she doesn't respond because she's dead. "I did this. I did this. I did this. Oh, God, I did this."

All I can do it hold her and hope to die right along with her. _I want to die, I want to die, I want to die—_

"Tobias, please, please, please, please!"

…..

A gust of coolness hits my face as I take deep gulps of air as if it's water. I've had enough nightmares in my life, so my mind immediately processes that I was in sleep-induced hell. I shake my right arm free and rest my head in my hands when suddenly I'm hit with pins and needles in my right arm like I've never experienced in my life. _Fuck, maybe I am still dreaming…_

I continue to shake out my arm as movement registers next to me along with a whimper.

"Tris," I breathe out as my heart swells because she's not dead. I didn't kill her. She's here. She's really here…in my bed. "Hey."

I sweep her hair off her shoulder, giving myself a gorgeous view of the left side of her body from her neck all the way to her bottom. The only thing obscuring my view of her is the wrapping holding her healing ribs in place. I had forgotten I put her to bed in a towel.

"Why are you sitting up?" I wrap my arm around her shoulders now noticing how hunched over she is right as she starts tipping to the right. "Hey, hey, hey."

I pull her gently back toward me and lay her down on the pillow looking over her face for any sign of distress. I rest my hand over her heart to feel it beating steadily and also checking to make sure her breathing is fine. All seems well with the world, very relatively speaking. _Falling asleep sitting up? How? God, exhaustion doesn't even describe it…_

I smile, biting my bottom lip between my teeth because I now get to look at her. Every raw, disgusting feeling that had surfaced in my nightmare has now been washed away because if having a nightmare, brought me this view…I'm okay with it.

It's dark out, but I rarely close the room-darkening shades, so the city lights shine onto the bed and I can see Tris in all of her silken skin— _DAMN IT!_

 _Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!_

This is one of the moments where I sincerely hate being a gentleman—one of the few moments where I wish I were more like Uriah. _Mggghhhhh!_ Trying to grumble in my mind only, I slide the sheet up to cover her perfect torso. Apparently I'm not _that_ much of a gentleman, though, because the sheet leaves nothing to the imagination.

But…I know I _still_ won't look except for out of the corner of my eye where I can see her nipples have made small tents in the sheet. _But, ya know…only out of the corner of my eye…_

Aside from that, I lean up on my elbow and allow myself to watch her peaceful, sleeping, face. I've never been able to tell if she breathes through her mouth or her nose— _Maybe both?_ Her lips are always slightly parted. I hold the back of my fingers up close to her face. _Definitely both…_ I lay my head on my arm, still able to look at the left side of her face, although it's obscured from the light. She'd be happy with that anyway, because of her bruising… _My fault…that shit…is all on me_.

I wonder if she'll ever truly, honestly, forgive me for that? I reach over her and take her right hand, linking our fingers and bringing both up to her heart…only because I need an excuse to feel it beat.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I wake suddenly. This time no need to find my bearings, no problem opening my eyes—they more or less shoot open. Something's wrong—I'm in too much pain. I lift my head and frown for a moment because of the scene I take in. It's light out now so I can see everything. I'm clutching Tobias's hand over my chest, his head is burrowed next to my rib cage and one of his legs is slung over mine. I ignore the pain for one more second, just taking in how comfortable I would otherwise be. But still…something's not right.

With more reluctance than ever, I detangle our hands and just the movement of my right arm rips pain through my side. I let out a very, very, shaky breath trying to remember what happened…

Tobias had a nightmare, bone crushing pain and the last thing I zoned in on was the orchid picture he had put on the table under the TV… I passed out. I know it.

I carefully inch my left leg out from under his, but stop as he shifts and sucks in a quick breath. I quietly pray that he's not having a nightmare, for his sake and for my own. But just in case he is, I need to get out of this bed. Bearing all my weight on my left arm, I push myself up to an excruciating upright sitting position, ready to swing my legs off the bed. But all I see are what feels like miles and miles of dizzying, unused, real estate in this fucking stupid, stupid, king size bed!

I can feel my breath start to accelerate as Tobias twitches. I need to get out of this bed, but I see the contorted look on his face and it kills me. Fuck, when I have nightmares I pray in the fucking nightmare for someone to wake me and now I can't even do this for him? _I'm evil! Okay, you'll wake him…once you get out…of…this…bed._ I'm slowly, inching myself forward putting all weight on my left arm.

I don't know how long it takes me, keeping my eyes on Tobias's twitching legs, anticipating him to kick out. But, finally, with bleeding cheeks on the inside and painful wetness on the outside I make it to the edge of the bed. I feel some cooling relief along the side of my head that I soon realize is sweat.

"Fuck," I grunt clenching my teeth as I scream on the inside pushing myself up to stand.

And then I see it through the incredibly loose wrap that is supposed to be helping my posture—the bandage, soaked through and bloated from blood pooling.

"Uh…" I hobble to the bathroom with tunnel vision.

 _I need to get to the sink, the sink, the sink. And to my bag. Get to the bag. Just re-bandage it. It happens. Stitches pop. Wounds reopen. Re-bandage and rewrap it. You'll be fine… You'll be fine… You'll be fine…_

I can see I'm almost to the sink. It's very foggy, but it's in sight. I can see it. It seems to take years, but I do end up in the bathroom as I undo the wrap quickly because suddenly nothing seems to hurt. Then I quickly rip off the Band-aid and throw it on the sink. I chuckle because that was no Band-aid. Then I take a couple breaths that I can only imagine is what a woman sounds like when she gives birth, before I smack at the box of tissues, to dab up the blood. But the red on the floor catches my eye. _Jesus, did someone die in here?!_

I turn to face the mirror, seeing myself for what I am—

"Tris…?"

I turn to see Tobias's distorted, horrified face. _Oh, he's mad…_

"I know. I'm sorry about me, the naked, and the floor. Uh… Can I get a towel? The Kleenex won't…help me. Sorry, I can get it."

I walk toward the closet but Tobias is suddenly inches from my face talking to me and making me walk backward and talking to me some more as I nod my head at his deep monotonous voice. I feel something cool and flat on my back and look down at my left hand that Tobias is holding down on the counter.

"Lean on your hand! Tris, listen to me! Do…not…move. Look at me."

I nod my head understanding that I am NOT…TO…MOVE! He seems to believe me as he goes into his I-will-fix-this-if-it-kills-me mode. Which is good, because I think someone may already have died right here, so he has a lot of fixing to do.

I nod at his questions even when his voice escalates and he pinches at my sides.

"By yourself?!" He throws bloody towels in the sink. "Look at this, Tris! You can't… Fuck, you can't…"

"I'm sorry."

He looks so mad. I watch him as he pulls the extra stuff the bitches from the hospital sent me home with.

"I'm gonna…just get some water." I go to walk out to the kitchen until I'm gripped by strong arms.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" He gets eye level with me so I can touch his mouth, but he catches my fingers before I can do more. "Tris?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"Have you heard anything I've been saying to you?"

"Yeah, I'm just really…thirsty." I try to push past him but he grabs me again.

"Tris, okay. Fuck... I'll get you water. Just stay, right here."

I nod my head amazed at his borderline controlling tendencies as I watch him head into the kitchen. He's wearing a T-shirt. He never sleeps in a T-shirt… I wander back in the bathroom catching a side view of myself and I'm frozen on the spot feeling like someone smacked me in the face. I have dried blood all down my side and I'm totally naked and my world is now back in order. And by back in order, I mean, a total disaster.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I wake in a cold sweat, thankful to be in my bed and thankful that shit, again, wasn't real. I hear water running in the bathroom and jump out of bed to see what I can do to help. But before I can get more than two steps, I stop myself. _Tris is a capable individual. She is able to function. She doesn't want you hovering. She's probably brushing her teeth. Or maybe washing her face. Let her—_

"You'll be fine… You'll be fine… You'll be fine…" I hear her repeat like a mantra.

It's accompanied by heavy, purposeful breathing and she's not even trying to be sneaky about it. The something flops and then she laughs. That's all I can take so I decide to rid her of her privacy rights and walk into the bathroom.

I get there as she turns to the side, examining her wound—the damage from having a chest tube slammed into your lung. And it's openly bleeding, all down her side and onto the floor. And her wrapping is hanging loosely around her hips. She has both sinks running and the Kleenex box is floating in one of the sinks and the other bandage is bloated and bloody sitting right on the sink.

"Tris…?" I finally choke out, realizing I was momentarily frozen to the spot.

"I know. I'm sorry about me, the naked, and the floor. Uh… Can I get a towel? The Kleenex won't…help me. Sorry, I can get it."

She walks to the closet, flitting her hands in the air spastically while I go into straight up overdrive.

"No, no, no, no, no." I take her by her shoulders trying to figure out what the fuck she's doing. I look back-and-forth from her side to the calm resolved look on her face. "Baby, what are you doing? Did you try to change the dressing yourself?"

She's nodding her head evenly at me.

"Back up, come on."

I lead her by her hips walking her backward. I lean over to get a better view of her side as blood trickles over my fingertips and I see a mess of it all over the floor.

"Tris!" I hiss in exasperation. "What the hell? Why can't you just…fucking…wait?! I'm here to help you!"

She inches to the right as if she's trying to get around me.

"Lean on your hand," I demand as she looks at me quizzically and then shakes her head as if I'm overreacting. "Tris, listen to me! Do…not…move. Look at me." I place my fingers firmly on her cheek so she knows I'm not fucking around here!

She seems to give in and nods her head, defeated.

I unplug the sink and take out the soaked Kleenex box, then reach over for the hand towel and run it under the warm water.

"Why did you try to do this alone?" I ask trying to keep my cool as I lift her arm and dab at the stitches.

I look closely, trying to figure out where exactly the bleeding is coming from. It's beginning to slow down I think, so I'm hoping all she did was pop some stitches.

"Tris?" I glance up at her stone cold stare.

"Hmm?"

"Why the hell aren't you answering me?"

"Oh, uh…sorry."

I close my eyes and walk the pads of my fingers back and forth over her ribs. They still feel as if they're in place—aligned, just swollen again.

"So, you got up and just, what? Figured 'Hey, fuck my punctured lung and broken ribs, I'm going to be dumb and do this all on my own!'?"

I look up at her as she nods her head agreeing with me.

"All alone?" I need to make sure I'm hearing this correctly.

She nods her head again as if this isn't a big fucking deal!

"By yourself?!"

I'm officially pissed at how fucking aloof she is about this. I toss the bloody rag in the sink and point to the scene.

"Look at this, Tris! You can't… Fuck, you can't…" And I apparently can't even put into proper words how aggravated I am with her!

"I'm sorry."

"Jesus!" I whisper at that meaningless apology as I go over to her bag and take out all of the supplies the nice nurses sent home with us—iodine, gauze, anti-bacterial ointment, liquid stitches, and another rib wrap. I pause and look at the one that still hangs loosely around her ribs. _How did that one become so bloodied? And how was that not a RED FLAG that it's time for HELP?!_

"… …. …. get some water."

I barely hear the tail end of that before I'm in front of her, blocking her from the kitchen, ready to go ape shit. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

I get right in her face—as in eye level. But all she does is smile and reach up to touch my mouth.

"Tris?" I take her hand away gently, taking a deeper look in her eyes—my emergency mode moving onto secondary actions.

"Mmm hmm?"

She looks woozy and unfocused and I can't FUCKING BELIEVE I'm just starting to notice it.

I cup her face gently to check out her pupils—pretty damned dilated. "Have you heard anything I've been saying to you?"

"Yeah, I'm just really…thirsty."

She actually tries to push me aside, which is almost funny, were this situation remotely funny. But then she blinks her eyes and furrows her brows.

"Tris, okay. Fuck..." I try to collect myself and grasp her shoulders to steady her…and myself.

 _When was the last time she drank water? What the fuck time is it anyway_? She probably does need water.

"I'll get you water. Just stay, right here."

Rushing to the kitchen, I grab a glass and fill it at the dispenser on the fridge. It's taking soooo much longer than usual!

I didn't _want_ to leave her just standing there, but sitting would be painful and walking would be painful, so…fuck, I'm DOING THE BEST I CAN!

The glass is only half-full but, fuck it! I head back in there quickly anyway, to see Tris painfully pulling a towel out of the closet with her left hand trying to wrap it around her. She makes a strangled noise as I put the glass on the counter and walk over to her.

"Here." I take the towel out of her hand and drape it over her shoulders, not missing the fact that her face is flushed and she's biting the fuck out of her lip—basically trying not to scream out in pain, knowing that I would come running. "Do you want to rinse off the in the—"

"No."

"Okay." I stand there waiting for her to tell me what to do, but she doesn't so I lead her by the elbow back over to the sink.

I turn on the faucet to warm up the water as I reach in the alcove to grab another hand towel. I know she's examining herself in the mirror but I'm pretending not to notice, even when the tears drip off her chin. I know what she sees right now, and if I take this moment to tell her she's beautiful to me, however accurate, she won't believe it for a second. And I don't want that perfect word to lose its meaning.

As much as I hate the fact that Tris literally doesn't hear compliments, I love that about her at the same time—she doesn't rely on them to make her stronger or to make her feel better about herself. Her strength is all her. It's 100% her own making. She's the ultimate version of a self-made woman.

Once the water is warm enough, I make eye contact asking if I can move the towel off her shoulder. She shrugs but then tenses as it falls off her right shoulder. That's not a good sign. So I kneel down and go through her bag, holding up a pair of underwear for her approval. I get the nod for the light green cotton ones that I have a particularly fond memory of involving a ceiling fan. But I push it to she side seeing as she's already standing in front of me, practically nude and completely vulnerable. _Not needed, Tobias._

Hobbling back on my knees I hold them for her to step into, shaking my head at the blood on the floor. Then I slide them up her legs.

"Ouch," I utter under my breath pretending she injured me with her non-shaven legs.

"You're a bastard."

I chuckle and secure her underwear over her perfect ass, lingering briefly as I drag my fingers forward. _Ugh… … … …_

Then I pull the towel free and raise her elbow, feeling a moment of frustration as she reaches over her torso with her left hand to cover her breasts. But then I realize it's probably better that way. I really do not need her perfect pink nipples staring at me in the mirror begging me for attention right now.

"I know I shouldn't care," she whispers before clearing her throat.

"Mmm hmm."

"I've just lost weight and I…"

It's funny to me how she feels the need to explain this shit.

"Hey, it's okay." We make quick eye contact and I shrug. "I've lost weight, too."

"Really?"

"Yep," I say noncommittally although I hate the fact that I have, or maybe I hate the reason I have.

"Sorry. The asshole in me really likes that."

I stop, still holding the warm rag up to her body and process the twinge I just felt at that remark. I reflect back on how I felt when I saw a side view of Tris from afar at Hangars.

 _I look back up at Tris as she has her hands on her hips giving Christina a blatant 'no.' Her abs definitely resemble more of a six pack than her usual fit yet softer abdomen. She's lost weight. Fuck… She turns to the side and I deflate when I see how much she's lost. In reality, it probably isn't much. But five pounds on her would look like 20 on someone else. She doesn't look at all unattractive. She's still fucking beautiful. It's just the knowledge that I have imposed it on her that's killing me._

"Interesting… Because when I noticed you lost weight, it broke my heart," I say honestly.

"Tobias, I'm sorry. I know you—"

"So, you were pretty out of it when I walked in here, huh?" I ask, deflecting, as I carefully wipe her leg down with the warm rag.

I stand and avert my eyes, as I rinse out the cloth and go back to do the best I can with her rib cage. _It's so bruised…_ Flashes of him kicking her over and over slam me and my eyes instantly burn at the image.

"Hey," she says softly trying to get my attention, which I ignore.

"Why did you try to do this yourself?" I ask flatly hoping she hears the intention in my voice and not the subtle hurt.

"Uh…I didn't."

"You said you did."

"Oh…well, yeah, I guess I was pretty out of it. I don't really remember what you said to me," she laughs nervously.

"Drink some water," I order nodding in the direction of the glass.

She takes it, shakily and gulps half of it down, handing the remainder to me as I shake my head unwilling to take it.

"Drink some water," she mimics in her version of my tone of voice. _Awful…_

Biting my tongue, I put the rag down and petulantly take a sip of water, keeping very annoyed eye contact, before handing it back to her and giving her a close-mouthed smile, which she returns with equal annoyance.

I grab the iodine and put some on the gauze dabbing at her stitches until something clicks in my head.

"So, then, what…happened? If you didn't try to do this yourself…"

I examine the iodine while it dries as I reach for the liquid stitches. She only popped three—

"Oh…I just…woke up and…well, I had to go to the bathroom. And I must have just jumped out of bed and, I don't know, I guess they popped 'cause next thing I know, I…"

I lean back on my haunches for a moment taking in that total load of bullshit she just handed me. She's lying and I now need to figure out why she feels the fucking need to do that.

 _Why does Tris lie? Tris lies to deflect attention? What is there to deflect in this situation?_

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 _Why do I say such stupid shit?!_ Immediately, after pretty much telling him the fact that he was miserable makes me happy, I felt terrible. It's not that I wanted him to be miserable, it was just nice hearing that we were in the same boat.

"Hey." I tilt my head prompting him to look at me, but what I really want to do it crouch down and grab his face.

"Why did you try to do this yourself?" he practically interjects.

 _Fuck!_ Just the detached tone of his voice—he's not mad. It's worse—he's hurt. _Damn it!_

"Uh…I didn't."

"You said you did," he accuses glancing up at me sternly.

My mind scans over the haziest point in the scenario. I saw blood all down my side, I was in pain, everything got foggy, I was dizzy and panicked. He came in the bathroom and…yeah, that's all I...

"Oh…well, yeah, I guess I was pretty out of it. I don't really remember what you said to me."

"Drink some water." He jerks his head at the glass that he was thoughtful enough to get for me.

Grabbing for it, it almost slides out of my hands, but I manage to drink a shit ton of it before realizing he probably needs it as much as I do. I hold it in front of his face as he flinches away and shakes his head stubbornly.

"Drink some water." _And there's the worst Tobias voice ever!_

He practically yanks it out of my hand and takes one infantile sip with a smartass expression, setting the glass on the counter. I give him the middle finger in my mind, regretting it as he goes back to work on my side. _He doesn't have to do any of this shit! Can't I be grateful?_

I look at all the blood on the floor as he holds my arm up dabbing at my side. _How did that happen?_

I run the events of last night over in my head. I must not have slept that long because Tobias woke me and it was still dark _. He woke me… Oh, God…_ I remember him having a nightmare and practically crushing me, and then being thrown upright, a mass amount of pain and that's it. I realize I must have popped my stitches and then _… Oh, no, no, no… Tris, keep your damned mouth shut!_

"So, then, what…happened? If you didn't try to do this yourself…"

I swallow and give the simplest version I can think of, knowing if I fuck this up he will blame himself. "Oh…I just…woke up and…well, I had to go to the bathroom. And I must have just jumped out of bed and, I don't know, I guess they popped 'cause next thing I know, I…" I trail off because my heart is racing and I know I'll just keep blubbering and give myself away if I keep talking.

So, I'm just going to keep looking straight ahead, at myself. _Fuck, torture at it's finest._ I sense him looking up at me. _No, please, please, please… I did really well that time! It wasn't an all out lie!_ He's incredibly quiet suddenly and I'm not gonna say a fuckin' word.

He holds my skin together and adds some liquid stitches quite deftly and I only shed one tear out of my left eye at the sudden pinch. Then he stands as I glance at the blank expression on his face and slowly reddening cheeks, holding my stitches in place and reaching for the antibacterial cream. I keep my eyes trained on him as bites his tongue and purses his lips simultaneously. _Shit, shit, shit…_

"Tobias—"

"Shh," he orders as he dabs on the cream, then reaches for the thick gauze with shaky hands.

"I _can't_ shh—"

"Learn," he states sternly.

 _Five, four, three, two, one…_

He looks up and me and shakes his head saying sorry with his eyes while I nod my head knowing the only reason he doesn't want me to talk is because he'll lose his mind if I do. He thinks I'll try to make excuses. _They aren't excuses!_

I do stay quiet while he tapes on the gauze perfectly as if he's done it a thousand times.

"How is it you can do _that_ like an expert but it took you weeks to learn how to wash my hair—"

"Do you want me to put a new wrap on?" he interrupts my attempt at lightening the mood.

"It was more for posture purposes, it doesn't hold any wayward ribs in place," I chuckle nervously. "And ya know what? It probably aggravated the bandage anyway! And that's why—"

He walks out of the bathroom clearing his throat as I stand there with wide eyes not knowing what to do since I'm standing here topless in a mess of water and blood. So I walk to my bag and lower myself straight down to grab a shirt. Forcing air down the back of my throat in place of a grunt of pain as I stand back up—

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Tobias yells, startling me as I take a few steps backward.

"Uh, I, I, I didn't think you were coming back I'm sorry," I say somehow in one breath.

Then I'm immediately mad at myself for apologizing as I change my tune and stare at him angrily. He doesn't get to yell at me because he's pissed at himself. But I'm taken aback again at the loss of color on his face as the T-shirt he was holding falls to the floor.

"Tris," he whispers as his eyes turn red and an instant tear comes out which he wipes away as if it burns his cheek. "I…"

I turn my body and back into the wall enjoying the support it provides beckoning him to come closer, which he denies me.

"Tris, the way you just said that…" He runs his hand down his face. "It didn't sound like you. Is that…? Fuck! You just apologized when I yelled at you!" He clenches his jaw and backs out of the bathroom.

"Tobias James Eaton! Don't leave me in this fucking bathroom for one more God-damned minute!"

Exhaling a deep breath, he rounds the corner coming close enough to help me, but I grab his T-shirt with my left hand twisting it forcefully and pulling him flush to me. He resists for a moment but then relaxes, resting his forehead on the wall, hands at his sides.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking. And the answer is, no, I never apologized to him when he was being cruel or…anything else. I didn't make excuses for him. I never had the thoughts in my head that I hear so many others have had. I never thought 'he didn't know what he was doing,' or 'he's really sorry,' or 'it was a one-time thing.' The only time I did give him the benefit of the doubt was when I found out he was on medication. But I soon figured out, his behavior went beyond his Depression. Deep down I always knew it would happen again. I think that's been the hardest part—feeling like I don't fit in. Other women, shit, at least, they were under a delusion… Me? No, I fucking knew! And I _really_ did nothing. So, that makes me the biggest dumbass of all—"

"Tris—"

"You're turn to keep your mouth _shut_."

I feel his Adam's apple graze my head and I relinquish my grip on his shirt, feeling confident he won't flee as he grazes my arms with the backs of his fingers. So I place my hands on his slim hips, feeling his muscles under my fingers.

"I don't make excuses for you, Tobias. I never have. You can be a real prick, sometimes. You have a temper and you let your frustrations get the better of you. You're flawed. I'm flawed. Shit, you just bandaged me back up without even thinking twice! And what did I do? I made a hateful comment and disregarded everything you just did by nearly popping my stitches again!"

I stand still not knowing what else to say, just loving the feeling of his warm skin under my thumbs. I rest the pads of my fingers under the hemline of his sleep pants, rubbing circles on his lower back with my thumbs. He puts his forehead on my head and starts gliding the tips of his fingers up and down my sides sending shivers through my body.

"You looked at me like I scared you."

"Well, you _startled_ me. Why are you so sensitive to this all the sudden? It's not like it's the first time you've yelled at me. And you and I both know it won't be the last..."

He doesn't answer me. When he doesn't respond, it's always because the answer is right there in front of me and there's no need for an explanation. Why is he suddenly over conscious of me being scared of him when all he's ever really done is make me feel safe? Except in the hospital, when I found out the partial version of—

 _The hospital…_

"Tobias," I sigh. "What I said to you in the hospital… You're not… That wasn't… Fuck, please don't hold onto that—

I can't get another word out as he roughly cups my cheeks and brings his lips down onto mine as I inhale a startled breath. He pulls away momentarily but then changes his mind and pulls me to him by my lower back moving his mouth over mine. And because I can't resist this man, I completely allow him to continue with his transparent distraction and invite him in, letting him do all the work. I let him tangle his left hand in my hair, I let him explore my mouth and my lips with his tongue, I let his free hand roam my side slowly up and down with just his palm. I rest my right hand on his hip, unable to do much more with it, but try to reciprocate the best I can with my left, pulling him to me by his shoulder. I shiver as I feel the heel of his palm graze my left breast, and an embarrassing whimper comes out of me when he stills his hand so he can run the tip of his thumb back and forth underneath it. Suddenly he stops and I realize he's trembling slightly.

I pull away and look up at him. "Are you…okay?"

"Yeah..." He closes his mouth and opens it again like he wants to say something but closes it again.

"Tell me."

"I just…uh…don't want to hurt you."

I nod my head slightly, but can't help but glance down again at his entirely non-aroused self. I mean, I know we were just kissing so it's not game on time. But… _FUCK!_ So, of course, what do I do? Cover up my boobs like a junior high adolescent in the locker room!

"Tris, don't—"

"Can you hand me that shirt?"

He bends down to get the T-shirt he brought in for me and hands it to me looking me in the eye as if pleading for me to understand. _Nothin' to understand!_

"Do you want me to help—"

"Just put it over my head…please."

He bunches it up and puts my head through the neckline while I finally relax and put my left arm through as he reaches in and helps me with my right.

"Thank you," I say meekly. _Ugh… Meekly…_

"Sure."

"Well, uh…" I walk over to the sink leaving Tobias standing by the shower door. "I'm gonna brush my teeth and…" I look down at the blood, water, Kleenex, gauze, towels, etc. piled up on his floor. "Fuck, Tobias. I'm so sorry about this mess—"

"Tris, seriously… We both know who's fault _this_ is—"

" _Not…yours_." I stare at him with my don't-mess-with-me eyes.

He stands there and stares me down right back, then shakes his head knowing I've won.

"I'm gonna shower. Do not clean this up. I'm not fuckin' around, Tris!" He points at me until I make eye contact.

"Okay, okay." I move toward the left sink knowing I can, at least, clean some of it—

"No."

I look at his very serious face and tip toe back over to him, grabbing his hand, closing the distance between us completely. Personally, I would prefer not to be more than inches away from him, even if it seems we have differing goals at the moment. I look up at him, stand on my tiptoes and kiss him softly on the cheek lingering, lingering, lingering. It's strange, kissing him when he has so much facial hair. It tickles my nose when I pull away. I feel a pull at the bottom of my T-shirt where he seems to have grabbed a fistful of it.

"Sorry," he whispers as he lets the shirt go, dragging his thumb across my leg as he does it.

"Why—"

But he turns and walks into the shower, clothes on and all, before I can even ask him why he's sorry.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Well that was officially terrible and awkward and I'm just a fucking idiot! Had to go for the gold (okay not the gold, but maybe the bronze) and make out with her when she can barely reciprocate. And that's the problem…she barely reciprocated. _Because she can't? Because she doesn't want to?_ As much as it makes me an asshole, I hope it's the former.

After I hear her shut the bathroom door, I kick out of my sleep pants, T-shirt and briefs resisting the urge to whip them against the shower wall.

I can't even take my clothes off in front of her because I know it'll make her uncomfortable. She definitely doesn't want me to see _her_ naked, so I can, at least, be considerate on that end.

God, feeling the tips of her fingers slide into the hem of my pants, and then her allowing me to pull her close, the feeling of her bare breasts pushed up against me… _Just had to wear a fuckin' T-shirt!_ She had no idea the view she was giving me as I rested my forehead on her head. I had a perfect down-shot of her very, very, enticing chest. I got to literally _watch_ her nipples harden as I ran my fingers up and down her sides. But the immediate subject change calmed me…very quickly. All it took was the mere suggestion of her being afraid of me like she was of Eric, and it was over. Even as I was trying to move back into safer territory and distract myself with her phenomenal kisses, he was in the back of my mind.

I soap up my hair quickly and rinse it out, leaving my head under the shower. I run the pad of my index finger over the tip of my thumb remembering the feeling of the underside of her breast as I grazed it with my thumb back and forth. I close my eyes as the familiar burning sensation comes back because all I was thinking at that moment, was what Eric did to her while she was passed out. He most likely had plenty of time to…touch her however he wanted…to do whatever he wanted…

It's at this very moment that I wish Tris weren't here. So I could throw something or scream or provide myself with some kind of distraction. I can feel everything building up and I think it may bury me.

I had nightmares and I _know_ I was the one to rip out her stitches. Stitches—a perfect metaphor for our relationship right now! That's why she was sitting up when I woke the first time, and then she passed out from the pain. I yelled at her for trying to do the dressing herself, without even noticing that she was in shock.

I love her and want her so badly but there are more things in the way than I can push through at the moment. I want to be near her. I swear, sometimes it feels like I want to crush her—like being more than inches away will be the end of me. But at the same time, arms length sounds amazing right now.

I've never had to deal with things that are literally standing right in front of me, demanding my emotional attention and maturity. I can't lash out when she's here.

But there is no worse thought in the world than her not being here. I want her here. I want her.

"I just don't know what the _fuck I'm doing!"_ I emit clenching my jaw.

I turn up the shower temperature significantly—the pain of the hot water beating down on my back providing me with a welcomed interference from my hyper-reactive mind as I try to push through the scorching heat.

… … …

The acclimation of my body to the water being my wake up call, along with the confusing inclination to wrap my arms around Tris from behind and bury my face in her neck brings me back to reality. My skin is pruned and I have no clue how long I've been in the shower. At some point I had braced the shower wall so I push myself away from it, clearing my throat and turning off the water. _One of these days I will take a NORMAL shower. At least, I get to actually use my shower again._

Out of habit I grab at the towel on the door and dry my face with it, then slinging it around my waist, I walk out of the shower drying my feet on the towel mat, heading to the sink. The mirror surprisingly isn't fogged up and I decide to actually take the time to look in the mirror. I look shockingly rested, but my beard is fucked. _I wonder if Tris even likes it. She may hate it! Who the hell wants to make out with a porcupine? Damn!_

Again feeling the even greater need to have Tris in my arms, I quickly take out my clippers and clean up my face, hoping I will no longer share a likeness with a homeless logger.

 _How did she possibly find me attractive like that? What the hell is wrong with her? Fuck, maybe she didn't. Awesome._

I go for my toothbrush, knowing I must have horrendous morning breath, when my fingers brush against a wet one placed nicely next to mine. I grin at that until I realize…I forgot to get a towel, I didn't lay out the towel mat and I hadn't turned on the vent fan. I close my eyes trying to talk myself out of the fact that Tris saw and heard all of my frustration. I can just see her shocked face as she listens to my anger, or as she watches me plunge myself under scalding water. I never turn on the vent fan. This bathroom's huge so there was never a need. _She knew… Fuck…_

I drag my hands, both hands, down my face.

"She doesn't need this _shit_ from me!" I mouth to myself in the mirror as I grab my toothbrush and begin to savagely beat the hell out of my teeth.

Once my gums are officially on fire, I rinse out my mouth, throw the toothbrush onto the countertop, take a deep breath and walk out to the bedroom, taking in the sight before me…

Out on the balcony, with the patio chair tilted toward the right as to get a slight view of the lake, sits Tris. Her left foot is flat on the seat of the chair and she's resting her arm on her propped up knee. The action makes my T-shirt ride up to the apex of her thighs and I watch her leans muscles move as she flexes and points her right leg. I drag my eyes up to her face as she holds a mug up to her mouth and takes a sip, making a small smile before rubbing her lips together. I love how she doesn't hold the coffee mug by the handle—she, more or less, cradles it as if it's a precious commodity, sliding her slim fingers under the handle. She must have managed to brush her hair because it's swept over the back of the chair, hanging in loose waves. The backlighting making her hair take on a caramel color rather than the usual blondish tones. How could I…ever think…for one second, that I needed space…from _that?_

Tossing my towel onto the floor, I just about trip into my briefs because I can't tear my eyes away from her. I put my jeans on so quickly I almost zip part of my dick up before I head out there, but then I decide to put a T-shirt on at the last minute—there's are some voyeur's in the building straight across from me and I've caught them with their binoculars on several occasions.

 _Shit! She needs pants! Dudes do not get to see her—Hmm… Wait a minute…_ I follow my nose toward a much-craved aroma as I stumble toward the kitchen in some kind of trance.

On the breakfast bar, I see a hot cup of coffee and two pieces of buttered toast with a note.

 _Just needed some space._

 _I love you._

Translation—she knows _I_ needed space, so she's giving me some. I slump down in one of the stools feeling like the biggest ass to ever have walked the Earth. I grab at the toast taking an all-too-big of a bite along with an all-too-big of a sip of the hot coffee.

 _Fuck, that tastes amazing… I should be doing this with her! I can't even count how many times I had wished for this opportunity and now here it is—my opportunity…sitting her sweet cheeks out on my balcony giving ME space! And how did she even do this? Left-handed?_ I look down at the toast and see that it's semi-demolished. _Yep, left-handed! Where did I even have bread? And how are people making coffee?! WHAT THE FUCK—_

"Hey."

My angry eyes snap up to meet Tris's softer ones as she leans on the corner pillar at the end of the breakfast bar. Mine immediately melt to match hers. _At least, I hope they do!_

"Hi don't leave okay?" I somehow manage to exhale and speak at the same time.

She nods her head but looks at me warily, deservedly so. I turn my stool to face her, leaning forward significantly to reach the hem of my T-shirt, pulling her to me between my legs. I immediately flex my leg muscles around her thighs trying to keep eye contact, which she's dodging a little. I wrap my right arm around her torso and rest my left hand on her hip, pulling her closer and closer until she finally sighs and gives in, leaning into me. I sigh in return and move my head into her neck grasping my forearms loosely behind her back and crossing my ankles behind her, anchoring her to me. _God, she's only in my T-shirt… And she's here. How many nights have I dreamt about this shit? Coffee, Tris, T-shirt! Everything else…meaningless!_

"Now you can't leave," I whisper petulantly into her neck as she chuckles.

She moves her hands that were braced on my thighs up toward my groin stopping right at the top before turning her head and running her lips up and down my earlobe causing me serious pause. "I've gotten out of worse holds, you know."

 _She has gotten out of worse holds. A lot worse…_

I involuntarily loosen my grip and uncross my ankles, cursing how my body reacts before my mind does. Yet I keep my head in her neck waiting for the expected response of her pulling away while hanging onto this moment for as long as I can.

And I get it as she straightens up and looks at me with a confused expression—as if she's trying to figure out where she went wrong. Something must connect as she shakes her head and smiles uncomfortably. I'm sure my shame and averted eyes don't help.

She takes a short breath preparing to speak, but then stops and purses her lips with a helpless expression. _She's_ trying desperately to figure out a way to make this better for _me_. _What a fucking joke! I'm the one who should be making this better for her!_

She begins to back away but I grip her hips prompting her to stay.

"Tris—"

"I'm not the one who leaves, Tobias," she deadpans as she pries my fingers away even though I tense them up in protest.

"Fuck. I know. But I meant what I said—"

"I _couldn't…"_ she grunts as she finally frees herself from my greedy fingers, "put the toaster away, so I just kinda left it there. There's more coffee in the pot and—"

"Can we talk about this—"

" _And_ I, uh, hope I got you the right towel. I made sure to take one from the bottom of the pile, so…"

I close my eyes as she walks into my room. But then, determined to explain myself I follow her, just about taking her down as we collide.

"Mgh!" She grabs her side staggering back as I pull her arm to me.

"Are you okay?" I ask desperately as I move her elbow feeling her rib for fractures.

Then something hard is thrust into my chest. I look down to see Tris's tablet and she's pushing it forcefully into me.

"Take it."


	3. POVs

Guaranteed grammar errors! But I'm sleepy...

 **Chapter 3 -** POVs

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I've been sitting out here for, I can only guess, but maybe an hour. At this point, I'm fairly confident he left. I haven't heard anything break in awhile. I can only assume the first item was his coffee mug (they're ordinary, white and ugly anyway) and the second, probably, his plate. Unless he punched a wall. _It better not have been my damned iPad!_

If we make it through this (I hate the fact that I even have to think that way right now!), that is some bullshit I will not tolerate. I understand the need to take out anger. I have the same I-like-to-throw-shit tendencies. But I'm smaller and my overhand wouldn't cause devastation! _That's a valid excuse, right?_

I pick up my phone to make sure, one last time, that it is, in fact, 3:00 on Thursday. Turns out, it's 3:04. We slept for, I can't be sure, but, maybe 30 hours? I laughed out loud when I saw the time on my tablet. That was right before Tobias smashed into me and I shoved it in his face—email account open for him to _browse._ I left him with the best two words I could think of at that moment before excusing myself, or storming out, to the balcony—" _That's_ why."

I needed the air cleared—hoping for a new start. _Or some shit like that…_

It was a spontaneous action, but not one I regret. Truthfully, I had spent about 40 minutes in this very spot contemplating how to address the whole email thing. The problem being, he's so careful around me right now that I know he would hold back all genuine reactions. I knew he _needed_ to see it alone, yet _shouldn't_ see it alone? So, I figured my best bet would be to stay out of his way for a bit, and when he was ready to talk, I would be here.

What he _really_ needs is a padded cell with a punching bag, a treadmill, and moral support!

 **Flashback:**

I slump my shoulders like a three-year-old who didn't get the right flavor of ice cream and shuffle to the sink. I close the bathroom door so chillyl air doesn't come in. Not that it matters—this bathroom is huge! I open the drawer my stuff used to be in with my eyes closed, then I pull the one-eye peak and am pleasantly surprised that it still is. I knew the brush was still here, but I had to be sure about the rest. And seeing it with my own eyes makes me smile wider than I have in weeks, putting me on the proper path for an excellent tooth brushing session.

I put toothpaste on the bristles with a lilt and begin brushing. Through the mirror, I see that Tobias didn't put his precious towel mat down (no dripping on the floor allowed!) and I crane my neck and don't see a towel through the fogged glass. So I brush my teeth quicker than I wanted and shuffle ( _That's going to be happening a lot, I suppose—a_

 _lot of shuffling!)_ to the closet wiping the toothpaste on the collar of Tobias's T-shirt (tee hee!). I quickly lay the mat down and take a brown towel (Yes, Tobias, from the bottom…) and pull the shower door toward me peeking in and hanging the towel up quickly.

But then, of course, all train of thought exits as I'm reminded of the beauty that is Tobias Eaton in the shower. My mouth hangs open like a dog begging for scraps as he soaps up his hair. I have a side view of him and my panties are instantly the most uncomfortable they've been in a long while. My eyes are darting everywhere in seeming indecision on exactly where they should stop—his ass, his abs, his flexing arms, his beyond perfect penis that I—

"I just don't know what the _fuck I'm doing!"_

I back up and close the free-swinging door quickly and before I can process anything else, a puff of steam rises out of the top of the shower. It's like high school kids getting out of their car after "lunch break." I'm frozen in place for a moment, trying to understand what _that_ was all about, but the steam is practically choking me so I make a quick (relatively speaking) exit, flipping on the vent fan so Tobias doesn't die from suffocation on my watch. _He can do that on his own damned time!_

Once I'm out of the bathroom, I try to be _me_ and push aside…everything. Him not wanting to touch me, going into the shower clothed, and yelling at himself that he's making a mistake, just to name a few. I choke back a sob as that fact hits me.

 _This was fast. I knew this was too fast!_

I wipe away the tears venomously from my cheeks. I had never been a crier until I met this man. _Now I'm a God-damned professional! Ever since orgasm #1! Who cries about that shit?!_

"Fuck damn! Ow!"

I look down at the kitchen floor as I bring my foot up into half-lotus, digging a seemingly embedded coffee bean out of my bare foot. I notice sporadic coffee beans littering the floor. It's as if someone had _tried_ to clean them up…but missed? I step to the side and do a hop skip, painfully, over busted ceramics.

"Jesus Christ!" I know I'm yelling but it feels great!

I now notice that I'm officially stuck in the middle of the hardwood floor kitchen, in a mine field of coffee beans, ceramic shards and random papers with scribbles. Lowering myself, I pick up a piece of paper with dates on it. It's Tobias's handwriting in frantic scribbles. _I've never seen his handwriting look shitty…_

 ** _Marcus – 12/17/2006 – Lunch at Arboretum._**

 ** _Carlos – 12/18/2006 – In town._**

Then in red ballpoint pen— **_COINCIDENCE_**

Another fucking tear drops as it comes together what Tobias was trying to do—piece everything together. It hadn't exactly hit me how out of the loop he may have been. He was completely drawing at straws, most likely trying to find connections or patterns. That is, after all, how his mind works. If something doesn't make sense or frustrates him, it just about pushes him over the edge. And I would imagine, this almost killed him.

I begin a slow 360 moving toward the bottles upon bottles of whiskey at his wet bar, then the broken rocks glasses littering the side table, the blankets thrown off the couch—basically the entire mess of his apartment. I recall him mentioning that he couldn't sleep in his bed and how he'd been living at the office.

He wasn't talking about _me_ in the shower. He literally has no idea how to make _anything_ right. And he's tip-toeing around me so much that I would imagine he's about ready to implode _._ I would rather that not happen…

I decide to take charge of the situation and break the glass ceiling. _But how do I do that? Geez, I'm special…_

 **End Flashback**

Sooooo, my break the glass ceiling idea played out…but, not well.

I don't know how long Tobias was in the shower for. Long enough for me to dig out a broom to sweep some of the mess into a pile, left-hand him some half-assed toast, make coffee and write him a vague note. Writing proved a bit of a challenge. I just about broke down because it was the first time I connected my injury with my being right-handed—I paint with my right hand. But I swallowed my pride and wrote it the best I could.

 ** _Just needed some space._**

 ** _I love you._**

I wanted to shoulder some of the burden. I should have just stayed out here—left the iPad open for him right next to his mangled toast and half-assed coffee. Then I wouldn't have ended up in his iron hold and I wouldn't have had to see the look on his face…again—the way he looks at me each time we get too close. He sees damaged Tris. His own modern day version of Beatrice.

 _I can't handle it. I'll never be able to handle it. I love him, so much. God, I love him. But…_

 _Subject change!_ I take a sip of the delicious liquid in my mug enjoying the burn as it trails down my throat and also enjoying the view from this balcony as it distracts me from the quiet inside the most likely empty apartment. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, leaning my head back against the back of the chair that ends up being way too short. So my head more or less plummets backward. _Whoa._

"Fuck it," I say aloud as I slowly stand, trying to divert my mind from a likely possibility I'm unwilling to accept.

I hear nothing as I enter the apartment, yet I still go room to room. Even the guest room, in which never had I before entered! _Fuck_... I knew he left, but a part of me still held out on hope.

I see a broken coffee mug thrown into the wall—the coffee stain soaked into the drywall. I walk into the kitchen to grab a rag, but in exchange, I step on something sharp.

"Son of a bitch!" I screech as I observe shards of ceramic from the busted plate on the floor. _At least, it wasn't my tablet. Fucker._

I hobble over to the kitchen table to inspect my foot, happy for the distraction because it's holding back the tears of mass disappointment that are about to spill forth along with keeping my heart inflated.

With shaking hands, I pull out the piece of ceramic, hoping I got it all. It immediately starts bleeding…as I start crying.

"Fuck this fucking…bullshit," I whine as my phone rings from the other room, which I ignore painfully.

The voicemail message alert comes through and I drum my fingers on the table looking away from the noise…even though my phone is in the other room. Once the reminder ding comes through, I decide I'm in the clear so I go back to my foot. And then the damned phone rings again…and ignore it again…and it's twice as painful.

…...

Going through the motions of ignoring incoming calls, voicemails, and texts, along with their subsequent reminder notifications soon drives me to the brink of having a meltdown. So I hold out no longer and shuffle-hobble my way to Tobias's bedroom, grabbing my phone off the nightstand fully prepared to throw it at the ridiculously oversized flat screen. But, hypocrisy not being high on my list, I stop myself and drop it instead. Of course, immediately picking it up and looking at the screen.

16 missed calls, 2 texts, 3 voicemails…from almost all random numbers.

 **Voicemail**

 **312-453-8742:** _"Tris. Fuck, it's Tobias. Hopefully, you knew that… Uh… I did NOT leave you. This is not me leaving you. I am not leaving you. Okay? I just… Mmmmggghhh…"_

"Idiot."

 **Voicemail**

 **312-896-9888: _"_** _It's me, Tobias,…again. I just have to sort some shit out. That sounds like a bullshit cop out, but… I just can't believe… Just, don't go. Please stay. I'll…be back…"_

"Would have loved to 'sort some shit out' with you, douche!"

 **Voicemail**

 **312-896-9888: "** _I love you."_

Some stupid puppy whimper comes out of me at the last message. The way he said, "I love you." It was an explanation.

 **312-567-7825:** In case you didn't check your Voicemail. I'M NOT LEAVING YOU!

 **312-567-7825** : I love you.

My mind is sufficiently blank. But I have enough wherewithal to do something. So, I text the one person who needs some redeeming…

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

It took some finagling and some promises I fully, and with great pleasure, intend to fulfill, but my awesome fi-an- _cée_ did allow Uriah to take over my class so I can go be on Four duty.

The call from Tris left me reeling for a minute there. First of all, that _she_ called me after what I put her through _. Damn._ And second, that she _chose_ to call _me_ to help Four. I am _not_ going to let my man down this time.

I have to admit I was a little hurt when she offered to call Will or Amar for back-up, but then again, why the hell wouldn't she suggest that? I wonder if she knows I'm the one who tried to hook him up with a bartender? Even though he was playin' me the whole time, it doesn't take away my motive.

 _Do not fuck this up, Zeke! You are going to be a husband! And hopefully, a father someday! Be better! I can be better._

I decided to walk on this exquisite, hotter than hell day. Yesterday it was 70 degrees, today…90. Northern Illinois weather at it's finest.

I had already been to the lake, per Tris's suggestion. Had to call Mom first because I didn't quite remember the exact spot he and Evelyn used to go. So after a long five-minute conversation with her, dodging all prompting questions about why I need this location, and promising her all her boys will come see her soon, she graced me with an answer. Yet, of course, when I trudged up to the lake…no Four. Just an empty bottle with the words _single barrel_ written in marker on a nametag sticker. _Oh, shit…_

Now here I am, looking down at the screen on my phone, following the blinking red dot showing me I'm about a half block away from my destination. Who knows what the hell I'm gonna walk in on! I duck my head and speed up, not seeing anything but random partially closed down shops and other things I'd rather not comment on. But, quicker than I process, I'm just about hit in the head with a rusted over neon sign. "Carol's" appears literally eye-level with me.

I look over my shoulder, really, really happy I'm not in uniform right now and peek in to see Four staring off into nothing, sitting on a bar stool. There are a group of guys playing cards at a table in the corner, and a couple random ladies lounging on dingy couches that seem to have taken the place of regular wooden chairs…or just any chair. And a rather full-figured bartender is sizing me up big-time. I loosen up my stride and walk in pulling up a stool completely aware of the many eyes on me as I don my perfectly fitted dark washed jeans, Brooks running shoes and gahhhh…I had to pick today to wear a polo shirt!

"Sup, man?" I say as I jerk my chin up giving Four my best deep-voiced blaccent. "You do know you are about one block shy of Englewood, right?" I squeak in his ear.

"What are you doing here?" he groans without looking at me.

"Bein' yo fri-end."

He looks at me and shakes his head. "You sound like an idiot. No offense, Carol."

"None taken, sweet cheeks." The bartender moves toward us giving me a look of pity. "You've gotta be the whitest black man I've ever seen. He's blacker than you." She tilts her head at Four.

"Why, thank you, Carol," he fuckin' acknowledges like the smooth talker he _isn't._

"No problem, handsome."

"Zeke, Carol, Carol, Zeke." _That's his attempt at an introduction?!_

She walks away shaking her head without even taking my drink order.

"Well, that was fuckin' embarrassing," I mumble very, very, aggravated.

"Well, you _are_ fuckin' embarrassing."

"Well, _you_ don't have to embarrass me in front of my people."

"Zeke, you grew up in the Northern suburbs. These are not your people. Now, how the _fuck_ did you find me?"

"Tracked your phone."

"What the hell—"

"Perks of the job, my friend! And shall we turn the tables? How the _fuck_ did you find _this_ place?"

He shrugs. "I had no money. So the cabby dropped me off on his way home."

I narrow my eyes and turn 100% of my attention to him. "And you thought that was smart?"

"No…just incredibly resourceful."

"That's some Uriah shit right there," I mutter. "And let me guess? You're drinking for free?"

"Yep."

"Trust me, baby. I would pay _him_ if I could look at that face all day. Now are you drinkin'?" Carol finally decides to treat me like a patron!

"Uh…Colt 45?" I suggest it more than order it because that beer sucks, but I am _trying_ to fit in here—

"Jesus, Zeke," Four spits out like an asshole. "He'll take a Heineken, Carol."

"Mmm…hmm…"

"You just winked at her." _That's how that bastard gets whatever he wants. Why won't he teach me this shit?_

"Of course, I winked at her."

Carol hands me my beer, yet only gives Four a smile while I wait patiently for him to start in. I may have to wait hours, but I am willing—

"Tris call you?" he says it so softly and like such a pussy. _I fuckin' love it._

"Yep."

"What'd she say?"

"She told me you left, I am to find you, and be your friend."

"I didn't leave," he deadpans.

"You, without a doubt, left."

He downs his drink, whatever the hell it is, and taps his fingers on the bar top to Carol for another. And now we wait again…and I'm not sayin' a fucking word!

"Well, did she _elaborate_?!" he grits out after 49 seconds.

"She said, try the lake first and the rest was up to me. And based on the fact that you smell like an oil rig and the empty bottle I found, you were indeed...at the lake. Fuckin' litterbug… And what _was_ that shit?"

"Dunno. I gave the guy at the liquor store the two bucks I had in my pocket and he gave me that. Can't be that strong. Hasn't hit me yet. But, I'm waiting!" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"She sounded…resolved."

He leans his head back, talking to the ceiling. "That is soooo Tris. Acceptance of the inevitable! I certainly don't disappoint, do I?"

"Never have." I hope he isn't expecting this to be a make-Four-feel-better conversation. "So, why'd you take off?"

"I _had_ to get out of there!" he jumps in. "I… She doesn't need to see that…side of me."

"What side of you would that be?"

"I threw a mug at the fuggin' wall and then smashed a plate on the fuggin' floor."

"What the _fug,_ Four! Control…your…shit-ass temper!"

The effects of the Chicago underground moonshine are starting to kick in and I need to get my information…prontomente.

"Pretty sure I scared her, 'cause she didn't come back into the apartment. So—"

"So you left."

"S'not the only reason I left."

"So, what happened? Why'd you wig and bail?"

He shrugs like a disconnected fool.

"Oh, one more thing," I add.

"What?"

" _She_ said you _have_ to tell me… _everything_." _She said nothing like that…_

"Well, _she_ doesn't get to make that fucking call." _Well, at least, I know which version of Drunk Four I'm going to be dealing with._

"I think, in this case, she does."

He actually seems to think about that as he stares off. I would imagine the effect all of this has had on his lady is coming to the forefront of his thick head.

"Short version?" he offers.

"Why do you always ask me that shit?"

"Nita the psychotic slutbag told Tris that I was all yiptee fuckin' doo with Marcus. Tris flipped and said some… _things_." He stops and seems to check out from reality while I wait and wait and wait. "Then she forgave me. It was awesome. Then we slept forever. I ripped out her stitches. I had a shower attack. She looked hot. I ate toast and was dumb. She shoved her iPad in my face. Now I'm here. Okay?"

"I think you left out a good 10% there."

"Yeah. There was an email—ten…emails."

"And…"

"Files, digital recordings, bullshit, videos, pictures, bullshit, emails. The absolute hell storm from Marcus's POV."

"Huh?"

"How…the _hell_ …have I already lost you?"

"What the fuck is a POV?"

"God… Will gets this shit from Christina. Pure osmosis…" he groans. "It means, 'point of view.' It's an acronym."

"What the hell is an acronym? And don't even get me started on osmosis."

"Initial components of words pronounced as words." _I have no clue what he just said!_

"What?!"

"Like ROY G BIV."

"Dude, what the hell…are you talking about?"

He stops and looks at me like I'm the dumbest person he's ever had a conversation with. "The colors of the fuckin' rainbow! Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet."

"I don't know what an indigo is and I'm pretty sure it's purple, not violet."

Carol marches over here as if she can't take it any longer and leans in, tilting her head toward the gentleman in the corner. "Indigo will be the shade of your balls if you don't keep your voice down!"

"He's sorry, Carol."

"Mmm hmm…"

I wait 'til she walks away to readdress this. "Dude! Must you always make things difficult? You could have said… I don't know—JK, BFF, TTFN—"

"What the hell is TTFN?"

"Ta Ta for now?"

He shakes his head, but I can tell he's tryin' to dig deep.

"Tigger? Winnie the Poo? You seriously got nothin'?"

"Boy, do you want your ass beat!?" Carol hisses again.

"No, ma'am."

I glance over at Fout to see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Fuckin', Tigger bullshit. Holy fuck, Zeke! There was feed from Marcus's office…" _Smooth transition, man._ "… feed from Marcus's house, feed from his _guest house—"_ He stops and turns to face me as if he just realized something. Then he actually starts laughing, almost hysterically.

"So, something is funny…"

"Oh, yeah. Horribly…funny."

"Ya gonna tell me what?"

"Oh, I can guarantee…you will hear…all about it. Fuck!"

I can't tell if he's mad or amused. "Can we move on? I already feel like I'm losin' you here—"

"There was surveillance from Dauntless."

"Dauntless? What the fuck?!"

"Any public footage he could get his hands on—"

"Well, Dauntless is _not_ public. And Shauna's gonna shit!"

"Mmm hmm." He takes down half of whatever else Carol put in front of him. "Surveillance from my apartment." He stops and flexes his jaw like he does right before he loses it. "Tris…alone. An entire folder dedicated to Tris. Coffee mug DOWN! Four versus mug… Four wins!" He has his hands up as if he just scored a damned goal. "And then Eric… Lotsa Eric. The things he said about her… I can't get the guy out of my mind in the first place. And then when I had to hear him again, and again… Fuck!"

Carol makes eye contact seeing if I want another beer, but I shake my head no—sadly, no. I need to be sober.

"Marcus… It was all him."

"I thought it was Carlos Juares too?"

He starts to laugh, again, like a crazy inappropriate laugh and I actually look over my shoulder to make sure our safety is still in check. No one seems to mind him, though. _What the hell!_

"Boy did I fuck that right up!"

I'm not sure if going into the whole Carlos Juares discussion is a good idea in a public setting. Also, I can see I'm not going to get a definite response out of him on that front—his speech is starting to come out in all one breath.

"So, Tris saw all of those files?"

"Not…at that time."

"How do you know?"

"There were ten messages…and she only opened the first one."

"Shit… That's a lot of information. Who sent it?"

"Jack Kang."

"Well, that man owes you…big time! What the hell?! Can you even believe he stabbed you in the proverbial behind with that shit—"

"He owes me…nothing."

"And _why_ do you say that?"

"Because he's dead. And it's my fault."

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

My phone rings and I'm so damned excited to see Four's name that I practically do a toe touch. That would have been a very unfortunate end for the mannequin my competition, I mean partner, was working on. I refrain, however—and totally keep my cool.

"Four! Holy Moly Guacamole! Where the fuck are you guys?!"

"I am…exiting my apartment building. Can you get to my place...now?"

"Uh… Well, I'm in workshop but—"

"Please."

"Is Tris okay!? What's wrong!? What happened!? Why aren't you answering me!?"

"There's a key at the front desk. Pull the chain behind you."

"O, o…kay." I wait to see if I have further instructions because he is still hanging on the line…I think. "Are you still there?"

"Uh… Fuck. Just have her tell you…everything."

"Alrighty—"

"And I'm not leaving!"

"Whoa, there! I never said you—"

"Just…she needs to know that. Tell her I said that!"

I stop what I'm doing, spitting out the pin I had just placed on the side of my mouth. "WHAT DID YOU DO NOW?!"

He doesn't answer me, but I still hear his heavy breathing.

"Are you running? Hot yoga? Spinning class? Answer me, asshole, what did you _do_?!"

"She needs to see everything and I…can't be there. Watch the footage, the videos…everything. But only the ones she can handle! She can't watch them alone and she can't watch them with me. And I can't be there right now—"

"What kind of videos?! What did you guys DO?!" And then it all clicks… "No fucking way am I watching that! I mean, I get it, but—"

All I hear is a HUGE overzealous grunt and then nada! _He fucking hung up! Geez._ He could invent his own language based on grunts, groans, and grumbles. _The three Gs! Oh! I'll add that to my new drinking game. I already have a name—Four Square. There are four squares and each square represents an aspect of Four's lack of fluency—_

"Miss Chris!"

"Oops, shit, sorry, Steven!" _LOL, not really._ "Hey, are you good here? I was thinking about lowering the lapels and adding a—"

"Seriously?"

"Fine. I've gotta go check on Tris." _Apparently he wants our project showcased at Kmart!_

…..

I'm only six blocks away so I decided to hoof it—and by hoof it, I mean book it across touristville hell finally slowing down as I cross the river. His apartment is prime real estate. But not really my cup of tea and definitely _not_ Tris's.

My phone buzzes as I see Lake St. in sight along with his high rise.

 **Four:** Don't let her clean.

 **Me:** Tell her this shit yourself.

 **Four:** She blocked my number.

 **Me:** Call your landline.

 **Four:** It's out of commission.

 **Me:** Borrow someone else's phone.

 **Four:** I've done that thrice now.

 **Me:** Who the hell says "thrice?"

I snicker to myself, knowing I won't get a response from him, and then I skip into the building right to the front desk.

"Hiya! I'm here to get a key for my friend. Or to get a key _to_ my friend's apartment. Wow!" I look at the intricate décor and notice there's even a fountain! "This place is sa-weet! You guys have a doorman and a desk man! Oh yeah, his name is—"

"You must be Miss Saunders."

"Egh… No one calls me that. But, yep! Hey, how did you know?"

"Mr. Eaton described you."

"Oh, okay! Um… Just out of curiosity," I lean toward him, which he does _not_ reciprocate. "How did he describe me?"

"He said you'd be annoying."

"That's it!?"

"Yes, Miss Saunders." _Ugh! I wanna crush his face sometimes!_

"It's just Christina."

"Yes, Miss Christina."

"No, just Christina." _How is this difficult?_

"Your key. Please return it upon departure." He gives me a fake closed-mouth smile as I daintily take the key from his hand.

"Yes, dah-ling! I shall… Please have Crème Brulee and caviar sent straight away!" I wave to his blank face as the elevator door closes.

 _I am not annoying!_

I keep repeating those four words over and over until the 16th floor.

 _Okay, last door down on the right. What kind of idiot lives in a high rise if they're afraid of heights? Dumb idiots! Ha! Take that, Four!_

Feeling quite better about myself I insert the key and walk right in, immediately spotting Tris on her hands and knees, doing exactly what she isn't supposed to be doing.

"Don't clean! Stop cleaning!"

"Hi!" she says a little too friendly.

"Just stop what you're doing."

"What are you—"

"Four called me."

She laughs under her breath and shakes her head, going right the fuck back to the floor. So I drop my bag and kick my shoes off into the wall, walking the short distance to the kitchen.

"I'm using my left hand. I'm fine." She exhales and sits back on her ankles. "Hi."

I plop down next to her and grab her knee. "Hi."

"I'm sorry." She shrugs her shoulders. "Do I have to say why?"

"Nah. So…uh…what's goin' on here? Whoa… No, seriously. What is happening with this place? How is it _not_ immaculate?"

My head is spinning at the mess of this place! _Don't throw stones at glass houses, Four!_ Speaking of glass, there is broken glass and ceramics everywhere…

"He's been…uh… Things haven't been…great for him. Anyway, I'm just cleanin' up a little. Ya know, pullin' my weight!" She laughs as if that's funny, until she sees my face. "What?! I can't afford rent right now! Can't work yet! Hospital bills'll be poorin' in and then… Fuck!" She smacks herself in the head.

"What?!"

"I forgot about rent for _our_ place!"

"Tris, seriously, don't—"

"You can't afford it," she interrupts. "You know you can't." _She's right._

"Well, you know Four will not allow you to pay a dime of rent," I assure as I push myself up and start making piles out of the random papers.

"Whatever. I'm not even stayin' so I don't even know why I said that."

"You're coming home?" I ask in total shock and awe.

"Soon as I can," she states plainly.

"Okay."

I have to say that makes me really happy! Although Will had mentioned something about moving in with him…at some point.

I crouch under the table and grab what looks like a canvas, instantly recognizing it as the one from our apartment that Tris wanted me to get to Four.

"Oh, hey! So I can see he—"

"Ow, fuck!" I scramble up and over to the breakfast bar to see her pushing herself up and grabbing her side.

"Tris—"

"I need normalcy. He needs normalcy. We need normalcy. This situation is not normalcy. It's too soon. He can't live with someone! Fuckin' throwin' shit and—"

"You throw shit," I accuse having seen her at her worst on a few occasions.

"I know." She shrugs as if it's not the same thing.

"When did you get here anyway?" I ask laying the canvas on the table.

"Tuesday night."

"So you haven't even been here for two days?"

"'Zactly. And we slept for 75% of the time." She starts carefully-ish putting glasses in the dishwasher. "Why did he call you, anyway?"

"He called as he was leaving, I guess? Oh, and he wanted me to make it very clear that he 'isn't leaving' and that 'I need to tell you that.' That's the best Four voice I got."

She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. "No one really does it right. Anyway… He _did_ leave. Didn't tell me! Jus' left! Couldn't even gimme me a shout-out on the fuckin' balcony!"

"So, he just up and hi-tailed it?"

"Yep."

"I feel like I'm missing 90% of that story."

I watch her lip jut out accompanied by a couple tears. _Oh, yeah… I'm definitely missing mucha informaci_ _ó_ _n._

"Come on, baby. Let's sit." I lead her over to the couch as she scrubs at her face angrily wiping away the tears. "Okay, let's square one this shit. You apparently forgave him."

"Yes," she nods her head with certainty.

"Why?" I prop a pillow under her right side while she stays quiet and starts biting the hell out of her cheek.

"I'm not sure how much I can say…because he FUCKIN' LEFT!" she yells before not so smoothly transitioning into a laugh—just a tad bit over the edge.

"Are you a 'lil drunk?"

She looks at me guiltily and holds her index finger and thumb about an inch apart. "Maybe a teensy."

"Whatcha drinkin'?" I waggle my eyebrows thankful that I don't have to work because I hear Four has good booze!

"Irish…coffee?"

"Mmm…gimme gimme!" I grab the mug she nodded to on the table and take a large sip. "Blech!" I gag and cough roughly. "That's just Irish!"

"Eh… Tobias only had enough beans for…un poco… coffee. _I'm_ the nice one and let _him_ have it! Then he fuggin' threw it at the wall. Bastard. And whatev!" She slaps my arm accusingly. "You're kind of a whiskey whore too."

"Yes, I can be just as whorish as you…when I'm _prepared_!"

"Try again, try again," she prods soothingly, tilting the mug up to my mouth.

"Mmmm…" It goes down much smoother this time. "I approve."

"Tobias buys the good stuff," she coos with moony eyes.

"See, he's worth somethin'! Back to that square. Why did you forgive him?"

She looks at her hands again and I can tell she's either going to try to lie or seriously omit vital information. _Fuck… I didn't want to go here, but…_

"For Christ's sake!" I throw my hands up to add extra dramatics.

"What?!"

"Four said I could… Something about… I don't know if this has anything to do with anything, but… Ugh… He told me you should show me your…videos."

" _My_ videos?" she points to herself as if there were someone else in the room whose sex tapes I may or may not be referring to.

"Yeah, like… I don't know. You and him? God! Your videos?! I don't really want to see—"

"Oh, my God… Oh, my God… I'm trying not to die from laughter. Because when I laugh too hard…agh…it feels like I may die… It just straight up hurts… But…I can't… Failing... Utter failure…" She's trying to hold her breath but she's shaking.

"I don't know what to do! Hold a rib in place?" I ask frantically.

" _Nope_ ," she grunts. "This too, shall…pass..." She takes some relaxing yogic breaths. "Because it's actually…not funny, in the least."

"You're not making sense."

"You want to know the reason? The reason I forgave him?"

"Yes, definitely. But…may I?" I nod my head toward his wet bar.

"Hell, yes! Drink his booze! He left! _Fuck_ …him!"

"Okay… That was a little too exaggerated to be believable, princess." I hold up a bottle of Crown XR, giggle to myself and pour a glass. "Side note? That whole 'Fuck him!' bullshit? That hasn't happened yet…has it? Because if you can't even laugh…" I chuckle and seat myself next to her.

"No. He doesn't see me. So…"

"I doubt that…very much."

"Doubt away! We're close one minute and then it's like a switch flips. I mean, it's not like I want him to like throw down and screw my brains out or anything—"

"Whoa—"

"But I think he sees…fucked up Tris. I don't know…"

I swallow my laughter at her crass sex chat. I love talking about sex with drunk Tris! So much information! But this isn't a good moment.

"Give it time. Maybe some distance on that front isn't such a bad thing. Ya know, get to know each other again?"

"Yeah. I think some distance from the _whole situation…"_ She circles her hands as if the situation is right in front of her _._ "…is what we need. I don't know how to make him forget. Well, I _am_ a constant reminder." She now circles her body referring to her bruises and shit. "I want to talk to him about it! To tell him to look at me. Like…only at me! Don't look at me and see me on a stretcher, or me on a hospital bed, or me and…Eric…," she trails off and I barely get the end of that. "But I don't want to bring it up."

"So you're gonna elephant-in-the-room this shit?"

"I don't know what else to do, right now."

"Well, I know what to do! Do I need popcorn?" I ask with a mischievous smile. _I don't know what the fuck to think about this shit!_

"Bring the bottle."

"Oh, God!" I sprint to the wet bar and grab the whiskey. "Wait! You forgave him for home videos? These better be good! But this just feels so wrong… Are you sure? Can I, at least, wear ear muffs? Your sex soundtrack is ingrained in my memory enough as it is—"

"Just shut the fuck up and sit down."

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

After avoiding a bar fight, which Four completely instigated, with brothers who I'm 99.9% sure were packin', I got his ass in a cab and dropped us off at, of all places, The Museum of Science and Industry—his suggestion.

Carol handed him a bottle of Fire Ball Whiskey on his way out and he rewarded her with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass. I think she may have died or fainted—could have gone either way. _Of all the fuckin' whiskies_ … Does that even qualify? Anyway, at the moment, this man will drink anything.

"Fuck!" he yells in complete disappointment.

"What?"

"Forgot they started…construction." He plops himself down on the grass looking out at what used to be a pond or something but now is just mud and construction tape.

"What are we looking at? And why are we here?" I sit beside him waiting to hear more bullshit and rant and blame and basically him making no sense and talking in circles.

"S'gonna be water there, runnin' long the side," he points with one eye closed. "And the 'dition will go right there, and end up there. Built right in! Fuckin' Matthew's idea. But I liked it!" He puts his hands up, spilling liquor down his arm. "And Tris liked him. I know she did! She said she'd go out with him. She _didn't_ …cuz she's loved me. But she would've! He's way better for her. I fuckin' hate that guy. He has excellent taste in slope…and women. D'ja know he fucking kissed her? After she said 'no, I still love Four.' Rat bastard still kissed her… She pro'ly kissed him back. He's a nice guy. So much better…for her than me. Doubt he's killed anyone—"

"You didn't kill anyone."

"May as well have slit his throat…by m'self. Fuckin' wife n' kids n' shit."

"He knew what he was getting into. Man, he signed _on_ for that! And Four…he did _not_ exactly save the day, no matter what you think! In fact, in the end, I do believe he was tryin' to save his own ass!"

"Shouldn'ta played him on his weakness. That's fuckin' Marcus in me. Tris is… _fucked!_ She is so _fucked!_ Cuz I won't leave her. She's so stuck. In the fuckin' mud. See that mud?" _Why do drunk people point with one eye closed?_

"Yep."

"I woulda married her…right there. Hopefully mudless… Used to be grass and water and swans and Taylor Swift. S'gonna be awesome when it's done."

"Well done, my man."

I look down as my phones buzzes. It's Christina again.

 **Christina:** Calmed her down, put her to bed. She's still crying. Is he coming home soon?

 **Me:** He grabbed a bottle on his way out.

 **Christina:** ZEKE!

 **Me:** I know! I'm sorry. Dont know what 2 do!

 **Christina:** Bring him home!

 _I've been trying for HOURS!_

"Four, let's head home."

"I'm not goin' back there."

"My place? Or the office? Or—"

"I don' wanna stay in those places… I wanna spoon…with my girlfriend." _I wish I could get some of this shit on video!_

"Then let's get you home, man. Come on!" I yank on his arm, but all I get is him to rise up on his knees and take another drink.

"Why? So I can jus' kick her ass again? Rip her stitches right out? Fuckin' great… I get to listen to her ramblin' bullshit about 'You had a nightmare… You didn't mean it…,' Blah, fuckity, blah."

"You can sleep on the damned couch. And your Tris impression—sucks balls."

"I don't _want_ to sleep on the couch! I _want_ to sleep with her! Gimme yer phone, lemme test her again."

"No, no more tex-ting. I think that last phone call was quite enough." I finally get him to stand and start walking toward the front of the museum.

"She pissed at me 'bout…that?" He is honestly looking at me with complete and total confusion. "But I said… I told her… I'm soooo sorry," he moans. "But she loves me. She does! I don't know… But she does…"

"Dude…," I exhale because I'm so fucking done!

"What?!"

"Do you remember… _nothing_?"

"Anything."

"What?"

"Even if I remembered… _nothin_.' That'd still be _somethin_ '. So, the correct word is…A-NY-THING."

"Okay, officially time to go. Come on!" _Fuckin' grammar douchebag._

"Yeah! Hey! Let's try and find a cab on 55th! We're so fuckin' dumb," he laughs and stumbles through the grass. _I should throw his ass in that mud!_

"Oh, hells yeah. _We're_ so fuckin' dumb."

 _I'm callin' Shauna._

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

I'm definitely biting the shit out of my nails, waiting for them to come home. Awhile ago, I was 100% in favor of him getting his ass over here so she'd calm down. But now that I drugged her and she's sleeping, I wish he'd just stay at Zeke and Shauna's.

After Tris got her laughs off about the NOT AT ALL HOME VIDEOS, shit got real…real fast. I could only ask her so many questions because she kept shushing me the whole time. She was equally as shocked at all that as me, myself and I. A good portion of _all of that_ was brand new information to her.

My mind is pretty screwed up right now on account of many things—whiskey and worry being the top two. So I can't even imagine what she's feeling.

The look on her face as she watched an entire folder of video feed based on her and her alone. Watching her visibly shake in both anger and fear. Although, I was featured in quite a few as well. My blood has never run cold until that moment.

Eric… Oh, the Eric. That guy is one fucked up son-of-a bitch. I can't get his voice out of my head and I know it's going to haunt me. I can only imagine how haunted Tris is…

I sit down with a huff on the couch and take another sip of the top notch Crown. But then, of course, a knock on the door.

"Hey! Chris! Let us in…" I hear Zeke's deep voice and I go and unchain the door.

"Fuck. Here we go," I mumble.

I unlock the door as Zeke and Shauna lug Four into the apartment.

"Keep her the fuck away from me," he groans.

I back up about an instantaneous ten feet. "She's asleep anyway."

"She better fucking stay that way."

"What is his problem?" I ask Shauna hoping she doesn't give me the token "he's drunk" response.

"He ripped her stitches out…apparently? He had a nightmare? Hasn't quite gotten over it yet? It's unclear."

"Hey, hey, Four." I stand in front of him wanting to apologize for every nasty thing I ever said to him but I know I can't right now! "She told me about that! She doesn't blame you. She's not mad—"

"Tris, mad? What 'bout when I throw shit? Punch walls? Yell at her? She's _never_ mad! Making excuses for weaker men… She's amazing at it!" he remarks loudly and sarcastically.

"Four, _can_ it," Shauna orders as she rolls her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask about his stupid Tris comment.

"It _means_ …I…" He stops and squints at me, having no idea where he was going with that statement.

"Okay, this way." Zeke and Shauna help him down the hallway but he lumbers into his room. "Nope. The other 'this way.' Guest bedroom, man. Come on!"

"I'm sleeping…with my girlfriend…in my bed. 'Cause I haven't been able to…in a forever—"

"No, I promised you I wouldn't let you do that! Remember?" Zeke stands in front of him right inside the door.

"This has been like riding a drunk merry-go-round from hell," Shauna whispers with clenched teeth.

"Wait! Zeke, Zeke, Zeke, Zeke Zeke…" he whispers. "She's gonna be so mad at me…when she wakes up. She gets very, very mad at me… You should see it. It's awful…"

"Four, look at me. She's in recovery mode. You told me you've been…" Zeke stops mid-sentence as if he almost revealed a secret.

"Tell the world… Christina's here so you may as well!" _I can keep a fucking secret!_ "I killed Tris in my sleep last night! And then I wanted to die…but I didn't… Then the bathroom and blood and she was…not with me on that one… Then I got really mad. Fuck, I—"

"Bed. Now." Shauna puts her hand hard on his chest and starts to back him out of the room.

"I just wanna. Lemme go…please…" _He's such a baby when he drinks. I love it!_

"How is she not awake right now?" Zeke asks as we all seem to notice we are crowded in the doorway, not being quiet.

"Drugged her."

Four zones in on my face as his world seems to connect for a moment. _Whoops!_

"GImme a break. It's just Ambien."

"And a little somethin' else?" Shauna holds up a bottle of Bushmill's.

His eyes go wide. _Ruh-Roh_ …"You…FUCKING kidding me?!" If there is a way to yell in a whisper…he just did it. "There's something…seriously…wrong with you!"

He clambers up on the bed and hovers over her, leaning his ear down to her mouth.

"Four, she's fine! I've been checking—"

Then we here a swift smack as Tris backhands him. "Get the…fuck off me…"

He scrambles back and stands at the edge of the bed almost tipping over and I meet him there grabbing his arm.

"…asshole," she groans before passing out again.

I look at his panicked face as he starts to back away slowly.

"She thought I was…"

"An asshole?"

"No." _Who else would it be? Ohhhh…._

"Who, Eric? No way, my friend. She said 'asshole.' She _definitely_ knew it was you."

"Yep," the peanut gallery chimes in behind us.

Now I understand exactly what Tris is talking about because I've seen it with my own eyes—him not seeing _her_ , but seeing what _happened_ to her.

 _Redirect!_ "So now that she has been pronounced 'alive.' Lemme introduce myself. Hey, Pot. I'm kettle! Nice to meet you! Right, Mr. Scotch and Ambien?"

He tears his eyes away from her and looks at me partly-curious and partly-confused. Hopefully he's making the connection that I watched the video where he ordered Ambien and Scotch from the main house. He purses his lips and shakes his head fiercely walking out of the room with me at his heels.

"The difference is… _Christina…_ she weighs five pounds right now and I'd bet my low-ass life that you didn't make sure she ate something—"

"Four, she's been _freaking_ the fuck out for the last few hours! About you! Your baffling text messages didn't help either! And that last phone call? Seriously? Yelling at her? Blaming her? She was in fucking hysterics!"

 **Flashback:**

Watching Tris pace out on the balcony with a $90 bottle of Bushmills in her hand could be entertaining on a better day. But not today.

"Hey… So—"

"Grey Goose Martini man?! That last video?! Was that fuckin' necessary?! He only did that to clear his own conscience! He knew he was fucked! Did you see the date on that video? Last Saturday? He knew! He knew Carlos was comin' for him. 'I kept this footage from Marcus,' 'I was watching out for you this whole time,' 'I need to make this right.'"

 _Thank goodness for air quotes, because I would be sooo lost_ …

"If he cared so much about Tobias, he woulda sent those emails ana-monomously. Not encrypted! And then he shows his fuckin' face at the end!? What a dumbfuck?!"

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about the deceased like that—"

"Fuck the deceased! Because now he gets to say 'Ey-o! What the fuck's up, St. Peter? Sweet gates ya got there!' Just strollin' right on in… While Tobias gets to live with this shit! And then I have to _live_ with him. Fuck! Ima bitch…"

She stops for a moment and puts her hands on her hips biting her bottom lip hard.

"That was bitchy…considering… Hey, why would Four blame himself?"

"Oooohhhh! 'When you came to the house, you were so angry! I wish you could've seen that I did all this for you,'"

 _Again… Thank the Lord for air quotes…_

"FUCK! That's a recipe for a Tobias Guilt Casserole. Better yet! Crock pot! One pot meal! Just add drama, grief, death, anger, resentment, compassion and hotness! And put it on low. A slow slow burn—"

"You are…very creative right now." _Code for…waaay-sted!_

"Yeah."

She looks down at her phone again probably trying to decode some of his insane texts. After they kept coming from random numbers, Tris finally caved and figured out how to have a proper conversation with her cell carrier to unblock his number. She's now called him five times and the call was denied each time.

"Hey."

I lift my head to see Tris smile as she hears the deep, kinda sad, voice of Tobias. He finally answered…

"Hey… You answered. Fuck, Tobias. Can you please come back?" she begs putting him on speakerphone. _Yes!_

"No way in hell." _Ugh…_

"Why!?"

"Stayin'…somewhere, not by you. At the office. I will stay there! Remember the whole Nita thing? Her naked ass will not be there… So we've got that goin' for us—"

She immediately hangs up the phone and throws it at me heading into the apartment.

Even more immediately than she hung up, comes an immediate call back. I clear my throat as a hello.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"This is Christina."

"Tell her I'm sorry," he says changing his tone to asshole.

"He says, 'he's sorry,'" I yell into the apartment.

"Tell him I said to fuck off!" she screams. _Oh, the neighbors, the neighbors…_

"She's says, 'Fuck off.'"

"Give her the phone."

"Tris, babe? He wants me to give you the phone!"

"No way in hell!"

"She says, 'No way in hell.'"

"Give her the damned phone!"

"And how…shall I do that?" I ask as I stretch my legs out onto the chair in front of me.

"Duct tape it to her face! I don't care!"

She stomps back out at that and grabs the phone. "Are you serious?!" she seethes. "Nita!? Duct Tape!?"

"Please listen! I don't know why I said that and I don't want duct tape on your beautiful face! I just love you and I was so mad and I don't want to be mad like that around—"

"You don't think I've seen your stupid ass mad!?"

"Not mad like that!"

 _They're…screaming at each other…_

"Come home… _now_! Tobias, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Jack… I didn't know him, but… It wasn't your fault! Please, come back! Right fucking now!"

"I do not want to be in your vicinity right now," he says more calmly.

I can hear Zeke trying to play referee in the background. I don't have it in me to do that…because I have too much whiskey in me! _Ha ha!_

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Then I'm just going to come to the office! Damn it, Tobias!" She takes a breath and softens her voice. "I saw the videos… Fuck, I know how you're feeling—"

"Nope. You…don't."

"Well, I know you're blaming yourself."

"Nope. Right now…I'm blaming…you."

I hear Zeke grunt something again in the background and a lot of rustling and wrestling.

"Wh, what? Me?" she asks way softer than before.

"Yep. You had to be at the bar that night—looking amazing and making me fall crazy in love with you! If love at first sight exists, then it's because you fuckin' invented it! Hope you got that shit patented! And there you are, jus' bein' awesome and turning me into a guy I don't recognize anymore. And then, just, Dominoes…all over the place…"

 _The longest…pause…ever…_

"Sorry," she chokes out and goes back into the apartment.

"Tris?" he questions checking if she's still there.

I sigh and take the phone holding it closer to me. "What…the…fuck…is… _wrong…_ with you?" I ask slowly enunciating as much for my benefit as his.

"Where'd she go?!"

"She ran out." _Okay, that's pretty much a lie._

"She left?!"

"Uh…yeah. Do you hear what comes out of your mouth…ya know…when you _speak_?"

He pauses as if he's trying to figure out where he went wrong with this conversation.

"You just blamed her for…mmm…everything."

"That's not… I didn't mean—"

"Okay, I think that's about enough. That's…e-nough!" Zeke must have taken the phone because I hear Four freaking in the background. "Sorry, Chris." And then he hangs up.

"I wanna call him back! Fuckin' prick. Doesn't get to _blame_ me! Ohhh…Chrissy." She sits in the chair and grunts in pain because she slumped down too fast. "I blamed him…for…everything. Everything… I said things to him... Where did that shit come from!? I didn't even know I had it in me? Ya know?"

"No."

"But he…staaaaayed."

"Stayed where?"

"He never left the fuggin' hospital. Was there the whole damned time," she laughs semi-maniacally. "In the waiting room…being waited _on_ by cute blondes and bitches! Prob'ly offered him naughty nurse lap dances… They fuckin' hated me…"

"Wow." _That is actually…pretty awesome. Ya know, the first part._

She leans more carefully over to the table to take her phone again.

"Neeeeyyyyooooo…." I slowly ease it out of her sloppy reach.

"Why?!"

"I don't think he's talkable, right now. He's just gonna be stupid and you're gonna be stupid. And you both seem to rub off on people. I would rather not be stupid."

 _Bring on the tears…_

 **End Flashback**

"What do you mean? Hysterics?! Why was she…?" He runs both hands down his face and shakes his head in remorse. I don't even know… What did I say? Zeke?!"

"I told you to hang up damned phone! You were the one would wouldn't shut the fuck up!"

He groans as Shauna and I give the teamwork nod to each other and push him back into the hall. I decide to try a little distraction.

"Hey, Four?"

"Mmm…"

"She saw some good stuff too… You know what I mean?"

I watch as his semi-coherent mind goes to work…

The gamut of emotions Tris went through as we watched one feed in particular. The tear trail down her cheek as she watched Four flip through pics of her on his phone over and over while lying on the bed in Marcus's guesthouse. At one point he groaned and held the phone to his chest. Then he looked at the pic and put the phone down, and then looked at it again and put the phone down. Until the third time, when he did _not_ put the phone down and his hand started to migrate lower and lower. I was trying to give her shut-this-shit-down side glances as I'm smacking her arm with the back of my hand. But she was fuckin' mesmerized. Until he groaned in frustration (on many levels I'm sure), adjusted his balls and I just about died laughing. She didn't think it was that funny as she defended him unequivocally and admitted to sending him post self-pleasure selfies. Again…died laughing!

She did indeed smile when _he_ laughed at some of the crazy voicemails she left him. But then the face he made as he left her that last message. It was break time after that…

"You've got a cute tush by the way!" I wink at Four, trying to lighten things up.

He shrugs like he doesn't give a shit that I saw him full frontal. Tris made me avert my eyes but I still got a little peek in there. _Yowza…_

"As long as she likes it."

"Oh…trust me, pal. She does!"

He slumps his shoulders and trips toward the guest room. "Bonus…"

We all watch after him until we hear the hard flop of him landing, most likely face down, on the bed.

"Holy shit, guys!" I say not being able to contain my freak out mode anymore! _WHAT IS HAPPENING?!_

"Living room, wine, reconvene," Shauna orders.

"I'm gonna check on him first," Zeke grumbles following after Four.

I hear shoes thunking on the floor as I head out to the living room and grab the rocks glasses, bringing them to the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher. Shauna is lounging on the couch as I move my sluggish self over to the wet bar. I grab a bottle of red wine and uncork it.

"Zeke drink wine?"

"When I make him," she comments as she yawns.

"Then he can find something on his own."

"Mmm hmm."

I nudge Shauna's feet and take a seat, pouring two generous glasses.

"Four won't mind will he? I've been drinkin' his whiskey all night anyway. But…I had permission from the lady of the house."

"No, he definitely will not care," she answers sitting up begrudgingly.

"What's with the expensive vino? These are $50-and-up bottles."

"Funny story… I would imagine _I_ had a little somethin' to do with that. And I am now very happy I made that decision. So, cheers to me!"

We clink glasses and enjoy the smooth taste with a tad of a bite of an awesome bottle of Pinot Noir.

"So, when he and Tris started dating, he called me mid-shopping at the liquor store. Now, mind you, Four never makes phone calls so I figured this had to be important. Yet apparently, all he needed was a wine guide."

"A wine guide?"

"Yep. He was worried. The man who, prior to Prior—"

"Good one."

"—had never graced me with an expression of worry, was worried…about choosing an ' _appropriate'_ bottle of wine." She chuckles. "And can you believe how he talks sometimes?"

"No."

"Anyway, because she's a ' _classy'_ bartender—"

"Please."

"—he assumed she'd want an expensive bottle. So, of course, I told him to just buy the most expensive bottles he could find! As many as he could, in fact!" She starts laughing again. "I have no problem spending other people's money… So, he kept me on the _fucking_ phone for 20 minutes asking me about _blends_ and then he figured out what a _varietal_ was, and 'What the fuck do they mean… _vintage_?' And then he got a poor stock boy involved. Anyway he ended up putting some Menage and Apothic in there. He was so mad at me at the gym the next day! It was awesome."

"Why?"

"Turns out she went right for the Apothic and called him a 'fuckin' wine snob.'"

"Ha! Ha! Yes!" I clap my hands in enjoyment. "I love that girl… So low maintenance."

"Totally. That's how I knew I liked her. He never dated anyone substantial. That Kirsten chick was okay. But aside from her, just some dating via texts and maybe-we'll-meet-up-laters."

"He's fine." Zeke runs and turns his body at the last minute landing himself onto Four's Heffner chair. "Alive, at least."

"Zeke." I say making eye contact knowing I'm about to change the light conversation to something with way more substance than we're used to. "This shit…is real?"

"It is," he sighs. "Real…real."

"I just thought all this time, he was like, emotionally decrepit or something. Tris…feels awful. I mean, awful, awful. She can't believe she didn't 'see it,' as she repeated over and over."

"So, I heard his end of things all night." Zeke reclines back rubbing his eyes. "But I have a feeling yours will be way less-schewed, and much less blame, guilt and self-inflicted bitch slapping."

"Probably." I glance at Shauna, not knowing how much I can say.

"I know everything," she states.

I avert my eyes to Zeke.

"It was time." _Okay, then!_

"Um, well, apart from skimming through emails and phone calls…something about Marcus wanting government contacts in exchange for _Be-a-trice—"_

"Ugh…that _name_...," Shauna droles.

"Doesn't suit her…at all," I concur. "So, in order of freakage, here we go: Number one—seeing an entire folder dedicated to her. Glass of whiskey…check! Number two—Eric… So much Eric. The only reason she didn't finish glass of whiskey #2, was because it kept slipping out of her very sweaty palms. Number three—watching Four beat the living hell out of Marcus. I quite enjoyed it, but I could tell it scared her. Big time."

Nobody comments for a moment.

"Why would Four _let_ her watch that?" Shauna begins. "I mean, he had to have known that video was on there. Based on what she just went through, I would have thought…he wouldn't want her to or… I guess I'm just surprised he—"

"He _wanted_ her to see that side of him. He, uh, told me about it—how he felt afterwards. He was…ashamed. That side of him—his temper—scares him too. He knew she'd watch it, and it was part of why he left. He said he 'wouldn't be able to bear the look on her face.'"

"Geez…"

"I think what worried her was that he's mentally capable of doing that to someone, not because she's afraid of her safety around him."

"I would have killed him," Zeke deadpans, staring at the floor.

"Ezequiel!"

"Shauna." The tone of Zeke's voice seems to halt the air flow in this room. "His father… If anyone did those things to Hana…" He looks away for a second and clears his throat. "I wouldn't hesitate."

"Was it _that_ bad?" Shauna asks. "I'm sorry, I'm not saying _some_ abuse is better than others or anything. I just… I've never heard you say anything like that before, babe."

Zeke de-reclines himself, leaning in, elbows on his knees with a very, very, incredibly somber look on his face. _Soooo weird_ … "Four only ever saw the fall out. You know, whatever his young mind came up with from that… Who the fuck knows? He saw cuts, bruises, broken bones…heard screams and… and…fuck, based on that alone… I would have killed him."

I look over at Shauna, who kinda looks like she may cry. But then I pick up on something else.

"What do you mean 'based on that alone?' Was there more?"

He sighs and sits back again. "Mom and Evelyn were friends. Honestly, I'm not sure how much Four actually knows. I overheard…things." I see Zeke's hand shake for a brief moment as if something sent shivers down his spine. "Marcus is a sick freak. That's why mom didn't hesitate for Four, or Tobias, at the time,—"

"Tobias? Really?"

"— to come live with us. Mom called the cops on Marcus a few times. She even called DCFS when Evelyn was still alive—Foster care being better than Marcus and Evelyn care. It didn't matter. Marcus had way too many connections."

"Did you ever try to tell him…there was more?" Shauna asks. "That his mom… That there may have been more going on—"

"It's not something you tell a mother's son," Zeke states as if there is no argument. "It went far beyond physical abuse. Look, I put myself in Four's shoes." He shakes his head and looks away. "I wouldn't want to know."

I sit up straight and sniffle, realizing I'm suddenly a bit _congested_ …or feeling nothing but empathy for my friend! "This doesn't feel right…talking about this."

Zeke nods his head and looks at Shauna. "Uri doesn't know."

"I don't like keeping secrets," Shauna adds.

"There's no secret to keep. I haven't told you anything…and I won't."

* * *

 **Shauna's POV:**

I look at Zeke but he won't return my gaze. I've never heard him talk about Four's mom. I didn't even know her name was Evelyn. It always was a completely off-limits topic. At this moment, I hate the I-don't-want-to-be-involved-in-drama side of me. And I give Zeke grief about not being in tune with people! _Turns out I'm the one!_ I did always find it weird that Zeke was pretty button-lipped about Four's past. _Was I just disinterested? Awesome. Thanks, Mom, for never teaching me to give a shit about others! And now I'm playing the blame game… Fuck…_

"Back to conversations that are shockingly less awkward and invasive," Christina chimes in looking more on edge than I've ever seen her. "Marcus had edited a video, I guess, making it seem like Carlos would kill Tris… Short version—Four looked like, like when Wolverine got injected with that stuff! That, uh… What's it called?"

"Uh, uh, uh…" Zeke's snapping his fingers and I'm wracking my brain too. "Adamantunian… No, no… Adaman… Um…"

"Adamantium!" I shriek so happy that I got that one!

"Ding ding ding ding!" Christina points at her nose and me. "Nice one."

"Thanks!"

"So, heartbroken Wolverine… Anyway, that's when the tears came and whiskey wasn't doin' it anymore. I swear I could hear her heart splitting in two! And then…berserk-ville when that Jack guy showed up all martyry and shit. You know how Four paces like a Meth-head when he's feeling…anything."

Zeke and I both nod our head with clear images I'm sure.

"Well, Tris was like his sprightly female mini-me. Ya know, the injured version."

"Imagery… I like it," Zeke comments seeming to relax a bit.

"But guys, I can't get his voice out of my head—Eric's. 'There's a reason God invented taxidermy', and something like, 'Girls like Beatrice don't come around that much! Gotta preserve that shit.' I mean he's a—"

"What's taxidermy?" I ask.

"It's like accounting, babe."

"Zeke… No. Stuffed…animals, Shauna. Not the cuddly kind."

I think Zeke's eyes mirror mine, although his should come with a side of embarrassment.

"Oh! Oh!...Oh! And this is the part where the tears of panic came into play. He started talking about Four, or any boyfriend I suppose, but you know who she would equate that to."

"What'd he say?" I ask.

"Um… ' _She better not have a fuckin' boyfriend. I'll stick my shotgun down his throat and mount his head on my God-damned wall!'_ Something like that, among many other explicit ways he would torture a boyfriend."

I sit back into the couch, needing a moment to let this all sink in. I know this kind of crap goes on. I hear enough through Zeke about the detectives' cases at the precinct. But it takes on a whole new meaning when it affects your own ignorant life.

"So, uh…you wanna watch some of them—"

"YES!" Zeke and I say loudly.

Just then we hear a shuffle and a stumble and a flop followed by a groan. Christina and I are immediately up and at the guest bedroom door in seconds—no Four. Then we're at his bedroom door in record time but Christina holds me back putting her finger up to her lips to be quiet. I turn to the room to take in the scene.

Four is lying on his stomach on Tris's left, with his face inches from hers. Her eyes are open and she's nodding at him. Christina and I scoot closer trying to listen in on the exchange. They're both muttering quietly to each other while he brushes her hair out of her face and kisses her forehead. We move a little closer and watch as she reaches up and moves his hair off his forehead, but he grasps her hand on the way back down and kisses it, laying them both on her chest.

"Damn it! I can't hear anything," Christina whispers.

"Just a little closer," I mutter in response.

We still can't hear much, though, even as we inch closer. Just nodding heads, more mumbles and then soft kisses. Christina and I both exhale, but pretend we didn't.

They smile lazily at each other and he goes in for one last kiss. And it's…a long one… It is lasting _way_ longer… It's not ending yet… And he's shifting his weight closer to her… And I feel the need to retreat, and yep…he's hovering. Hands…wandering…a lot. _I feel officially creepy!_ But then, with an aggravated sigh, he climbs over her, rolling himself onto the floor with a grunt.

Christina and I make eye contact and shrug, taking a couple steps closer just to see him reach his hand up and grab hers, pulling it down by him.

"Aw," Christina whispers, glancing at me. "Sorry."

"It was totally an 'aw' moment," I reassure.

"So, should we just leave them? Or get him a pillow or something? Take a picture?" Christina suggests.

We walk over to Four and I can already hear his even breathing. He's lying on his back like her, passed out, knuckles linked with hers as her arm hangs over the side of the bed.

"I never say shit like this," I begin.

"What?"

"That's fucking adorable."

"Totes."

"I kinda want to mess with him…but I'm resisting." _I know exactly what I would draw!_

"Yeah… That would be poor timing. Let's go."

"Fine."

We walk out to the living room to see Zeke polishing off the bottle of wine, watching Tris's tablet with wide disbelieving eyes.

"Did you fuck with him?" He asks not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Not this time," I answer disappointed.

"There's always next time, baby. You've gotta see this shit…"

"Naked Four?" Christina asks with raised eyebrows.

"Oooo!" I respond rubbing my hands together.

"Woman!"

"Just sayin'…"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I wake to something shaking my hand hard.

"Tobias?" I hear a small far away voice. "Tobias?" And there it is again.

"Mmm?"

"Can you…help…me…up?" _It's Tris... That's Tris... It's Tris…_

"Huh?! What? Yeah!" I sit up immediately having no clue where I am for a moment.

A hammer beats me over the head once, twice, thrice, fourth, five, sixth, seven, ten.

"I can't move…my legs," Tris groans as I get an instant grin at her voice…even though I have already forgotten what she just said.

"Where…are you? What the hell?" I pat…the floor? All around me and she is _truly_ not here.

Then I decide opening my eyes would be brilliant. So I wait a moment while they adjust so then I can go back to my search for Tris. But I soon come to find that I'm on the floor and Tris is in the bed. I crawl up to her lovely face as vague memories of how I got here come back—inches apart, I'm sorries, I love yous, beating hearts, soft kisses, _not_ soft kisses and a hard disappointing floor.

"Tobias?" I feel fingers on my face.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, here…" I take her hand and kiss it. "Wait, what?"

"I just need help…getting up. I don't know if I have legs."

I get up on my knees thinking that's an odd comment and I pat her down. "You do."

"Thank God… Sorry to wake you, 'bout that."

"'S'okay. Come on." I put my arm under her shoulder and help her sit up, leaning in to kiss her sweet cheek.

"Are you sure I have legs? I feel…nothing."

I pat them down again. _One…two._ "Yes."

"Oh, thank God."

"Totally."

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and I reach up to grab her elbows.

"Tobias, those are my shoulders."

"Oh, fuck. Sorry." _Honest mistake._

My eyes are adjusting and I see it's still dark. This time I succeed in helping her up, deciding it helps if I also stand up.

"Okay, where are we going?... What do you need?... What can I do?" I look down at her eyes as she rubs one of them.

"I don't know." She shrugs.

"Why are we standing?" I ask. _Did she need something? Did I?_

"I don't remember."

"You're so cute," I say as I scrunch her head to my chest for a hug because I love her so much.

"Okay, good."

I sit her back down and realize how fucking thirsty I am. "I'm gonna get water."

"Mmm hmm."

I make my way to the bathroom and stick my head under the faucet taking a glorious drink. But then I stop, coming to an embarrassing revelation. I have no way to get this water to Tris, and she's probably really thirsty.

"Hey," I whisper. "I can't bring you water!"

"Okay," she cries. _Wait, what the…?_

"Are you crying?" I walk super fast and lean over to her onto the bed.

"I think so," she nods her head and I run the back of my knuckles down her cheeks. _She's definitely crying. Noooo…._

"Why?" I tuck her hair behind her ear and catch a stray tear with my thumb.

"I don't know. They just…came out! I just woke up, sad." She wipes her hands down her face, catching her bottom lip, so I lean in immediately and grab it, plopping it back into place, which makes her laugh. _I win!_

I'm still not pleased that she's crying, but my intention is to make her happy with water. "Hey, but I can take you."

"What?"

"Come on…"

I crawl over her and stand, helping her up and then walk her to the bathroom. _Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps…_ Finally, we get to the bathroom and I flip the switch on and stare at the sink. The sink I just drank out of…

"Why are we in the bathroom?"

"Oh, shit."

"What?"

"I drank out of the faucet."

"Why?"

"I have no idea…" I stare at the faucet that I just had my mouth around and think _that_ may be one of the grosser things I've ever done. _There are way grosser things… Things that rhyme with Shmita. Gag reflex, must keep in check! Thank God I only have vague memories of that horrendous string of events—_

Tris is looking at me with a what-the-fuck expression and I have…no explanation for anything— anything at all.

"What?" I ask her staring face.

"You're still drunk."

"Oh."

We both stand there for a minute looking around. _Well, I can't be that drunk! Wait a minute…_

"You too, Miss I-Don't-Have-Legs?"

She let's out a defeated breath. "Yeah, pretty sure." She smiles all sheepish and cute.

"Bathroom and back to bed?" I suggest.

"Will you come too?"

"To the bathroom?" I laugh but then stop as she looks at me seriously. _Shit! What if she really does need help?_

"We could ride tandem?" She shrugs as I stare at her jerkstore face.

"Not…that drunk," I comment laughing as I kiss her head. "Bucket list," I whisper as I walk past her into the kitchen.

I listen to her giggle as she goes into the bathroom and I get water. I shake my head at how I _fucking_ drank from the bathroom faucet! Gulping down an entire glass of water, I look at the clock to see it's 3:11 AM. I officially have my bearings now and the events of the evening start to trickle back in and I am immediately hit with an influx of embarrassment, irritation and guilt for how I acted.

I fill two more glasses of water and slump into my room now feeling rather conflicted—face the music? Or bury myself in a hole?

I see Tris sitting up in bed propping a pillow behind her back. When she sees me she pats the spot next to her softly and invitingly. And based on the look she's giving me—apparently, I'll be facing that music. I climb over to her and hand her the water, then reach back to get the bottle of Ibuprofen out of the nightstand.

"Want some?" I offer with raised eyebrows not sure if she's game on for pain meds yet.

"I think I'll actually be okay. I was drinking the good stuff," she chuckles. _And I don't know what the fuck I was drinking._ "Sorry I woke you. I don't even know why I did," she laughs lightly.

"It's fine," I answer as I toss the pills back, washing them down with amazing water.

"So, are you okay?"

I nod my head and drink the entire glass. Then I grab hers when she's done and put it on the table quickly and go straight into the bathroom ignoring her even as she calls my name.

 _I acted like a complete fucking idiot tonight. Did I have my reasons? Yes. Was it 100% the wrong decision? No. I would have gone insane if I had to watch that with her! Knowing she was being watched because of me, she was being stalked by a crazy psycho because of me. And then she would have just told me that none of it was my fault! Bananas! Bananas? Really, Tobias?_

But then the minute I pretty much landed on her in bed and we locked very, very, groggy eyes…I knew I made the wrong call. _What was the fucking point of that whole night?!_

After pissing for what feels like ten hours, I wash my hands, almost puke that I had my mouth on that faucet, and then literally stalk over to the bed to see Tris looking at me with wide eyes.

"Hi," I say flatly still standing.

My eyes flit from her wringing hands up to her eyes and back down again, several times. All of the shit that had built up between us—the secrets, the lies, the half-truths, unrevealed feelings…everything I had to keep from her. She knows. Now she knows.

 _And she's…still here… She's still fucking here…_

This is the first time I can officially say I feel a true sense of alleviation. As if my life has been a balloon about to explode and suddenly the air finds a way to start seeping out.

"Hey—"

"What?" That came out mad and I didn't mean it to.

She quirks her head at me and I just shake my head not knowing what to say, but feeling a suddenly overwhelming urge to pounce on her. But I save that idea for a later date, hopefully, and instead I walk over to her side of the bed and crawl next to her, wrapping my left arm behind her back and leaning my head into her abdomen hugging her entire torso to me. I just want to submerge myself into her, touch her as much as I'll allow myself at the moment. She pulls her knees up and leans down holding me equally as close. I can feel my heart rate pick up along with hers as the emotion of the last several weeks seem to hit us both. I let my eyes sting and finally decide to let go as I feel dampness seeping through the collar of my shirt from her tears.

"I knew you didn't leave," she mumbles into my hair. "I was pissed, but, I knew you didn't. We all need break. And that's okay—"

"Never again."

"You don't need to say that—"

"Never…again. It wasn't worth it. I just thought about you the whole time anyway. Fuckin' pointless."

"So you left so you wouldn't have to think about me?"

I shake my head, no. "I didn't want you to see… I don't handle things well… And…"

I shrug not wanting to to talk. I just want to hold her close…or apparently have her hold _me_ close. _I hope I'm not hurting her…_

I take a deep breath of all Tris and just listen as she continues to talk. She knows I don't have it in me right now.

"I hate, hate, hate that you carried all of that…shit, for weeks. I fucking feel like…you've been tortured and I just watched…feeling sorry for myself. I had no idea, none, that this… I just assumed you…didn't feel the same. I mean it never made total sense to me that you _would_ feel the same."

I shake my head, no, in fucking disbelief as she kisses the back of my neck and breathes deeply.

"I'm not being self-deprecating. I'm being honest." I feel her breath on my neck as she speaks to me closely and quietly.

"You're being full of shit," I mumble because it pisses me off that she even questions how much I love her.

She sits back and sighs deeply. "I missed you so much. I mean, at first, I didn't at all. It was like, I was in a coma for the first few days." She chuckles as if that's fuckin' funny. "Until Christina decided to throw me a party, and Will, bless his dumb heart, gave me tiger lilies and chocolate covered strawberries. I lost it. I was—"

"They were from me," I groan, still not moving.

"What?" she whispers.

"I wanted to be there." I turn my face away from it's happy place buried in her stomach so she can hear me. "When I found out it was your birthday," I sniff like a baby and roll my eyes at myself. "I couldn't believe I wasn't going to be there with you. I just…couldn't and…I'm sorry."

I feel a tear drip onto my neck and she brushes it away quickly.

"I threw them in the garbage and Marlene ate the strawberries, so…"

I nod my head, knowing the first thing I'm going to buy for her tomorrow…or today, whatever.

"Will came into work so pissed at me on Monday. He said because of me you cried all night and got very drunk 'among other things incredibly out of character.'"

"Incredibly out of character?"

"You can only imagine the journey my mind took me on," I laugh out of nerves not because it's funny.

"Well, all I remember was a lot of dancing so I don't believe anything scandalous happened."

A clear image of Tris dancing with…other men…presents itself clearly. She also dances particularly seductive when she drinks so that's fuckin' awesome! But I decide to keep my mouth shut on this front and dive back into her torso.

"We don't have to talk about everything now, okay?" she asks quietly, obviously sensing my discomfort.

I don't answer her because, well…I don't want to.

We lay connected like that for however long. I find a nice bit of bare skin above her sleep pants and move my thumb back a forth, along her left side. As she seems to make a project of running her fingers through every inch of my scalp. I feel stray tears every now and then, but I don't want to ask why just yet. I find the idea of not forcing conversations to be heaven right now. But I do need to know one thing—

"Are we gonna be okay?" I ask craving sudden reassurance without eye contact. I can't fathom losing her again and I need to know we are on the same page.

She clears her throat. "No more secrets?" I feel the hum of her voice resonate through her body.

"Fuck, no."

She doesn't say anything so I'll just take that as a 'yes, we're going to be awesome' and stay buried in my hole because I'm started to doze.

"Tobias?"

"Mmm."

"I knew Eric was looking for me because Robert, um, my ex-boyfriend from Kittridge, well, he was at Hangars. You were there too. I don't know if you, um, met him because, well… Anyway, he told me, and I panicked, and I did nothing because I didn't want to admit to myself there was even a remote possibility that was true…" I sit up shaking my head and lean over to grab the glass of water. "…and then in the hospital, Nita—I fucking hate her so much. She told me… I don't even know what she told me…" I hand her the glass of water and rest my head in my hands while she takes a drink. "I knew Eric was looking for me and I'm so sorry and I blamed you and then I found out everything you went through and I knew because Robert told me and I'm so sorry."

I take the glass from her hand and place it on the nightstand. Then I crawl under the covers next to her and tug on the hem of her tank top to signal for her to get down here…slowly, of course. She looks at me like I'm nuts but doesn't question it and carefully lays on her back. I briefly examine her face, taking a mental snap shot, and wipe away a tear with my thumb. Then, I take her hand and lace our fingers in the air, examining them for a moment before placing them between her beautiful breasts. I leave a quick kiss on her shoulder and I really only have one thing to say about that pointless rant.

"No, shit." _Does she honestly think I didn't fuckin' know that?_

She doesn't respond, but I hear the distinct shaky exhale of relief come out of her. It doesn't take long and I relish every moment of it, as I hold her hand tight and feel her heartbeat regulate under the back of my palm. Then her breathing evens out with a slight sigh at the back of her throat. Once I see her lips slightly part, I know she's out. So I leave her an extra kiss on her shoulder, detangle our hands and drag myself over to take residence on the floor next to her side of the bed, feeling grateful that I get to sleep so close to her again.

 **Wipe Your Eyes - Maroon 5** (of course...)

* * *

Join in the convo on Facebook with us! **/nitewriter4** or you can "like" the **Kris Gregory** Fan Page for teasers and fun stuff.

Thanks everyone! Review if you feel so inclined!


	4. Reciprocation

**AN:** Hope you all got the chance to read the One-shot I posted! Also, notice the date—it was March 2015 (months prior to Prior).

Can I just point out, whichever reviewer left nothing but a tongue sticking out keyboard version of an emoji—I don't know what it meant, but I definitely laughed my ass off!

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Reciprocation**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I wake with an unexplained jolt and a racing heart. I blink my eyes profusely to clear them and then try to evaluate the situation. I have that nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I had unpleasant dreams—not particularly bad, just maybe about something unsettling.

I lay my left hand flat, just to feel a bit of Tobias on my fingertips, but he's not—I lift my head up to look left—there. I know he fell asleep with me. Therefore, I would also _prefer_ him to wake up with me—you know, arms around me, the whole shebang. But that's just the selfish romantic in me who thinks that's what should happen every day until forever, so I realize it's unrealistic. Pushing myself up to sitting, a note falls on my lap.

 ** _Sleeping Beauty,_**

 ** _Went to grab breakfast…even though it's almost lunch._**

 ** _I love you,_**

 ** _T_**

 ** _And don't do a damned thing until I'm back, Prior!_**

"Sleeping Beauty, yeah, okay." I rub my eyes and swing my legs off the bed, smiling like a fool.

Standing proves to be significantly easier this morning. Lying on my back probably helped along with Tobias not having a nightmare. I walk with a little less shuffle to the bathroom thinking to myself that I should feel fucking terrible, based on the sheer amount of booze drank and the lack of food eaten. But, truth be told, I feel great! Well, better than yesterday…

Once I'm in the bathroom, I notice that it's been cleaned up…almost in its entirety—pretty much everything is in place, but not crazy in place. _Christina…_ I smile to myself at what a great friend I have in that girl. Except I think she drugged me…again! I momentarily process how watching all of that 'information' affected her. She was matching me drink for drink. I would imagine it freaked her out seeing as she was in some of the footage.

Goosebumps trail up my arms as I think about going anywhere in public. Is Marcus still watching? Why would he be? From the looks of things, he got what he wanted—his precious insider trading "rights." I wonder what Tobias is going to do next. Anything? Nothing? I just hope he talks to me first before he does something ridiculous. We haven't discussed it yet, but my gut tells me his disdain for Marcus will overshadow Carlos's role in this whole thing. Maybe that's for the best? I truly have no fucking clue.

Heading to the sink, I promptly see the trail of Tobias—my toothbrush sitting out with toothpaste on it and a cloth with a squirt of face wash ready to be applied. I roll my eyes, yet still catch myself smiling because it's very sweet, as I open the drawer to get my brush. And…it isn't in it's proper place. But a note is—

 ** _My job._**

 _Okay, that did it! Damn you for being sweet when I want to be annoyed!_ I know I have a ridiculous grin on my face at that. I can pull off a one-armed hair brushing session as well as the next person, but I kind of love that he likes brushing my hair. _I wonder what Zeke would say about that? Save that one for a rainy day of paybacks!_

I glance up at the mirror and my grin quickly disappears. The bruises have started to mutate into colors of greens and yellows, and the hues against my already-pale skin make me look like I have gangrene on my face.

"God…"

I swallow and look away, scrambling with shaking hands for the cloth, noticing it's already damp as well. I feel my lip protruding a little, which I hate, and I bite it back roughly.

"Okay, okay…"

I go to work on the mess that is my face, wincing as I unintentionally push too hard on my left cheek. Yet, I still get through it and then even manage to brush my teeth without giving in to the temptation to look at my face. And because I'm unsure how to proceed and unwilling to uproot any more of Tobias's life, I take the cloth and wipe out the bathroom sink so I don't leave any water spots.

 _That's okay, right? Should I have used toilet paper? Paper towels? Do I put this in the washing machine? Where the hell is his washing machine?_

I decide to hang the rag, folded neatly on the faucet, and ask him later. _Moving right along—what…the…hell?_ The toilet seat is up. I would never do that, Christina would never do that, Tobias would never do that—yet he did…on purpose. I close my eyes and take some deep breaths, making a _mental_ note to have a polite discussion with my _mental_ boyfriend.

 _Boyfriend… Still sounds weird. Why?_

I wander to the shower and yank, on purpose, a towel out of the linen closet while reaching for the shower door. My hand brushes up against another damned note. I pull off the post-it briefly flitting my eyes down to the simple word—

 ** _No._**

Rolling my eyes, again, I continue on into the shower, only to find—

 ** _And how do you plan to do this_** _?_

—attached to the shower diverter. I rip it off, crumple it up and toss it over my shoulder.

"UGH! What the _fuck, TOBIAS?!"_

But then I stop my stubborn ass because, motherfucker, he's right! I'm bandaged on my right side with no plastic covering and I have a tangled mass of hair along with limited movement. I really had only intended to rinse off but even that would be a bitch. But, damn it, I can't keep relying on him to fucking bathe me! It was bad enough that I made Christina shave my legs last night. At that humiliating thought, I tentatively lift my sleep pants to expose my shins and see what looks like a small massacre of razor blade nicks on my legs. _Oops… Hell, at least, now my left matches my right, yeah? Lemonade!_

I huff and exit the shower, moving back to the sink to dig out the concealer that Christina left me.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Waking, on the damned floor, alone, sucked…ass, but it's better than tearing Tris's stitches to shreds. Even though, of course, the night I _don't_ have a nightmare is the night Tris is _not_ in my arms. At least, I woke before her so she wasn't aware I had slept on the floor…I hope. _Lemonade!_

After spending the amount of time I allotted myself to gaze at her—exactly two minutes, I quietly got up, being momentarily appreciative to still be wearing jeans so I didn't wake her by opening my dresser drawer. Then I headed for the guest bath to freshen up as to not wake her further because I had a brilliant plan.

I take an unsure breath as I arrive at my second stop on my mission and put the paper bag down right outside the door, not wanting a particular small business owner to get offended by my decision to forego scones in lieu of a different treat. I thought about calling ahead to have the coffees ready but I've been neglecting my French lady for too long and I would rather not be reprimanded on a day that is starting out to be better than any in weeks—and that's even taking into account the thousands of issues yet to be addressed.

 _My how my expectations have lowered! Either that or just being around Tris satisfies my needs more than anything ever has. Yeah, pretty sure it's the latter._

"Uh… Bonjour?"

I open the creaking alley door slowly hoping I won't get hot coffee thrown in my face. Maybe using my short list of French terms will help—

"Just because you use your bullshit French with me, doesn't make me forgive you for your many transgressions!"

I can't help but smile at Gertie as I land my eyes on her sassy form behind the counter—hair perfectly plastered into a football helmet style, large wire-rimmed glasses, dark red lipstick and a flowing, flowery, dress thing. _She's…hilarious._

"Transgressions?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and closing the door quietly as to not "draw unwanted attention"—her words.

"You cheated on my coffee…too many times for me to have to count! Now I don't appreciate interruption from my telenovelas! What do you want?"

"Why, coffee, of course. I missed it, very much," I state graciously and honestly.

"Enough of your face. That pantaloon-dropping smile doesn't work for me, not anymore Monsieur."

"Really?" I chuckle because she's lying and because I didn't mean to deliver her _that_ smile. "Pantaloon-dropping, huh?"

"Yes! That's what Mon Petit calls this face you have." She waves her hand in a circle around my unintentional smile.

"I assume you mean, Tris?"

"Stupid name—"

"I happen to like it." I shrug and rock back and forth on my heels as she sizes me up. "You should ask her her _real_ name sometime."

"Hmmph. Maybe I already know it!"

"No, you don't."

She furrows her eyebrows at me and I return the action with added humor.

"So where is she? Where has she been? I don't care, never mind, I get your coffee!"

She scurries, yet somehow makes it seem elegant, to the back to pour the coffee as I watch after her with amusement.

"Did you miss me?" I asking resting my chin on my folded forearms over the tall counter.

"No. Your replacement suits me fine."

"You replaced me?" I ask with mock offense.

"Your fault."

"Who, may I ask, has taken up residence?" I'm actually happy because she needs people. _Anyone_ would do just fine.

"Your little Miss…well, _my_ little Miss now." She waggles her eyebrows as if she has "won" Tris.

I smile even more at that idea. I knew Tris had been here a few weeks back, I just wasn't aware she had continued to visit. I wonder how many times she was this close to me and I missed her. We could have walked right past each other on opposite sides of the street. But if she saw me, she probably would have run.

I return my attention to Gertie. "You stole her from me? Can we, at least, _share_? I'm rather fond of her, you know." I grab for the coffee and she yanks it away.

"Don't joke! You watched my video footage, oui?"

"You were there watching it with me, Gertie," I remind.

"I know this! You saw the heartbreak on Mon Petit's face when you slobbered all over that hoochie-coochie mommy, yet you did…nothing! She bled all over my floor, yet you did…nothing! She visits me! Once a week she comes! You…nothing! She brings you my coffee and another hoochie-coochie mommy leaves and you throw _my coffee_ into your apartment! And all this time, from you—"

"Nothing."

I sigh at the memory of Tris's face while I kissed Kirsten. That is a look I will _never_ forget. And I can only imagine her expression on that fateful morning upon seeing Nita appear.

"I'm quite aware of the nothingness I have done, thank you, Ghertrude."

"Take the coffee. $10.00."

"$ _10.00!_?" _What the fuck?!_

"For you, $10.00."

I clench my jaw to remain calm. "May I, at least, have two?"

"Only _one_ cup for you!" She holds her index finger up and stabs the air.

"How about one for your Petit?"

She narrows her judgmental eyes at me as it hopefully comes together in her stubborn French head that Tris and I are _back TOGETHER!_ She still turns, not at all apologetic, takes a _much-_ larger to-go cup than normal and fills it to the brim.

" _Hers_ is free. Tell her to come see me never mind, I don't care!"

"Good day, mon amour." I take the coffees and back toward the door. "And thank you for firing that voyeuristic piece of shit. Oh, and I need the locks changed, ya know, so no more hoochie-coochie mommy's come around. My 'replacement' has a temper, as I'm sure you've picked up on."

"Call the Super."

"You _fired_ the Super."

"Change them yourself."

"Gertie."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry," I say as softly and kindly as I'm capable of, considering her tone.

My fairly decent day has started to take a turn and I am entirely unwilling to give a full explanation for my actions to Gertie on this fine Friday. I just want my _fucking_ coffee so I can go home and hole up with my girlfriend _(Still not quite right… Why?),_ not being more than feet away from her at all times, until reality hits and I have to work on Monday.

 _That's a whole other subject—Amar must have so many regrets. I'm going to have to work my ass off, which will take time away from Tris. I hate that so, so, so, much. But she keeps herself busy. Maybe she'll start working on her pictures again? She cannot workout yet. She better not workout, yet! Or dance yet. She better not! I wonder when she'll start work? Not for a long time! A very, very, very long time—_

"Take you coffee and tell the Little Thing she can come see me. Or not! I don't—"

"You don't care. I'll pass that right along. Au revoir."

"Adiós!" she yells in finality.

I leave with a scowl on my face and I may have slammed the door. (I slammed the door.) Although I need to keep in mind she doesn't know the extent of anything. Hopefully, Tris will tell her all she needs to know. _I can't believe she's been visiting her still. She's awesome._

I pick up the bag I left outside the door and make my way up the street toward my apartment. Once I see the high rise in sight a nonsensical bought of nerves rushes through me. I'm about to do something cheesy and clichéd.

 _Fuck it! She's worth it._

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Feeling completely unsatisfied with my lousy job of concealing my bruises, I mope back out to the bedroom and perch on the bed, having no idea what the hell to do with myself. Were it an ordinaey day, I would go for a run, hit the gym, take a class at The Studio, go get some crappy shots or—I swallow thickly—work on one of my new pictures. Tori's clock? Or the Ferris Wheel? But right now I'm so torn between wanting to spend every moment with Tobias—not letting him out of my sight—and needing to get back into a routine. I just don't feel at home here. It's not him, it's _definitely_ not him. If anything, he _makes_ me feel at home. It's more that I have nothing here but two duffel bags—nothing is mine. Shit, nothing even looks like _his_! It's a strange feeling of _wanting_ to be buried in a hole while also feeling trapped by the dirt.

Something catches my eye on the floor by the end of the bed. I lean over, still not being able to identify it. Until I see, placed nicely on a napkin, a chocolate-covered strawberry. I smile like a goof and scramble, painfully, over to it, lowering myself and picking it up. _Okay, I officially choose to spend every moment with him and he must not leave my sight!_

"Tobias?" I yell, laughing like a kid. But I hear no response. "Hmm." I pick up the napkin the strawberry is on, and see a note—

 ** _Please, wait?_**

I let out another brief laugh, "Ooookay…" Then I spot another strawberry, and another, and another—basically a trail of them leading out to… _the balcony?_

I tip toe over to the next one and struggle to pick it up, balancing it in the napkin with the other, then moving to the next. But, I can't take it anymore! I've wanted to try one of these fuckers for _ever_ and one little taste won't cause Armageddon. So I stay crouched down and bring it up to my mouth. The chocolate barely touches the tip of my tongue before another note on the napkin falls to the ground—

 ** _I said, please!_**

I laugh out loud, again, even though it comes out as more of an embarrassing hell storm of giggles before I compose myself. I see one more strawberry before the door, but I have to step over it because I don't think I'll be able to get back up again, this time.

The trail of deliciousness has just ended at the closed balcony door, but I'm greedy so I peak out there to check for more anyway and taaaa-daaaa…I see one more. So, I excitedly balance them in my right hand, open the door with my left and sneak out onto the balcony…to see Tobias—chair turning to face the apartment, face beet-red, fingers gripping the chair handles, jaw clenched like a vice.

"Tobias…" I say tenderly, even though I would rather say, "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Shh… Just come out here…please," he utters shakily while adorably trying to keep his voice light. _Fail, babe. Just, straight up, fail._

My cheeks hurt I'm smiling so widely, and that shit doesn't happen often. But I can hear his uneven breathing so I step over the two other strawberries to get to him so I can pull his ass inside. But he gives me the why-the-hell-did-you-not-pick-those-up look.

"Oh, sorry. Uh…" I crouch to pick them up.

"Tris, shit, stop!" He stands and makes it to me in record time.

"Well, you were looking at me like—"

"That was directed at _me_ for being an idiot and leaving them on the floor! Fuck… I'm terrible at this shit. I was trying to be…" He slumps his shoulders and shakes his head.

"Trying to be…?"

"You know…" he trails as if he wants _me_ to fill in the blanks.

"Ro… _man_ …tic?"

"Yes. Keep the man part in there, please." He shrugs his shoulders and smiles at me with the cutest smile ever, but then he knits his eyebrows and runs his thumb over my bruises in obvious dislike at my trying to cover them. "I wanted to make up for your birthday. Not that this is enough, but… I don't know, maybe I can, at least, celebrate some of it with you? Belated? Is that okay?" he mumbles the last part and looks toward the apartment with longing.

"I love it." I lean up and kiss him on the cheek, but he turns his head at the last second and gives me a gentle kiss on the mouth instead.

"Good," he states rather pleased with himself, but only for a moment until he changes back to his more serious face.

"Ya know, you _really_ don't have to hide your softer side from me." I pull him closer by his sleep pants and look down at his legs curiously. "Did you go out like this?"

"Nope. I changed." He clears his throat and looks at me intently. "While you were grumbling obscenities with my name attached to them in the bathroom. Jerk," he mutters kissing me on the forehead as he takes the strawberries out of my hand.

In two strides he's at the table and I can hear his breath hitch. I notice his hesitation immediately.

"Hey, it's boiling out here. Do you mind if we go inside?"

"Hell yes thank you," he says breathily, quickly grabbing and _ENTIRE PLATE FULL_ of chocolate covered strawberries and bolting inside. _I can't fuckin' wait to try these things!_

I follow him inside grinning at this fool of a man who does the sweetest things and plays them off like they're nothing. I close the sliding door behind me and look down at him lounging on the couch and patting the spot next to him suddenly very enthusiastic. If it wouldn't rip my ribs apart, I would skip and what I wouldn't give to just plop down right next to him and roughly land my legs on his lap feigning a junk shot.

"Don't even think about it." He covers his groin with his hands as I laugh.

"But, it's so tempting," I groan. _Wait, what?_ My cheeks heat up as he raises his eyebrows and grins. "I mean, I meant, well, it _is_ and, but, I meant—"

"Sit your butt down," he smacks the spot next to him again, "and stop being awkward."

 _Phew._ "You're one to talk about awkward," I mutter unintelligibly.

"I heard that."

"Ugh…" I sit. "Can I hide _nothing_ from you?"

"Very little."

He smiles leaning in and grabbing my hand, kissing it after I try to pull off a graceful sitting on the couch. I look at the plate of strawberries, but it's very, very, far so I wait like a polite person knowing he'd smack my hand away or some crap if I reach for them. So, I shall just wait…

"What are you staring at, Tris?" He furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head like a confused…IDIOT as he purposely tortures me with my lack of chocolate and strawberries.

I'm fairly sure my mouth is watering as I look at the plate of what I can only imagine is nothing but pure amazing. Yet, I pretend it has no effect on me, so I decide to sit quietly. Until I look over as he frantically grabs for the plate and sets it on his lap grabbing one and holding it up to me.

"Uhhh…You're _not_ going to feed me are you? 'Cause I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"As much as I'd like to—Uh, ha, no, here." He hands it to me quickly and sits up stiffly. _Why is he nervous?_

I look at the strawberry strategically, knowing he's going to be watching my every move. I need to make this look sexy. _They're salted! God, I'm so not sexy…_ I glance at him and choke out a laugh at his eager expression.

"Come on! Eat the damn thing! I've been waiting for months to see the look on your face."

I do the math in my head for a moment. "It really has been months, hasn't it?"

He nods his head slightly and looks down tugging at my pants leg, most likely thinking the same thing I am—we've been apart for nearly half that time.

"Okay, here goes…" I begin, going back to the task at hand.

I close my eyes because it seems to be the only way I can achieve this knowing he's watching me and take a bite. First, let me tell you, there is no way to make eating a chocolate covered strawberry sexy, seeing that the hardened chocolate falls all down the sides of my mouth. But second of all, fuck sexy because this shit is awesome! Then I hear a click and my eyes spring open.

"No fucking way."

"What!?"

"Did you take a picture!?"

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he quips before quickly pulling his phone out and taking _another_ picture.

"Tobias!" I swipe at the phone as he holds it far away from me, but I'm disabled so I can't swipe far. But I slam my elbow into his thigh and that seems to do the trick.

"Ow! Mgh! Shit! It's not like you have chocolate all over your mouth or anything! Who cares?!"

I reach up with my thumb and wipe the side of my mouth—chocolate…lots of it. Then I hear another click.

"STOP!" I yell as he completely laughs at my expense.

And that does it for me because hearing him laugh, loudly, is the best…thing…ever. So now all I do is stop and smile and he smiles back at me.

"Words cannot express how much I missed that smile." He leans in and kisses the side of my mouth, sucking lightly as he pulls away, but not too far. "Best chocolate ever."

"Mmm hmm," I agree.

He's so close to my face and I feel chocolate still on the other side of my mouth, so I turn my head and place my hands on his cheeks pulling his mouth to the reamining chocolate. I hear him chuckle from deep within his chest as he drags the tip of his tongue slowly up the corner of my mouth sending lightning bolts through me. He pulls away slightly and looks at me with my favorite expression of love and just…the best side of him—slightly turned down eyes and a soft grin. My hands are still on his cheeks as I lean in, ready to kiss the hell out of him until I hear another click. I turn my head to see his arm outstretched taking a selfie. _Or is that an usie? I'll have to ask Christina._

I deliver him a thorough look of disapproval, but at least, it's my right side. I wonder if he took that into account—sounds like him.

"One more? Please, please, oh, please?" he begs as he leans back, phone at the ready.

"Fine! Only because this is a momentous occasion." I shake my head and smile quickly as he takes the shot and then goes to look back at the pictures.

"Oh, shit," he leans forward and snorts out a laugh. "You're gonna fuckin' hate that one!"

I try to grab the phone from him again, but he flinches away and grins at the picture. "Doesn't mean I agree."

I groan as he swipes through the pictures and even though I know it will be painful for me, I turn my body and lift my legs, landing my heels abruptly on his lap. I thoroughly enjoy the shocked and aggravated grunt that comes out of him as I just about land my heels on his balls, catching myself on my elbows.

Once he opens his scrunched eyes, he turns his head slowly. "You…are in so much trouble—"

"What are you gonna do?" I challenge. "I'm a little beat up here."

The look on his face changes. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no, no!_ It goes from amusement to torturous as I immediately see the flash behind his eyes and he looks down at my feet.

"Tobias, I didn't mean to say it like that—"

"So, you definitely liked the strawberries?" he asks as he runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat.

He leans his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes, shutting me the fuck out.

I stare at him unwilling to answer that total asscrap deflection.

"Tobias."

"Tris."

"Don't."

"Don't, what?"

I hit him with the same shit he does to me, and everyone for that matter, and don't respond to the question he already damn well knows the answer to.

"I feel you staring," he whines.

"Well?"

"Well…" He bites the inside of his mouth before he continues. You can't _say_ shit like that to me!"

He's right. But it sucks that he's right. I hate being careful around him.

"I'm sorry."

He nods his head and inhales, almost trembling. I know he's feeling the need to be careful around me as well. It's written all over his face. Sometimes, I wish we were more alike in how we think. I'm the expert at compartmentalizing—putting unpleasant things into a box and moving them to the back of my mind. His seem to stay at the forefront.

I watch him intently as he lifts his head and reaches behind the couch and then lays the throw blanket over my legs. He still won't look at me while he pulls my feet out and starts massaging them, leaning his head back again with his eyes closed. Seeing the appeal of that position I recline all the way down on the couch and close my eyes. I thought I'd never be able to spend time with him like this again. As much as having challenging moments is disappointing, and feels like a step backward. It's worth it as long as I can still have this. _Right?_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

 _Damn it! I am officially terrible at this! I looked like a ridiculous freak out on that balcony, I know it! Then I didn't even consider her enough to not put the strawberries on the fucking floor! So God-damned embarrassing... Hell, maybe she didn't notice my discomfort? Maybe I played it off better than I thought? I'm going with that. Thank God, she thought it was hot out. She'd better not have been lying! She totally was. DAMN!_

I break myself out of my intentional self-deprecation and catch her staring at the strawberries. For a minute there, I had forgotten about them—too intent on not fucking up any further. Doesn't mean I can't fuck with _her_ , though.

"What are you staring at, Tris?" I look from her to the strawberries she so obviously can't wait to try but are completely out of her reach.

I should _not_ be exploiting her incapacitation right now…but it's pretty fuckin' funny. Especially the desperate look on her face and how she's biting her bottom lip. And now how she's running her tongue slowly, so, so, so, slowly right along the inside of her mouth. And now it's coming to rest on her top lip. And now she's running the tip of her tongue back and forth over the dip in her upper lip that I have mapped out myself on many, many, occasions. Those lips and that tantalizing tongue that has equally mapped out my most sensitive places with just a flick of— _Damn it! Damn it!_ _Damn it!_ I grab for the plate of strawberries and set them on my lap pushing my severely excited cock down even though it's definitely at war with the plate. _This fuckin' plate better win!_

I grab for a strawberry in a bit of a frenzy and hold it up…to her _MOUTH? Or I can just walk IN to the lion's den?_

"Uhhh… You're _not_ going to feed me are you? 'Cause I'm not sure how I feel about that." _Oh, I want to do MUCH more than feed you._

"As much as I'd like to—Uh, ha, no, here." I practically toss the strawberry to her and sit back like a 6th grader who just handed his hot teacher an apple _._

Finally, after several side glances, my eyes settle on her scrunched up face as she tries to figure out how to eat it—most likely how to eat it without looking like a fool. _Impossible. Sorry, babe._ She shifts her eyes between me and the strawberry almost nervously until she breaks out into a laugh.

"Come on! Eat the damn thing! I've been waiting for months to see the look on your face."

That time frame hits more close to home than I intended it to as I think back from when we started seeing each other until now. It's not an exceptionally long amount of time, but it still feels as if I've wasted a good portion of it. I wonder what our relationship would have been like at this point if I hadn't left her.

"It really has been months, hasn't it?"

I nod my head acknowledging her comment but having no desire to contemplate it further.

"Okay, here goes…"

I glance up and see that she has closed her eyes. _Awesome!_ So, per my plan, I slide my phone out of my sleep pants, holding it steady. I don't trust my semi-photographic memory enough to file this one away properly. She sinks her teeth in as chocolate breaks in pieces and tumbles out the sides of her mouth, but she doesn't seem to care one bit and the look of rapture on her messy face is my moment. All it takes is one tap on the screen.

She opens her eyes and mouth simultaneously as chocolate drops onto her lap and I tuck my phone under my ass.

"No fucking way."

"What!?" I ask in the least innocent way possible.

"Did you take a picture!?" _Hell, yeah, I took a picture!_

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about," I respond as she glares at me yet still manages to lick her lips. So, of course, I whip out my phone and get a nice screen shot of that one too.

"Tobias!" I hold my phone out of her reach as she bats at my arm. _This is too easy! I could take 50 pictures at this rate—_

"Ow! Mgh! Shit!" I feel the familiar sensation of Tris's elbow digging into the musculature of my leg, as she seems so fond of doing! "It's not like you have chocolate all over your mouth or anything! Who cares?!" I exalt trying to hide the cringing pain so I don't look like a pussy while making light of the fact that she's a fuckin' mess.

She shoots me another angry glare and runs her thumb along the side of her mouth faster this time, but not fast enough for me to _not_ take another picture.

"STOP!" she roars.

Her attempt at imitating a tiger—not so great, but so damned cute. I probably sound like Zeke but I can't help but laugh, although, it probably sounds more like a cackle, at her pissed off face. Until she stops and lights up the fuckin' room with her incredibly sudden, yet, genuine, authentic, real, all the words that mean the same damned thing, smile. My heart rate picks up, surprisingly so because it's not out of desire, but out of just straight up being happy.

"Words cannot express how much I missed that smile." I drift toward her lips because they are pulling me to her and suck a smear of chocolate from her mouth, only moving away slightly, seeing as I have no intention of retreating. "Best chocolate ever."

"Mmm hmm."

I get a very intoxicating whiff of her scent and my eyes drift down to her white tank top where she is so obviously not wearing a bra. Then she surprises me by resting her skilled hands on my face and literally guiding me to the other side of her mouth—a virtual invitation to suck on her lips. _I'm in!_ I feel her smile against my mouth as I run my tongue around the corner of her lips gathering both the taste of chocolate and Tris on my tongue. _Now that's a pairing!_ She tightens her grip on my face briefly so I back up just a bit, to make sure it wasn't out of nerves. I'm met with the best blue…eyes…ever. The lighting in the room somehow making the paler part of her irises even more pale and the darker turn almost a cerulean color. This girl is like a painting.

I watch her eyes flit all over my face. There aren't many moments where I sincerely feel we are on the same page, but this is one of them—she's looking and me the same way I'm looking at her. _Documentation is in order…_ I couldn't have planned it more perfectly—the click of the screen just as she's pulling me in for a kiss.

She looks at me shocked, and for just a second I don't know if I'm disappointed that I missed a moment or happy that I caught a memory. She gets over it quickly as a smile tugs at her lips. _Yeah… I need one of those too._

"One more?" I ask. "Please, please, oh, please?" I know I sound like a child, but…it's her fault! _She does this shit to me!_

"Fine! Only because this is a momentous occasion."

I take the picture before she can change her mind and then immediately go to check my work.

"Oh, shit."

The last picture showing itself first—her eyes are squinted closed and she's mid-laugh or mid-smile or something authentic. It's beautiful…but _—_

"You're gonna fuckin' hate that one!" I anticipate her minuscule attempt at gaining ownership of my phone and move away from her, still examining my handiwork. "Doesn't mean I agree."

I zoom in and crop it quickly. Truth be told, it could be my new favorite. Then I swipe back a few to the one of the two of us nearly kissing. _Now that is definitely…my…new…favorite—_

The complete shock of something hard landing inches away from my nuts sends imaginary jolts of pain right to my scrotum. I know exactly what that little shit just did. I don't know how she did it, but she did.

After a moment, I finally get the wherewithal to open my eyes and I see that she looks quite proud of her decision of feigning torture to my nut sack. It kinda makes me want to pounce on her…but I'll have to think of other paybacks…quickly.

"You…are in so much trouble—"

"What are you gonna do?" she asks like a smartass. "I'm a little beat up here."

…..

 _"Well, I have to be honest, I don't remember too much after that. Ummm… Just being beaten in the face… I'm assuming it's this side."_

 _Look at her, Tobias. Don't look away. You deserve to see what he did to her. LOOK AT HER! I can't…_

 _"Unless I have some crazy bionic right side of my face? Don't think I do! But, with whatever he used…yeah, definitely kicked the shit out of me until I was unconscious again. Wait, I think I may have hit my head. That part's unclear…"_

 _….._

"Tobias, I didn't mean to say it like that—"

"So, you definitely liked the strawberries?"

I slam my head on the back of the couch as my eyes burn, needing to go back to the image of her eating the strawberries—trying so hard, for her, to hold onto the good and let go of the bad.

But, I can't. It's there. It's right in front of me. I can see it clearly—Him grabbing her by the hair so she can't escape, her screams as she gets assaulted by the bottom of his muddy shoes, which he intentionally took off, not in a psychotic rage, but for purposeful torture. Until her neck snapping back so many times that her brain processed it as more pain than she can handle so it literally shut down. Then being the deranged individual he is, he stopped because he gets off on her reactions, yet he still slams her head into the floor for good measure. _Live with it, Tobias. You HAVE to live with it._

"Tobias." _She needs to leave._

"Tris." I don't want her to leave, but she needs to leave before I say something I regret.

"Don't."

"Don't, what?"

I can feel her fiery eyes burning a hole through me.

"I feel you staring," I plead, hoping she takes the fucking hint that exit is in her best interest.

"Well?"

Flight is obviously not in her plan, so if she can't be perceptive enough then she has to, at least, know how to avoid this situation!

"Well,…you can't _say_ shit like that to me!" _God, Tobias…_

I hold my breath while she processes my selfish comment. And there it is—I regret those words. I _want_ her to tell me how she feels. No, I definitely don't _want_ it, but I need it. I need her to talk to me. And she just did, but I shut her down. And the worst part is—it felt good. It was a fuckin' relief.

"I'm sorry."

I nod my head and I don't even know why. I just need this moment to pass. But she's being too quiet, which means she's thinking about it as much as me. I wonder what she's thinking. Is she remembering what he did? Or is she thinking about what I did?

I need to distract myself, somehow, and seeing as she's right in front of me with her cute feet in my lap, I may as well calm down and do what I can to improve this situation. Her legs feel chilly from the too-low air conditioning, so I pull the blanket down and lay it over her legs. I can't look at her—knowing what her look of concern for me will make me do. So I lean my head back on the couch and take her feet in my hands, massaging them gently, trying to hold back my urge to take my frustration out on her feet.

It seems to be working, especially as I hear the faint exhale of relaxation come out of her. _Okay, I made a sound decision. I redirected. Redirection could be the key to all of this._ My arms graze the smooth, chilled, skin of her ankle and I push up her pants leg to grant me more access, lifting my head now that the burning has subsided. But instead of pale skin, I see—

"Christina shaved my legs."

I groan loudly at the mess on her legs that looks like she ran through barbed wire.

"Don't _chastise_ me," she quips folding her hands over her abdomen. "Poor decision-making on my behalf, okay?"

I sigh and shake my head at her use of the word 'chastise,' knowing she used my more annoying proper verbiage against me. I trace the many small razor nicks on her right calf thinking poor decision-making doesn't even begin to describe Christina. But who am I to talk? Based on my behavior last night, I shouldn't.

I sigh heavily and pull up her other pant leg to inspect her calf wound, but she stops me with her other foot.

"Don't."

"I just want to make sure—"

"I said…' _don't_.'"

We have a Mexican standoff with our glares for a moment and I think mine unintentionally softens as her reasons for me not wanting to check her injuries right now, sinks in.

"Are you going to bar me from helping you, now?"

"I want to have a few moments without you thinking about my injuries, please?"

I begrudgingly go back to massaging her feet as we sit in semi-comfortable, semi-uncomfortable silence—both lost in our own thoughts. I have no desire to know hers right now. Undoubtedly something akin to "he's a selfish prick," and "what the fuck am I thinking, staying here with him?"

"Can you tell me a little bit?" _Did we even make it to "a few" moments?_

"A little bit of what?"

"From the beginning?"

I sigh. "Well… Let's see… 'In the beginning, God created the heavens and Earth—'"

"'Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.' That's the New International Version. I can be an even _bigger_ asshole than you and quote the King James version of Genesis, my father's favorite—'In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.'"

I stare off, continuing on to her other foot, having been officially put in my place.

"Be more specific, please," I murmur.

"I ran out of your office, tossed your satanic streetwalker over a drinking fountain—"

" _My_ satanic streetwalker?! And you _what?_ "

"Mmm hmm."

I look at her face as she grins with her eyes closed. Then I picture Tris pile-driving Nita into the drinking fountain and it makes me…so proud.

"Good _job_."

"Thank you."

"Anyway… I don't know how long I stayed at the office. I kind of…checked out after the word 'Research.'"

"Fuck, I shouldn't have—"

"You want _me_ to talk, right?" I interrupt her interrupting, knowing that her interruptions will do us no good, especially when I'm trying to relay crucial information. "So, I don't think I ever truly told you the effect Marcus tends to have on me…" I massage her pinkie toe, knowing I'm leaving her hanging for a moment. "Um…And to even think about the two of you in the same room together, made me ill. Tris, he has no morals, no code, and no qualms. And, and it's more than just what he did to my mother." I swallow and push back unwanted memories. "He's dangerous and the people he deals with…equally so. I've, uh, kept tabs on him over the years… with the help of his business partner, who apparently met his end…"

She must take this as her cue to pick up where I left off. "At the hands of the person who started this."

I hold my breath as the angry tone of her voice sinks in. "Tris."

"What?"

"We need to let…that…lie." I give her a moment to process _my_ tone of voice. "Tris, did you hear me?" _Please tell me she isn't going to hold onto or God forbid act on some senseless vendetta. What the hell could she do anyway?_

"You know I heard you."

For once, I actually want to talk about my father. As long as it deters Tris from thinking about Carlos.

"So, I ended up at Marcus's office and…well, you saw…"

"I saw…"

"Tris, it was like nothing he was saying was registering until the words 'out of the picture' crossed his mouth. When it connected that he was referring to you…fuck, I don't even know…" I take another breath as I try to bring back what was going through my mind. "I mean, I knew of Carlos—I knew he and Marcus had done business, but...I had no idea about him and my mother and, damn it, at the time, it made sense! It made _actual_ sense to me that Carlos would blame Marcus and… _me_ for getting in his way. I fucking bought into it!"

"Why?" she whispers as I look at her nervously.

"Um… I don't know, maybe because of my heightened awareness?"

"Of what?"

"Well…when it comes to…loving someone to such an extent—the feeling that you would do anything for them… I don't know."

She drapes her arm over her face. Not having to look her in the eyes gives me some sort of confidence—confidence to bring up the one thing I've been dreading.

"Marcus." I purse my lips briefly having said his name too many times as it is. "I beat him until he was bloody and pleading for me to stop. Actually, that's a fucking lie because _I_ didn't stop—not until I was good and done. I did that. How did you…? I didn't want to be here when you…saw that. I—"

"It scared me," she states plainly which makes me feel like my heart just shrank two sizes. "Pretty sure Christina wanted popcorn. Especially when you drop kicked him. She actually asked me to rewind it. I thought that shit was just in movies."

I sit still not knowing what to say…at all—feeling nothing but remorse.

"Did you want me to sugar coat that?"

"No," I respond just as evenly as her. "Definitely not. I just want you, need you, to know it didn't make me feel powerful or better, it just…made me feel weak. But I still did it. So, I understand if you—"

"You know what bothers me the most right now?"

"What?"

"You haven't asked me _what_ scared me about it. You just assumed."

"Well," I begin. "I lost control. I'm _capable_ of that—"

"Yeah, well, I could have told you, from the first night we met, that you were _capable_."

I had always wondered how much of that part of the night she remembered. Or maybe Christina filled her in. _Was that me at my best or me at my worst?_

"And, um…" I cringe knowing how hard this is going to be to get out. "Some say, abuse...is a learned behavior and—"

She scoffs in annoyance. "Maybe with some. Not with you, idiot."

"Are you…? Can you fill me in here?"

"It was the look on your face. That's what scared me—upwards of 20 years of anger that you held onto. Tobias, you let things slip here and there, just to relieve the pressure—bits and pieces of your story—with Hana, with Zeke. I suppose with me—"

"You _suppose_? That's borderline insulting. _Definitely_ with you."

"Not enough." She frowns and shakes her head. "It was a reciprocation—"

"That's _entirely_ inaccurate." _And it really pisses me off._

"So, if I hadn't had some… _things_ …to tell you before we could go further, you would have readily told me about Marcus?"

"Readily?" I ask in obvious distaste at her adverb.

"Fine. Voluntarily?"

"No. You would have had to dig that out—Shawshank style. But, I was a different person when we started dating. I… _never_ talked about anything and you made me feel…like I _could_ —"

"Because of my _issues_ , not because of me."

"You need to stop talking about your experiences as if they aren't a part of you, Tris. You may hate it, but you are one and the same. Your so-called _issues_ made you…you— _this_ person. And if you think I could have loved you if you hadn't been through that, then you're wrong. You said it yourself in the hospital—I wouldn't have taken a second look at you." I feel her calf muscles tense at that admission, but she needs to hear this. "And it has nothing to do with you _not_ being hot or whatever shit you're concocting in your mind at this very second. It's because I highly doubt you would have had that flame. I would imagine you've always had a spark—that shit's innate, but it's what you've had to overcome that turned it into a flame. As much as I hate that you had to experience _any_ of that, it doesn't make it any less true. It fuckin' sucks and I want to take it all away for you, but it was the ultimate lighter fluid. The moment you made eye contact with me—you had this look about you that I will forever try to put into words, but will forever be unsuccessful. I wanted to know you even before I met you." I clear my throat and make peace with the fact that my face is on fire while I wait for her response.

"So, I was way off?"

I laugh as some of the tension subsides. "Way the hell off. For someone that's supposedly so perceptive... Needs work, babe." I pat her shin and lay my head back in relief. _That felt great!_

"I wasn't completely off… You still hold back. And what you took out on Marcus—years and years of pent up anger and frustration. _That_ is what scares me. You hold back and then you explode—not necessarily physically, but emotionally. I've always suspected that, but I figured time was on our side, and that eventually you would let me in more. I don't know…"

"Well, you now have more information than you ever did, so…I guess something good can come out of video surveillance," I admit in jest.

She laughs under her breath to pacify my deflective remark, but doesn't say anything, she just stares at the ceiling, still just…staring at the ceiling.

I know what I should be saying to her right now—I avoided my father for years because just hearing the sound of his voice without fair warning sends me right back into a 4X4 broom closet. I should tell her about my humiliating experience when I was 17 years old and I urinated in the bed because I had a dream about being locked in the closet for, at least, a day. And that it almost happened again, when I was awake and hearing my father yell at one of the maids the last time I confronted him for my mother's things—the last time I was in that house. I should tell her why trimming my fingernails is debilitating and I've found myself passed out on the bathroom floor. I should tell her more about my mother—my conflicted feelings about her.

I should be strong, like Tris. We've stayed up for hours talking and I have absorbed every word she has said, every memory she has let me in on. And I can only count on one hand the number of times I've reciprocated. _Reciprocated…_

 _Holy shit… She's right—_

"Shhhhheee," she sucks in a breath through her teeth and tenses her foot. "Easy there, tiger."

I look down and see the pads of my fingers are white and I'm leaving red fingerprints on her feet.

"Shit!" I look at her guiltily then down at her petite toes. "Sorry, feet." I pull her foot up and kiss the top of it, which elicits my favorite smile from her. The one she gives me when I've done something— _Oh no_ —stupid and _unintentionally_ cute. "Don't say it."

"I'll make it fast I missed your goofy face oh so so so so much!"

"You said it! I told you _NOT_ to say it!"

"But you're so _cute!" Must she make that word into two fucking syllables?_

I deftly, and hoping to God I don't hurt her, slide out from under her legs and arrive at her giggling face, placing my fingers over her lips.

"This face…is not goofy."

"Well, not right now," she mumbles through my fingers.

"Not ever."

"Not even when I do this?" She lightly yet with perfect strategy and pressure brushes her thumb over my chest taking a pit stop and flicking at my nipple, sending a mix of ticklishness through my body and desire right to my dick. _It's the most conflicting feeling ever and it drives me crazy because I just don't get it!_

I jolt upright and give her a stern look, which of course turns into something sappy and bullshit.

"And there it is fans! Crawford fails to block the shot! Prior for the nipple tickle—"

But before she can continue on with her fake hockey commentary, I'm at her mouth, laughing and trying to hide my "goofy" smile through soft kisses. Her incessant giggles don't help so I have to grab her bottom lip with me teeth, and my tongue, by its own volition, runs the length of her bottom lip back and forth, making her giggle turn into soft sighs. Knowing I can now continue on with kisses, I proceed— _One, two, three, slowly four…even slower five…_

Her nails crawl up the back of my hair and I'm pleased to say she's the first one to deepen the kiss this time with her adept tongue matching mine and holding my face with her other hand. The longer we kiss like this—switching angles to deepen the kiss ever so often as if we can't get close enough and taking constant deep breaths of each other—is making the need to lay myself out on top of her more and more difficult to resist. She moves her neck to the side inviting me to switch venues, which I happily do, but the scent of her, which is so prevalent in that particular area makes my cock twitch anxiously as many intimate moments come to the forefront. I press my lower half up against the couch to satisfy my innate need for friction. Were it another time, she'd already have her hand on me or I would just start doing the job myself which I know turns her on. I cradle her face with my right hand to occupy it, as I run my tongue along her clavicle, slowing down once I realize there is nowhere to go but _down. Or I could make my way back up?_

She shivers slightly and I look up at her, seeing nothing but a lazy, relaxed smile on her face mixed with an appropriate amount of desire. She takes my hand off her face and rests it over her heart, where I can feel it beating—the familiar rhythm of anticipation and want, not the quickened pace of fear. I smile at both her and myself, loving that I can read her heart. I wonder if she can do the same?

She laughs quickly.

"What?" I ask her quietly, not there's any need for quiet.

"Tickles."

I look down to where her eyes landed and see that my thumb had found its way aimlessly to where her tank top is riding up about an inch-and-half higher than her sleep pants.

"Sorry," I chuckle as I watch her shake her head and bite down on her lower lip.

"Don't be."

I watch her cheeks turn the best shade of pink. _Did she like it? Yes, yep, I'm saying, "yes."_

"Okay, then," I whisper, keeping eye contact as I move down her stomach.

I really wish she were topless, or at least in a bra because I would love to have my lips on her skin right now. But once I reach my target, I have my chance. The first thing I do is lean in and place my lips on the dip between her hipbone and her abdomen, testing out the waters. I glance up at her as she closes her eyes and shudders out a breath. _Too much? Too little? Continue? Tell me, damn it!_ She reaches her left hand up and rests her hand on top of mine over her heart. _Okay, cool. Phew!_

I nuzzle my nose toward her belly button and then make a huge mistake by _INHALING!_ Yeah, so, I know she smells incredible in the curvature of her neck, but when I'm this close to where I desire her the most, scent takes on a whole new excruciating meaning. I'm so close, so, so, so, close. I still my thumb where it's pressing into her right hip. _One quick swipe over her panties with my finger just to feel if she wants me as much as I want her would tide me over, right? Fuck, no! "Tide me over"—basically doesn't exist anymore. But I can still enjoy this time with her._

"Why are you smiling?" she asks lazily.

I shrug my shoulders and place a kiss on her stomach over her tank top.

"Tell me."

"Just…enjoying this. Very much…very, very, much."

"Me too."

"Yeah?" I ask needing some encouragement.

"Mmm hmm."

"Good." I nudge her tank up with my nose and explore her lower abdomen— mapping out missed areas.

She laughs as I dip my tongue into her belly button and her abs flex along with her laugh. _Whoa!_

 _"_ Holy abs, babe." I back my face up and pull her shirt up to expose more of her belly.

"Too much?"

"Mmm _mmm…_ " I groan as I continue kissing up the line running down her stomach.

She's always been fit, very fit…but this took work. She's not crazy cut, just more defined. _I fuckin' love that she works out like a fool, just like me. Maybe we can work out together—_

"You can thank Uriah for that one." _Ugh… Yay! Thanks, Uriah! Whoo hoo!_ "Hey, now," she lifts my chin as I flinch away. "He's been a good friend. To both of us, okay?"

The reminder of how he basically asked for me to kill him at the gym just to out me about my feelings for Tris registers. But no need to admit that.

"Hmmph."

I pull her shirt back down a little and lay my head on her stomach, moving my hand away from her heart to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles down at me and plays with my hair in return. I gaze up at her absentmindedly flitting my eyes all over her face and down her neck, catching on her clavicles and moving lower until my eyes attach themselves onto the hardness of her nipple straining under her tank top. I glance up at her and can see that she sees me staring. Just the mere eye contact we make and the way she arches her back just slightly is, in my expert Tris Prior opinion, an invitation. So I run the tips of my fingers from her shoulders, slowly down her chest and over the swell of her breast to come to rest on her nipple, where I begin to move my index finger back and forth over the top making it harden even more in perfect synch with my dick.

I feel her abs flex under my cheek as she squirms and tightens her legs. _That was good, right? Was that good?_

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah," she breathes out quickly.

I pause feeling the needs to reevaluate— _That wasn't a forced "yeah," that was a good just-keep-at-it-asshole "yeah," right?_ I test the waters just a bit more and squeeze lightly with my fingers.

"Shit…," she mutters under her breath.

I feel the sudden need to stop because taking this to the next level is way too tempting. And I don't even know what the next level is at the moment. Fooling around seems juvenile for the two of us, yet enticing nonetheless. And I can only read into this situation so far—

I feel cool air on my scalp and I close my eyes as the seductive scent of her attacks my senses where she has now parted her legs.

Damn it, I just need to know if she wants me! There is a part of myself I'm newly discovering that needs constant reassurance that she still craves me as much as I do her.

I find myself reaching my left hand up under her knees which she seems to have lifted a little. While keeping my eyes trained on her face and my fingertips teasing her breasts, I sense movement in her pelvic region—she rolls her hips just slightly granting me access. So I press my thumb slowly yet purposefully onto her center, groaning as I feel the heat radiate out and then dampness as the wetness from her panties seeps through the fabric of her thin sleep pants.

I turn my head and lean my forehead onto her abdomen breathing out a sigh of relief as my selfish question has been answered. I don't move my thumb, just enjoying the continued dampening of her pants surrounding my digit. That is until she starts to move her hips just enough to elicit her own reaction as she clamps her legs around my hand when my thumb is pushing on her clit.

I grip her breast, stopping briefly and biting the fuck out of the bottom of my lip. My hands are in two of my favorite places and I can't move. _Why can't I move?!_

"It's okay," she stutters. "It's okay."

 _What does that mean? It's okay if I stop? It's okay to keep going? Is she talking to me? Or herself?_

"I just can't… Um… Sorry…"

 _Can't what? Tell me! Tell me!_

I think back to what her body does when she feels pleasure— her shortness of breath and the way her upper body tenses and rocks. And as amazing of a sight as that is, it _can't_ feel good.

I groan, unintentionally, as I remove both of my hands and sit back all the way back on the floor. I gaze up at her apologetically and I see a look I wasn't expecting from her—wide, surprised eyes as her face turns from a very becoming shade of pink to red.

"I'm sorry," I state quickly.

"No, I mean…don't be sorry. I just. I guess _I'm_ sorry," she laughs in disbelief.

"Why would you be sorry?"

"Because of my non-participatory state apparently."

"Well, why would you apologize for _that?"_ I chuckle incredulously.

She just shrugs and rolls onto her left side, pushing herself up to sitting and then standing, leaving me sitting on the floor like an ass. I watch her curiously as she stretches her left shoulder by crossing it over her right side. She lifts her arm just high enough where I can still see her bare breast through her shirt and—

"What?!" she snaps as I move my eyes up to her face.

"Noth, nothing. I um… Did I do something—"

My train of thought that was most likely going nowhere is interrupted by my phone ringing. Tris seems to take this as her "out" because she moves into the kitchen as I hang my head, exhaling after so much inhaling. I let my phone go to Voicemail and stand, making my way toward the kitchen to find out what the hell that was about. Then my cell rings again.

I grumble nothing intelligent and head over to answer it, in case it's Amar.

 _Fuck, I haven't been to work for over a week and I ended up working on my own ridiculous project when I was lying in wait at the hospital. Monday is going to come too soon... I should probably go in on Sunday. Damn…_

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

That phone call could not have possibly come at a better moment. Escape doesn't even do justice to what I needed at that moment! I pause as Tobias mutters shit under his breath heading down the hall to take the call. I spot two generic coffee cups, one sizably larger than the other, and I reach into his cabinets to get two mugs. And since I hear Tobias's deep voice beginning a conversation, I use my time wisely and adjust the waistband and elastic all around my underwear that has now turned uncomfortable and fuckin' annoying.

My cheeks heat up in embarrassment, again, as I reflect on how intimate that moment felt to me, until I had to bring to light the fact that I can't _reciprocate_. He couldn't get away from me fast enough!

Pouring the coffee into the mugs I shake my head, not understanding. He's not the paybacks type of guy! What the hell was that about? Then it sinks in—I brought it up again! Reminded him, again, of…Eric and all that heinous bullshit. Why can't I just keep my stupid mouth shut? Just enjoyed the moment? Because, honestly, all it would have taken was a few strategic circles with the pad of his thumb and that would have been it.

 _I wonder if that would have hurt? Felt great at the time!_

I sigh as my mind is brought back to peaking at him out of the corner of my eye as he pushed his groin up against the couch and squeezed his eyes shut. It made me feel a mix of so damned happy that he was turned on, yet so damned frustrated that I couldn't assist him further. But I got over that quickly as he groaned, louder than he thought he did I would imagine, upon discovering how much I wanted him. I wonder if he's second-guessing himself as much as I am?

 _Okay, Tris. Just, act normal—talk about normal things, do normal 'couples' things. Nothing deep, nothing awkward, normalcy. I can do normal!_

I smile as I hear Tobias laughing loudly and I can tell right away that he's talking to Zeke. So I take a mug of coffee and make my way to his room.

"Well, you still have me one-upped on the moron scale, so…"

I tap him on the shoulder and hand him the coffee mug just to see him make a sad face and mouth the words "I knew I forgot something!"

I lean up and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, thinking that what he did with the strawberries was sweet and awesome enough and he's being, oh, so dumb.

"Zeke wants to know if you hate me."

I shrug my shoulders. "Sometimes," I say lightly as I walk out of the room. _Ain't that the truth._

I hear Zeke laugh loudly and Tobias's non-response makes me feel a twinge of guilt. _But, hey! For awhile there, I had myself convinced that I hated him! Ugh…but I didn't… And he fuckin' knows that so suck it up, Eaton!_

I take my coffee off the breakfast bar and spot the chocolate covered strawberries, rushing over to take my opportunity to make an ass out of myself in peace. I take one strawberry down in one bite. _Soooo fuckin' goooood…_ There are about 100 more, so I decide to have another. Continuing to munch on the fruity, chocolaty goodness, I also continue to think about what is to come within this next week—

 _The bills are going to start rolling in soon enough, which means work will have to happen sooner than later. Do I still have a job? Tori wouldn't do that to me, right? Shit! I haven't even called her! And, God, I'll probably find out the results of my Invasion Examination—that was no rape test. That was 100% all encompassing torment. Speaking of torment, I can't keep doing this to Tobias. I need to get back to my apartment. I need to get back to the gym. I need to get back to my art. Did I just call it art? Wow! I wonder if I've sold any more pieces. Does Dalilah want more?_

I smile to myself and bite down, without an ounce of grace, what I can only imagine is the tenth strawberry in my mouth and then walk to the window. I inhale my coffee and take a sip feeling suddenly excited to tell Tobias all about Dalilah's. He always wanted me to sell my work and—

I notice silence in the apartment and I look over my shoulder to see Tobias with the phone in his ear, standing there staring at me with an intensity that makes my skin light on fire and my bones turn to dust. I smile, slightly self conscious as I see my shirt has ridden about half-way up my torso and I'm fumbling with my belly button. He seems to refocus as he smirks and gives me the authentic version of his smile as he shakes his head.

"Huh? What?... Yeah, sorry. Just watching Tris pound a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries."

I roll my eyes as he smiles shyly at me as if he's been caught doing something wrong.

"Okay, enough with the replay. Why the fuck are you calling me?"

….. ….. …..

"Yes, while I agree that texting while driving is unwise, you seem to have mastered the art. What do you want?"

I turn to face the window again but hear nothing but silence.

"Great," he deadpans.

….. …. …..

"What do you want me to say?"

….. ….. …..

"I don't know."

….. ….. …..

"I said I don't fucking know! … Sorry." He sighs deeply and I look over my shoulder with enough time to see him run his hand down his face. "Mmmmm… Yes, I'm going."

….. ….. …..

"Not a chance in hell."

….. ….. …..

"Fine. See you at 4:00."

I wait patiently, having turned back toward the window, until he comes up behind me wrapping his arms around my middle and resting his forehead on my head taking a deep breath that turns into a moan on its way out.

"You always smell amazing."

We sway like that for a moment until he lifts his head and I pass him my coffee mug over my shoulder. He chuckles and takes a sip, handing it back to me and then resting his hands on my shoulders, kissing my head. I reach back and rest my hand on his.

"You're not going to ask me what that was about?" he mumbles running the pads of his thumbs along the base of my neck.

"No."

"Why?"

"'Apparently you're rubbing off on me. I didn't want to waste syllables."

"Jack's funeral is tomorrow." I run my thumb over his knuckles as my understanding of that shitty situation makes itself known. "Hana is one of those crazies who reads the obits and…she saw it."

"You're not going to let me come with, are you?" I ask noncommittally because I already know the answer.

"Not a chance—"

"In hell. Yeah, heard that one." I shrug him off me, and attempt to walk away but he grabs my arm.

"Tris."

"What? That was predictable."

"You have to understand why." He looks at me as if reading his mind were a skill of mine.

"Make me understand, Tobias."

"I don't want you anywhere near Marcus—"

"He may not even be—"

"He will _definitely…_ be…there." He looks at me and I see a hint of fear behind his eyes…fear for me.

"Okay, fine. So what? So what if he's there?"

"So, you have a bit of a…"

I cross my arms just waiting for this one. "A what?"

"A mouth."

"Are you serious—"

"You'll say something. You'll set him off. You know you will!"

"Set him off? What's he going to do? He's not going to make a scene. What's the worst that could happen? He yells at me?" At this point, I would love nothing more than to out Marcus Eaton for the piece of assfuck he is.

"That could be…very bad, yes."

" _I_ welcome it."

I watch as Tobias crosses his arms and stands up straighter. "And how do you think _I_ will react, hearing that little exchange? If you haven't noticed, you know, based on, well, _everything_ ," he grits with a clenched jaw. "I am slightly _protective_ of you."

"Well, I didn't ask for that," I retort.

He purses his lips and walks past me toward the kitchen.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" I follow him and stand between him and the fridge. "I know. You have good reason to feel that way, okay?" I look up at him as he moves his eyes rapidly between mine. "I won't go."

"You promise—"

"I said," I interrupt placing my fingertips on his lips. "I won't go."

He loosens his posture and pulls me in for a hug. Then he cups my face and tilts it up to face his. "Thank you. I love you, ya know."

I nod my head as smirks and moves his fingers down to take purchase on my hips, walking me backward.

"Where…are we going?" I question.

"Up against this wall." He nods as he presses me up against the wall, pinning me lightly with his hips.

"Why?"

"Reminds me of the first time I kissed you." I love how, in moments like this, he speaks to me at the perfect decibel between intimate and normal conversation.

"I'm sorry, who kissed who?" I quip, trying to evoke a memory.

"Whom."

I smack both of my hands on his pecks at his annoying correction.

"Ouch! Fine. I will amend that remark. It reminds me of the first time I had you pinned up against a wall. Although there is an even more specific moment—one I'm very fond of."

"What's that?"

He presses himself lightly into me as I move my hands down his chest and around his waist.

"The first time I felt your butt." He raises his eyebrows cheekily at me.

"Oh, yeah?"

He chuckles and bites his lower lip but then furrows his eyebrows seriously. "May I?" he asks as he moves his hands slowly toward my backside.

I nod my head and pull away from the wall as he palms my butt cheeks with both of his hands.

"Mmmm…" he moans which makes me giggle. _I hate giggling!_ "Best tush…ever."

"Tush?"

"Cheesy?"

"Yep," I respond as I run my left hand through his hair noticing he's massaging my ass.

"But you kinda like it?" he leans and whispers in my ear.

"I like it…very much. It's super cute."

Before he can respond to me calling him cute, I stand on my toes and kiss him tenderly on his sweet lips, only pulling away a little to see if he wants to continue. Apparently he does because he leans in and angles his head for a passionate kiss. This time I let my right arm roam more as our mouths work in tandem. My left hand runs down his thigh and squeezes his muscles. _He has the best legs…ugh…_ I press myself closer to him as he grips my ass tighter with one hand and slides the other down my pants to roam over my bare bottom. I'm not sure how capable I am, nor what he's comfortable with, but I'm rolling with it anyway. Especially when I run the tips of my fingers along the hemline of his sleep pants and fiddle with the coarse hairs that lead down to where he's growing harder. _Oh, thank God…_ I meet his swelling groin with my hips and add pressure which makes me actually shiver—

"Uh…" he pushes me away slightly. "Sorry… I don't want to… Um…" I look at him, not at all shocked this time.

Then I nod my head at him and walk away, squeezing my eyes shut the force back the tears, just as my phone rings.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

"Saved by the bell," she chuckles sarcastically as she saunters toward the bedroom to get her phone.

"Mmmmggghhh." I shake my fists in the air grunting as quiet as possible as I hear her answer.

 _How do I explain to her that I want her, but I don't want her to feel pressured to do anything she's not comfortable with? She seemed comfortable, but then seemed…uncomfortable? Maybe? She tensed up! And then I became…uncomfortable and was overthinking everything! And I don't want to hurt her! Jesus! I was rock hard for her, so she has to know I want her…badly, very, very, badly! But I will be equally as happy just being with her…in this place…or whatever place. Wherever she is!_

I walk toward my room— _I really need to start thinking of it as our room, right?_ But I stop in my tracks as she stands stoic with the phone to her ear. She's staring past me and I look over my shoulder just to make sure there isn't a murderer behind me.

"Hey," I whisper, walking toward her, trying to read this expression I've never seen before.

I hold her at arms length as she shakes her head to clear it and focuses on my eyes.

"Well, you can tell Mr. Monroe I said, 'Drink hemlock or go into exile.'"

I stare at her, not breaking an ounce of eye contact as she drops the phone from her ear. She reciprocates until she tosses her phone on the bed, walks past me and exits onto the balcony.

* * *

 **David Gray – Please Forgive Me**

* * *

 **Anyone know what that means?**

 **So, not a lot of plot progression—they're still in kind of a weird place so I decided to add extra insight into their dynamic as it currently exists.**

 **Thank you for reading! Part 2 is off to a great start so far!**

 **And a special thanks to the Facebook followers. Hearing your feedback and chat sessions is so rewarding! (Search /nitewriter4 on Facebook if anyone is interested in conversation, teasers, pictures, etc.)**

 **Reviews always appreciated!**


	5. Ignorance

**Chapter 5** \- Ignorance

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

The fog that comes along with waking up in the morning hits me pretty damned hard, along with the annoying vibration against my cheek. I'm sprawled facedown on the guest bed and I feel a moment's relief acknowledging that I must have, at least, slept some.

I talked Tris into sleeping on her back again, making her believe my rationale that it's better for her ribs. When the truth is, I only insisted because it would make my escape easier. I did get the pleasure of watching her fall asleep—my arm draped over her stomach and our feet in a comfortable tangle.

I grin to myself, remembering how whenever I felt the obligation to have a 'sleepover' with other women, waiting for them to fall asleep so I could slide over just enough as to not be awkward, but enough where we wouldn't touch was quite the project. One time _(What was her name? Serena!),_ I just continued to inch further and further away, as she inched closer and closer. The seconds ticked by and soon I found myself on the edge of her bed. I ended up taking that as a sign that I should leave. I don't even remember if I got her number _. I was a dick!_ Then again, women never seemed to want to get to know me, either.

Rolling onto my back, I rest my arm over my eyes for a moment. Not that there's a need, the room is still dark, so— _Wait, not the right kind of dark._ I open my eyes and lift my head to see the blackout shades closed. Then, I sit up and feel the weight of a throw blanket on my legs. _Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ I move my hands all over the bed, trying to find my phone. Two devices click together and I feel that one is the remote for the blackouts. _Where the hell did that even come from?_ I hastily push the button on the remote and attempt the rather daunting task of reading the screen on my phone, going against all ocular instincts.

 **8:04 AM**

"Shit!" I jump out of bed and run out to the hall.

But in place of the conditioned air of my apartment whipping past me as I sprint, I feel a burning on my face and knees and a deafening thud because there is no hall—there is only a door. And the reason I know that is because I just slammed right into it. I try so hard to hold it in, but I know a rather loud groan came out of me, sounding something like, "Fuuuuuuuuckmmmmmm…"

Taking a very, very, deep breath and holding my nose like Rocky Balboa, I exit the guest room fully prepared to accept the wrath of Tris Prior. If I were a dog, there would be a tail between my legs. I tiptoe toward my room. _Or our room? Is it our room? Well, I fuckin' doubt it is now!_ I look in to see nothing but a neatly made bed.

"Mmmm!" _Why did she do that?! She's injured! I should not be upset. I should not be upset. But I'm pissed!_

I storm out to the kitchen, ready to raise hell, but no Tris. _Damn it! She's on the balcony! So, this is happening? She's really going to make me go out there?_ My fingers ache from clenching my fists, yet I rip the Band-Aid off and charge out to the balcony…looking like a shithead because Tris is not there.

"Fuck…," I breathe out as the realization comes forth that she left.

I wander toward the kitchen, closing the balcony slider a tad too hard, feeling a cross between apologetic, frustrated and sad. But then an ounce of hope creeps into my thick head at the thought that she, at least, left a note. _I always leave her notes. Nice notes!_ But I see no such note once I arrive.

"Fuck…" _I have a feeling I'm going to be saying that a lot this morning._

I do a 360 like and idiot—there is absolutely no purpose behind it. I just don't seem to know what the fuck else to do! _Call her! Call her, genius!_ Back to the guest room I go, to retrieve my phone.

I see her deceivingly sweet face on my Favorites list and push my finger way too hard on her picture, feeling immediately guilty afterward. I'm the one who slept in the guest room, which I know she hates but still, _sheeee_ —

"Hello?" she answers as if nothing is out of the ordinary. _Her phone sounds like she's in a tunnel. Time to come into this century and upgrade your phone, Prior!_

" _Where_ are you?" I ask with a bit too much anger as I walk toward the window, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the chilled glass.

"Good morning to you too," she says sarcastically.

"Good morning where are you and what the hell is wrong with your phone?"

"Nothing is wrong with me and the same goes for my phone because I'm in the damned kitchen."

I lift my head and look over my shoulder as if I can see her through the walls. "Oh."

"Yes, now play nice and come say good morning to me."

She hangs up the phone and I hear it smack against the countertop. _Shit…_ And again, as if I have my tail between my legs, I shuffle into the kitchen.

"Fucking sound proof bullshit walls," I mutter to myself.

"Don't forget I speak your mumble," she reminds me as I walk up behind her. "I had to catch onto that quickly."

I wrap my arms around her waist and bury my head in her neck, taking a deep breath as she pours beans into the magical grinder that everyone else seems to be able to locate aside from me.

"I'm mad at you," I grit out with a muffled voice.

"I'm mad at _you._ "

I dodge her predictable reverse elbow jab and move back into place tightening my grip, willing to accept the jab if she tries again.

"I thought you _left_ ," I comment as I tap the back of her hyper-extended knee, making her buckle. But, I'm right there to catch he, so it's all good.

"Gah! Stop it. And, I _didn't_." She pushes down on the grinder forcefully, in synch with her words.

"And I was supposed to know that, _how_? And where did you find the grinder?" I ask as I watch to see how the damned thing works. _So, you just push down on the top? I can definitely do that._

"God, Tobias. Did you even check to see that my bags are still _here_?" She reaches up and smacks the side of my head just as I kiss her neck. "And it's been on the damned counter the whole time!"

"Ow! And _no_ , I was distracted by your absence. And, seriously?" _This whole damned time?_

I watch intently as she dumps the coffee into the coffeemaker, simultaneously running the heel of my palms over her butt. Her cute little linen pajama shorts fit her just right.

"Where does the water go—"

"Take the crazy down a notch and you would see that people keep things on their counters." She moves the grinder flush to the right side of the coffee maker. _She's really going to just leave that there, isn't she?_

"You're not going to clean that out?"

"Christ," she mumbles as she brushes past me to the breakfast bar.

"I'm kidding!" _I'm not kidding_.

"No, you're not," she quips as she braces her hands on the counter facing away from me.

"Fine, I'm not." I get two mugs out of the cabinet and narrow my eyes as the coffee drips into the pot. I toy with the top seeing that it lifts up. _So, that's where the water goes._ "Back to the subject at hand—"

"Why are you so paranoid? And nobody cleans out their coffee grinder!"

I could go through the thousands of reasons why I have every reason to assume she left, but –

"I don't _know_ why…and they should! Do you truly just leave the grounds in there?"

"You _do_ know and _yes!_ "

I keep my eyes on the brown liquid, not wanting to bring shit up or have unpleasant conversations especially after having such an excellent day yesterday. (Well, after our shouting match about Joseph Monroe's lawyer calling). We just lazed around all day—on the bed, on the couch, and even on the floor. _Best nap ever, not that I will ever admit that._

 **Flashback:**

"Hey… Hey… Hey…" I feel Tris tugging on our interlaced hands.

"Mmm…" I groan, praying she's not going to make me move because we are in the best position ever—my back to the couch with her back to me, fitting her perfect form right into mine.

The TV is on and I'm halfway between napping and awake, but leaning more towards the napping part. _And I was pretty damned excited about it._

"Let's make a bed on the floor!" she whispers excitedly.

"That's a horrible idea. And you don't have to whisper."

She seems to digest my distaste at her absurd suggestion. We are perfectly happy and comfortable right here.

"Well, the thing is…" she trails off.

"Finish…your…sentence."

"Sorry, but…this position kinda hurts my side, so—"

"Shit, sorry! Okay… I'm up. Come on." I support her the best I can to help her sit up, walking my fingers over her injury just to make everything is where it's supposed to be.

Then she quickly stands with ease and scurries toward the hall closet, clapping her hands excitedly. I watch as she reaches up with equal ease and pulls every blanket, some which I didn't even know I had, onto the floor before moving on into my, I mean _our,_ bedroom.

"Put your handsome self to work, Eaton, and grab the blankets." _What…the…hell?_

I stand, aggravated because I had just been played. Yet still, I grab the blankets.

"That's not nice," I comment as she passes me hiding a smile behind a pile of pillows that almost towers over her head.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to inflict your trickery on me just to get your way. You could've just said, 'please.'"

I throw the blankets at her feet and run to her, pushing all the pillows out of her hand, but hold her tight so she doesn't topple with them. She laughs as I turn her in my arms carefully.

"You know I can't resist your cute quirks," I comment kissing her nose. "Eyelash wishing, pinkie promises, and now, apparently, unnecessary and nonsensical dormancy schemes."

She leans up and kisses my lower lip, which drives me insane. _Why not both lips, you fuckin' tease?_

"Do you ever hear yourself when you emit verbiage? You have quite the voluminous lexicon."

"You don't like the way I talk? And, by the way, I caught onto your semantical sarcasm with rapidity."

"Actually," she reaches up and rubs my earlobes with her fingers, which I find oddly arousing and semi-embarrassing at that fact. "I definitely do find it…" She looks past me as her cheeks warm. _Oh, now I can't wait to hear this!_

"You find it…"

"Pretty damned sexy." Her cheeks, officially, turn my favorite shade of pink.

 _I will never figure this woman out. She says the dirtiest things, but then can barely get the word 'sexy' out._

"Who knew I would end…be with such a brilliant guy?"

 _She almost said end up with! I heard it! Do I pretend I didn't?_ _Nope. She has to own up to that shit._

"Who knew I would end…be with such an intelligent woman—Miss I-reference-Socrates-to-ignorant-people-just-to-make-them-feel-inferior. Now _that's_ lexicon _._ " I ghost her earlobe and whisper, "Although I much prefer your _taboo_ lexicon." I shrug and use this as my exit, letting that comment sink in. "So how do we go about this utter bullshit?"

"So much for lexicon," she mumbles. "First! We lay out the blankets—enough to make the floor comfy, but we need some for us as well."

"Comfy, huh? So much for _your_ lexicon. That's not even a word." I do a double-take, giving her a stern expression. "Get down here, woman!"

And, Jesus, she actually believes me and crouches down to help. _Beatrice._

"Get the hell out of here, idiot! I was kidding! No more stitching issues on my watch." _Cue the eye roll._

"Fine. Just let me do the pillows."

"Why?"

"You'll fuck 'em all up. There is a strategy to this!"

"Jesus…" I say as I sit back on my heels. "You still haven't told me why we're doing this. We have an absolutely excellent bed!"

She furrows her eyebrows at the word 'we.'. _Damn…_ "Well, uh, variety is the spice of life."

"I guess," I mumble as she steps _right on the blankets!_ "Stop! You're fucking up my work! Now they're wrinkled!"

"Oh, we'll wrinkle them up plenty, anyway." _Oh…really?_ She stops and turns quickly away from my semi-shocked, semi-amused expression.

 _Damn it, I wish she weren't so shy about that. How do I make that go away? Maybe soon we can_ start _making that go away? Can she handle that? Can I? Hello, new realization!_

Once every pillow in the apartment, including _all_ couch pillows, are placed to her liking, I help her down and lean her up against said pillows, propping her lower back with a smaller pillow. I, of course, am kind of a dick, so I sigh and grumble, rolling my eyes the whole time, but secretly love the fact that she's letting me help her as she smiles proudly because she is indeed getting her way. Then I look her in her eyes seriously after reviewing the mass amount of strategically placed pillows.

"Promise me something."

"Not when I don't know what it is," she answers warily.

"You _must_ , this is with the utmost of sincerity."

"Geez, fine," she chuckles. "What?"

"Don't ever call _me_ a type-A freakazoid again. Look…at…this…shit," I say as I point to the mountain surrounding us.

"I promise to never call you a type-a freakazoid."

"Ever."

"Ever."

"Pinkie promise?" _Oh, fuck no!_

She stares at me with wide eyes and bites her lips between her teeth as I realize what the hell I just said.

"Oh, my—"

"Shut up," I say quickly so it comes out in one syllable.

She looks at me with a hurt expression. _Oh…_ "You know? You don't have to be so mean to me."

"I'm…sorry." I watch her sweet face as she looks down at her hands. "Hey, look at me. I know I sound like a total fuckin'…" I stop mid-sentence as I see a shitty grin cross her face. "Are you…?" I groan and fall back against the pillows as she laughs at my overcompensation of her feelings. "Why am I falling for this shit today?"

She keeps up her continuous stream of giggles that I'm kind of eating up right now, so I roll back over onto the same couch cushion she's lounging on and address this situation face-to-face.

"Again…you're…not…nice," I say pointedly through light kisses on her cheeks and nose, ending on her moistened lips.

"It got you right where I want you, though."'

"It's all about what _you_ want, huh?" I whisper in jest as I land my lips on her temple.

"Well, if my proximity is bothersome, then you are more than welcome to migrate…to the other side…of this substratum bedstead," she emits through sighs.

"I denounce your comment…with the utmost disdain. I am currently…reveling…in your duplicity."

Moving my slew of caresses from her chin back up to her lips, I decide to linger…right there. I kiss her lightly and slowly, much like we've been doing at every conducive moment all day. And honestly, I don't mind that we haven't taken it any further, since my blunder this morning. I find it very stressful—trying to read the signs as to what she's comfortable with, consistently wondering what she's thinking and being distracted from the task at hand. So, I'm just trying to relish being this close to her.

"You know…I love…your lips," she remarks with _that_ tone of voice. _Oh, no…_

"So you've mentioned." I love when she says that shit but I really need her to stop saying that shit.

She scoots herself lower onto the floor and before I can protest she runs her left hand under my shirt, slowly up my chest and equally as slowly back down, pulling on the hemline for me to join her on the floor. _I'm in!_ Scooting my body down flush with hers, our magnetic lips instantly find each other. She kept her hand in place and now slides it around and up my bare back. My breath immediately catches at the bold move. But then I catch _myself_ because it's really not _that_ bold in the big picture, right? _RIGHT?!_ But then she widens her mouth and she may as well have an electromagnetic force sucking my tongue right in because that's exactly what happens. And before I can control myself I'm hovering over her and pushing my hand up under her shirt, cupping her amazing breast eagerly and greedily. _Holy shit, my hand is on her boob…and it's awesome. What, am I in high school?_ I run my thumb over her nipple, realizing that my hand is _actually_ shaking—as if this is the first time I've touched a girl's boobs. I pull my hand away and run it down her torso, trying to make it look intentional so I don't embarrass myself. Then I sense her sink into herself a little as she loosens her grip on me and shifts her hips away.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"Why are _you_ sorry? Shit, _I'm sorry_!" _So many I'm sorries lately._

"What do you want to watch?" she asks as she scoots a pillow toward her.

"Hey, can we please talk about this?"

"Talk away," she flits her hands in the air and grabs the remote. "Net Flix?" _And chill?_

"Tris, I'm…nervous." That took a lot to say and I can't believe I did.

"Why?!" She almost looks pissed. _I just admitted you to that I'm nervous! ME! And you're pissed?_

"I don't know. And that is the God's honest truth."

We sit for a moment as I reevaluate. _She deserves more explanation._

"It's probably a mix of me not wanting to hurt you and, Tris, I don't know what you're…comfortable with."

She grabs my hand from my face and holds it lightly. "So, when we get close, that's what you think about?"

"Well…yeah." _Along with the thousand other dirty things that go through a man's mind. But, my dick is not my priority. She is. That should be a famous quote!_

"Okay." She nods her head and smiles slightly.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

 **End Flashback**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 _Is he even listening to me!?_

"Tobias!"

"Hmm?! Yeah? Sorry, I was just…thinking about…" He apparently isn't going to clue me in on that one because he goes back to looking at the coffee maker as if it's a chess board.

"Then, I'll repeat—Why so paranoid?"

He continues to ponder the coffee maker, and honestly, that's about as much as I can take. So I silently sneak out to the living room to give him some more of his "Tobias time."

I'm mad that he snuck into the guest bedroom because I _needed_ him. The real problem being—I can't bring myself to tell him _why_ I needed him. Particularly based upon his refreshingly honest and unintentionally hurtful answer about why getting close to me is so hard for him—he sees my ribs, my bruises, my stitches and my scars…every time. How am I supposed to tell him that I had nightmares for most of the night about how they got there? I can't keep throwing it in his face. He blames himself enough as it is!

"Because I've screwed up so many times that I wouldn't blame you!"

I jump as his sudden yet utterly predictable response to my previous question is shouted from the kitchen. I roll my eyes at his stupid comment as he puts the coffee mugs on the breakfast bar and gestures me over with a rough jerk of his head.

"Also, you can't _possibly_ tell me that the whole I'm-not-going-to-leave-a-note-nor-text-nor-call isn't slightly passive aggressive?" _Your way off buddy. It was COMPLETELY passive aggressive._

"Hmmph."

"No, 'hmmph.' That's _my_ line. You _knew_ I would worry." He points directly at my face, letting his gaze linger there before he looks away and takes a sip of his coffee.

"And you didn't think _I_ would worry when I woke up to find _you_ gone?" _Except I wasn't worried, I was terrified._

"I didn't leave the damned apartment!"

"Oh, now I'm not allowed to leave?" I ask with ridiculous petulance.

"What?" he says softly with a stunned expression. "No," he says even softer. "Do you really think this is me being _controlling_?"

 _Ugh…_ "No."

I shake my head in disbelief that I would even say that. I know that if he had his way, he _would_ dictate everything I do—not out of some perversion of power, more because he's a worrisome fool with some possessive tendencies that I secretly love just a little as long as they don't get out of hand.

"Just, a head up next time? I'm…" He looks down at his coffee. "Yes, you said it…" Lifting it to his mouth, he talks into the mug as if that will cover up whatever he's going to say next. "Slightly paranoid." He glances up at me and holds my gaze as I walk closer and take my mug.

I turn around to lean into him as he widens his legs to fit me.

"I'm still getting used to you being here."

He swipes my hair to the side and kisses the space between the neckline of my T-shirt and my neck. He chuckles and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. I kind of want to moan…but I don't.

"I still can't believe you are. I… I'll never be able to explain how it felt when…"

"When what?"

He rolls his forehead over my shoulder blades, mumbling something that even _I_ don't pick up on. Something about a sound? That sound?

"What?"

"So, yeah… Anyway, um…"

I turn around to gaze at his gorgeous face and place my fingers on his cheeks. He shaved yesterday and I love it.

Turning his face, he kisses the tips of my fingers. "You know when I saw you standing at the window yesterday, I…"

"What?"

"I'm just… Put it this way—I'm a very lucky man."

I remember the look in his eyes yesterday—I couldn't quite read it. But, now as I see the slight glaze take over his irises, I can see that it's emotion, not what I read as misplaced admiration. I just now notice that he's been grazing my sides with his fingertips because he suddenly stops at my right ribcage.

"This has a lot to do with my paranoia. May I take a look?" He lifts my elbow and begins to lift my shirt before I grant him permission.

"Take a gander," I emit with a sigh knowing what's coming next.

"I didn't do this," he deadpans in reference to the downgraded bandage that isn't as flawlessly positioned as he would like.

"I did."

"You did a shitty job and why?" He runs his fingers around the outside to make sure it's secured.

"I took a shower and it got wet."

"You took a—"

"My stitches have been in for over a week!" I pull my shirt out of his grasp but he still places his hand over my wound protectively. "I'm allowed to get them wet, and I'm allowed to bathe myself," I cut off.

"But your stitches—"

"Nuh, nuh, _no_!" I clasp his sexy mouth shut with my fingers as he grunts loudly. "I texted Evey and told her what happened."

He jerks his head free and crosses his arms. "You didn't tell me that."

I shrug. "I didn't want to bring it up."

"Maybe at some point you can explain that asinine rationale, but please continue."

"Apparently when you have a chest tube slammed into your rib cage while zooming through the streets of Chicago in an ambulance—"

"Great wording." He takes me by my shoulders and pushes me back slightly so he can get up. "Thanks for the branded image in my brain." He runs his hands through his hair and I instantly feel guilty for being so cavalier.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I mutter as I follow him closely to the other side of the breakfast bar. "Put it this way, it wasn't a smooth transaction, so I needed extra stitches." I put my arms around him from behind, even though he stiffens. Placing my forehead on his back, I continue. "The stitches that came loose were, more or less, to reduce scarring and lessen infection. It's the funky one in the middle that I can't fuck up."

"A purse string suture," he mumbles.

I lift my head. "Tobias, how do you know _that_ but you can't use a coffee maker?"

"Hours of research on the effects of Pneumothorax."

I move to stand next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. I'm unable to grasp or understand why he does what he does when it comes to me.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder and kisses me on the head. "And how do you know how much coffee to add?"

"Anyway, Evey also informed me I _cannot_ take out my own stitches—only ignorant individuals do that—"

"Agreed," he states through a clenched jaw as he looks toward the balcony.

"So, I have an appointment for Monday. She said as of today I can start getting the stitches wet. Dumb nurses at the hospital told me nothing," I grumble. "And we like our coffee bold, so I add a heaping tablespoon per cup."

" _We_ like _our_ coffee. Hmmm… I like the sound of that."

I try not to bring to light the sweet things he says because he gets embarrassed. And I'm putting extra effort in right now—trying especially hard. I swear, sometimes it's just the little things that add up to be so much with this man.

I hear him chuckle as he comes up behind me running his hands up my thigh. "And I don't care how dumb that sounded. Is that the little spoon or the big one?"

* * *

The ride up in the elevator is cloaked in silence as I give Tobias side glances and he stands stoic. The bell dings signaling we're on his floor and he bolts as if he can't get off this elevator fast enough. And not because of claustrophobia.

I follow after him, or more like stagger after him. "Can I help with at least one bag—"

"Nope." He practically drops every grocery bag in a lump as he gets his keys out of his pocket.

"You're so damned stubborn."

"I'm stubborn?! Me?!" He exalts shoving the key in the deadbolt and twisting hard. "You just paid for $223.11 worth of groceries behind my back." He throws the door open and grandly gestures me in.

I jokingly reach down to grab a bag on my way in, but he kicks my hand out of the way.

"Ow! The lady needed the line to move and you weren't there!"

"That is total shit. You sent me back for _organic_ pinto beans—"

"I wanted to make tacos!" I argue as I sit at the breakfast bar watching him grasp as many bags as humanly possible before he launches himself through the door.

"No. Nope. That was a diversionary tactic," he states dropping the bags on the kitchen floor this time. "Who puts pinto beans in tacos? If you're going to be sneaky, at least, be good! Black beans, babe! Black beans!"

"Are you really that upset about this?" I ask with sincerity as he puts cereal boxes in the fridge. "I wanted to buy groceries."

"If you hadn't turned down an offer for payment in full of your medicals bills then I may be more inclined to allow it," he retorts like a dick as he puts the milk in the pantry.

 **Flashback:**

"Are you going to make me come out there?" Tobias groans after a who-the-fuck-cares-how-long amount of time.

"Nobody _makes_ you do anything." I stand and pull out a chair facing it close to and toward the apartment.

"Uh…you make me do plenty," he replies, walking onto the balcony with clenched fists. "Obviously."

He's right. I'm just acting like a three-year-old.

Once he sees where I've positioned the chair, he relaxes slightly and sits, taking my hand as I move the other seat closer to him. "So, uh…Socrates? Why?"

I look away in shame because my reasoning goes against logic, which should be Tobias's middle name. _It's stupid. I know it's so, so, stupid…_

"He wants to pay my medical bills—Joseph Monroe…does."

I watch him intently as he bites his lips between his teeth and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "So, instead of an enlightening discussion, you decide to reference a Socratic suicide?"

"Go jump off a bridge? Take a long walk off a short pier? Eat shit and die? Way too easy. They can do some digging. And then they'll make themselves look like dipshits when they pronounce it Soh-crayts."

"Wow," he states emphasizing the "w."

"You're not going to yell at me?"

"Oh, no… I'm pissed. But, I'm taking a detour to revel in your understated brilliance before we move onto your blatant ignorance."

"It's not ignorance—"

"You're right, it's worse."

I stare at him, hating the fact that he called me stupid without calling me stupid. _Damn him!_ And now I wait…tapping my heel on the concrete as he twists _my_ fingers in concentration. _He has his own!_

Then, finally, Good Lord, finally, he breaks the deluge of silence with a control that looks painful. "Is there… _any…way_ …you would possibly recon _sider_ that offer—"

"No—"

"—that would take _years_ of crushing debt off your shoulders—"

"No—"

"—and al _low_ for you to, say, NOT work DOUBLES at that FUCKING bar every FUCKING day—"

" _To...bi...as_ —"

"And…" he softens his escalating voice at my warning tone, "actually let you _focus_ on what you _love_? Your art."

Something is going on in his head—some memory or triggered thought because suddenly, he looks like he's gonna blow.

"I… I… They don't just get to…DO that to YOU! But you're just going to LET THEM!" He stands and throws open the slider rushing into the apartment. "That sorry ass piece of shit excuse for a man! Someone has to pay for SOMETHING! Because he's… He's just…"

I follow him and stand back as he paces the apartment grasping for words he doesn't want to say. And I know just what they are.

"I know Eric's at Masonic. So don't try to hide it from me."

He stops mid-pace and looks at the ceiling, shaking his head.

"You knew that, right?" I ask softly even though I already know the disappointing answer.

Him turning his back on me and heading for the kitchen is all the "yes" I need.

Joseph's lawyer informed me, "…how _sorry_ Mr. Monroe is. He hadn't truly realized how disturbed his son was until this very unfortunate incident. Thank God he's getting the treatment he needs. Masonic United is the proper place for troubled individuals…"

I understand Tobias leaving that part out. I don't like it, but I understand it.

"Tobias, when _you_ say 'pay,' you mean 'pay for what he did.' You're not talking about money. Your judgment's clouded. Here's the thing about Joseph Monroe—he's all about debt and repayment. It's his code. My not allowing that will eat at him. With Joseph, everything always has to be squared away. Your father thinks he's working _with_ Joseph? Please. No, he's working _for_ Joseph and he probably doesn't even know it. And I guarantee you, in Joseph's eyes…your dad owes him big."

He walks out of the kitchen and stands across the room from me as if I've just given him some brand new insight. Joseph Monroe loves his persona of ignorance. He thrives on the fact that people think he's just some dumb farmer. It gives him an advantage.

"So, you _not_ excepting monetary funds is because you want to drive Joseph Monroe crazy? I don't think so. _Your_ judgment is clouded!"

"It's because they aren't allowed to push me under the fucking rug! I don't want their GOD-DAMNED money! I want to _never_ think about them again! But I can't have that so at least I can have some control—"

"Tris, every medical bill you see will remind you of it!" He runs his hands through his hair and pauses when they're down his face. "Babe, how much money do you make? I've never asked because it's not my business, but—"

"65,000."

He doesn't look surprised by this, which surprises me. Most people think bartenders don't make a decent living. On a Thursday or Friday night, I can bring home $500 in tips, easily. Plus, it's cash so I don't claim it all on my taxes.

"And what was your rent?"

"My rent IS…" I know that enunciation was hurtful but I have to make it clear that I still have a home. "1,200."

"What the fuck—"

"It's a 2-bedroom brownstone one block off of Damen right in Bucktown!"

"It's the second floor! It's 1000 square feet. You are literally paying $1200 for 500 square feet."

"And what the hell kind of greatness do you get with this place?" I throw my hands up at his white walls and cold ambiance. "I don't even want to know what _this_ costs you a month!"

"$3,320," he states matter-of-factly as my jaw drops.

"Don't you _ever_ what-the-fuck me! This is, what, 1200 square feet of _boring nothingness_ in snob-ville."

"Actually, it's 1250 square feet in a luxury apartment in The _Loop_ with access to a 24-hour concierge and doorman, indoor and outdoor private dog run and spa, tech bar, business center, valet dry-cleaning, private fitness center, sundeck with pool access, lounge seating, fire pit, private cabanas, and outdoor kitchens with grills."

"Well…" I pause as I go over all of _that_ in my head. "I don't give a shit about any of that! This place is still cold and...dull." I watch him try to hide his smile at my lie. _What the fuck? Why am I just hearing about this?_

He turns away from me and places his hands on the kitchen table, hanging his head, probably still trying not to smile. "Do you have insurance?"

"Barely."

"Savings?"

"$20,000 in a ROTH IRA."

"You _cannot_ drain your savings—"

"You do _not_ get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not! And don't even think about declaring bankruptcy—"

"I have another option, OKAY?!"

He turns back around and leans on the table.

"I own my parents house and the property. I can sell it." I close my eyes and shutter at the thought of selling the home I grew up in. I don't even know why I bought it. I just couldn't figure out what to do with my parents' death money. That's how I looked at it—money in exchange for their deaths. "I bought it from the church with the money from my inheritance. Probably not the most business savvy—"

"Actually investing in property with inheritance money is quite wise."

I look up at him as he frowns at me with kind eyes and widens his stance opening his arms. I walk toward him and rest my head on his chest, him encircling me with his arms.

"So, you think it's a good idea? To…to sell the house?" Part of me wants him to talk me out of it. Bankruptcy had crossed my mind.

"Does it matter what I think?"

I sigh and nod my head. "Yes. It may not sound like it, but, yes." _Very much so!_

"I didn't want to take Marcus's scholarship. But I took it and used it for good because it's an opportunity that most people dream of. I wish you would do the same. There are so many people buried in medical debt, Tris. And you have a way for that to _not_ happen to you and you're casting it aside."

"Think of where this money is coming from?" I rest my cheek on his heart. "You know me. You know what I see when I…see my reflection. You know my nightmares. You know…everything—too much, in my opinion."

He kisses the top of my head and smoothes my hair down. I bet he wishes he didn't know as much as he does. And that shit is _all_ on me.

"How could I accept payment from the people who _did_ that? They don't deserve my forgiveness and for them, that's what that would be—a conscience wiped clean. They _can't_ let it go. At least not because of me. I won't let them let it go…especially when I'm forced to hang on to it."

I feel him shake his head and take a deep breath.

"Please, let me help you…"

 **End Flashback**

" _Allow_ it?!"

"And it's MY place! I'll buy the damned groceries."

I know that was a dig because of what I said earlier but it still pisses me off and it makes me really fucking sad! So, I stand there and say…nothing.

"Fuck! Tris, I only said that because…" He's standing in a pile of grocery bags looking somewhat helpless. "Tris?! Seriously, my apartment is… I really want you to feel like it's yours."

"Well, it's not, so…" I shrug and cross my arms.

"Are you going back?" he grumbles as he grabs a bag and places it on the counter, not looking at me.

I don't answer him because he already knows.

"When?" he asks clearing his throat.

"Not yet."

I walk to the pantry and get the milk out of it to put in the fridge and he grabs my fingers as I pass him. "Will you talk to me about it first?"

I nod my head and squeeze his fingers, holding onto them as I grab the milk with raised eyebrows.

"Whoops," he deadpans.

I kiss his fingers and switch out the milk and the cereal.

"In the meantime, we should get some more of your stuff. You probably don't like living out of a duffel bag…and I couldn't bring myself to use the drawer I cleared out for you, so…"

"Okay." I can't help but smile at his bashfulness about that stuff.

"Do you want me to call Christina—"

"Tobias."

"Sorry. I know you can." He reaches down and grabs the chicken breasts to put them in the freezer. "I just want to help and…sometimes I feel like I don't know how."

"You help plenty. I promise. Okay?"

"Mmm hmm."

I watch as he removes the perishables and I reach down to fold the bags neatly, placing them on the counter. He's furrowing his eyebrows deep in thought.

"Hey, I'm serious. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't waited at the hospital." I tilt me head trying to catch his attention. "I still can't believe you did that, after the way I treated you."

He laughs sarcastically under his breath. "Well, you wouldn't have ended up in the hospital at _all_ if I hadn't…"

I bite my tongue waiting for him to finish that assfuck of a sentence.

"If I hadn't fucked everything up and had just _told_ you about Eric—"

"Just told me!? Have you met me!? What do you think I would have done!? I would have pretended it didn't bother me but I would have been terrified and I wouldn't have said a damned word to anyone! Just like I did with Robert!" I'm yelling and I don't really know why.

"Not even me? You wouldn't even have…told me?" he asks in a softer tone that makes mine sound awful.

"I don't know. You just worry so much—"

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me things."

I know he's right and it makes me a hypocrite because I harp on him to tell me things. I actually, I feel as if I've been pushing him too hard.

"I would have just lived in fear again. Nothing would have stopped him from finding me anyway. And Jesus, can you please stop saying you fucked everything up, please?" I beg as he grabs the bags and stores them under the sink.

He doesn't reply, but he does seem to pretend I'm not standing right in front of him.

"Respond, retort, reply, remark, anything!"

"Fine," he says with a head nod of finality.

"Fine?"

"I'll stop saying it." He shrugs and brushes my cheek with his thumb, then he kisses the top of my head and exits.

"Yeah, nice try." I follow him into the bedroom as he plops down on his back. "Your tricky semantics don't work on me. Do I look like Uriah?"

"Thank God, no," he moans as he runs his hands down his face.

"Hey, please." I crawl on the bed and lay my head on his abdomen looking up at him. "I need you to mean it."

"I'd be lying," he says as he pulls out some strands of my hair and toys with them.

"Wouldn't be the first time," I mumble before I realize my foot is coming out of my ass because of how far I put it in my mouth. _What the hell, Tris? Hold your damned tongue!_

He drops my hair and puts his hands behind his head and looks at the ceiling. "Your low blow just proved my point. So, thank you."

"I wasn't referring to that."

"Then what _were_ you referring to? Because as far as I can remember, I never lied to you before then. Ever. Except for the Nita tucking me in thing."

I scoff in disgust and slowly turn onto my back, still using his stomach as a pillow.

"I'm not saying it was okay, but it was only an omission. The _rest—"_

"You thought it was the right thing to do—breaking it off because you feared for my life, or any future we may have had. And I should have seen right through it."

I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's almost like the air in the room changes—the temperature? Humidity? Tone?

"You're _seriously_ going to blame yourself?" he asks suddenly aggravated. "I'm the one who knew or thought you'd _most likely_ believe that I didn't love you anymore. I had a feeling it wouldn't take much. I played you on your lack of self-awareness—"

"My _what_?" I push myself up being seriously disturbed by his wording.

"Want me to sugar coat that?"

I shake my head and look away. _Don't use my words against me, asshole!_

"I knew how you would react. I knew how it would make you feel—you'd think it was you. As if I was suddenly disinterested," he states in a tone that is way too matter-of-fact. "It worked, didn't it? All it took was one shitty, shitty conversation for you to question _everything_. A twenty-minute, shitty…conversation."

"Well, it wasn't _just_ a conversation and I didn't…Um… I didn't question _everything_ —"

"Tell me, Tris." He turns his head from where he was studying the ceiling to where he is now studying my face. "When I came back here…on that first day. How did you feel when I walked into the apartment and _pretended_ to know you weren't there? Or when I brushed off your presence by continuing to text Zeke even though I was actually reading an old one from you? And then when I ignored you, even when I saw you sitting cross-legged in one of my T-shirts? You had one shoulder hanging out and your hair was a disaster. Your eyes…I'd never seen them so red. Apparently, I was okay with the fact that you were up crying and worrying all night while I was sleeping away comfortable in my drug induced state. I woke up fuckin' rested, Tris!"

I have so many things I want to say to all of that information that I don't have any clue where to start. At the time, I couldn't wrap my brain around him _not_ knowing I was in the apartment when he got there! Now come to find out, he did! And then he was looking at a text from me? And he just recited what I was wearing?! I don't even remember what the fuck I was wearing! A part of me wants to stick out my bottom lip and say "Awwww." But, the other half—

"Are you _trying_ to hurt me, right now? Where the fuck is this coming from!?"

"And then when I blamed _you_? Saying _you_ were the reason I went AWOL—how your not trusting me was getting old? And the worst…the absolute worst… When I said, and I quote, 'hopefully you can, at least, get over… _that_.' And, Tris, you knew exactly what I meant when I said _'that.'_ I threw years of you trying to heal, right in your face. I can still hear myself say it and I can still see the look—your expression—eyes widened, mouth open. And in your mind, I would bet you were thinking something along the lines of, 'he didn't really mean what I think he did, right?'"

"That sounds nothing like me—"

"And remember how I wouldn't get close to you?" He pauses and swallows. I glance down at his chest because I can see his heart beating rapidly through his taut T-shirt. "That's because I knew I had to hurt you. I had to make you believe I didn't want you. And it _fucking_ worked, right?"

All I can do is nod.

"That's because it was fucking _calculated_." He tears his eyes away from me and looks at the ceiling biting his bottom lip.

I try to rewind the last few minutes to figure out where this conversation took a turn. Then I catch on quickly—it was when I blamed myself.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he mutters.

I bring my attention back to his eyes and he suddenly looks nervous—as if he overstepped.

"I can't."

"Why?!"

"Aside from the fact that I don't actually have the words right now? Even if I did, based on this unnecessary conversation—"

"How is _this_ conversation unnecessary? That particular day was… _pivotal,_ and you know it. You don't want to know why I acted that way? Or how I was… _feeling?"_ He grits out the last word as if he were grinding iron shavings.

"I want to know _everything!_ But, not when you're like this. I want to tell you how that day made me feel—that _shower_ and afterward. How the next two days made me feel! What I was thinking when you left my apartment…the night we broke up. But, if I do you'll never be able to let it go. So, I can't tell you."

He covers his hands with his face and groans. "This is _not_ going well for me here—"

"I feel like you're testing me! Like you're trying to push me away and if I stay—fight for _this."_ I move my hand back-and-forth between the two of us. "Then that'll be your proof!"

He frowns and huff out a breath—two breaths.

"Am I right?!"

"No! Well…yes, but only because I hadn't thought about it like that until you just said it. Fuck… This whole conversation is me…just…"

I watch him try to control his reactions as he breathes deeply through his nose. Then it hits me—this is brand new territory for him. He's telling me how…he _FELT! As in, not little bits here and there—he just about ranted! Holy fuck, Tris! You should be giving him every ounce of rapt attention in the world!_ I glance up at him and I now notice the redness in his face and how uncomfortable he looks. So, I decide against the rapt attention and instead act normal to see how this plays out. But if I've learned anything about Tobias—sometimes finding out exactly what's on his mind, can be brutal.

So, I stand up and walk to the balcony door staring at the high rises and the small portion of the river. I want to curl up next to him—wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything will be fine, we'll be fine. But something holds me back from saying it.

"I know I hurt you." His voice is more calm and resolute, so I stay facing the window to keep it that way.

Talking is always easier for him when he doesn't look me in the eye. It really bothers me, but it is what it is.

"I hate it...so much. But, I need you to know that a part of me _was_ holding out for us—hoping you wouldn't buy into the act. At least, not so easily. That particularly hopeful side seriously thought there was no way you could. And when I was wrong…when you _did_ just accept it after twenty minutes…," he trails off as I close my eyes.

For the first time since I saw him sitting in the non-coffee waiting room, I feel a part of myself drift—for the first time, I am in his shoes. Although that fucking ridiculous metaphor doesn't do it justice.

"Twenty _fucking_ minutes, Tris. You discounted everything I ever said to you—told you. I gave you… Fuck, this sounds ridiculous coming from me, but I felt like I gave you a part of me. I know you've said it wasn't enough and I see that now, but at the time, for me, it felt like everything."

I can only assume he hears my shaky breathing that I'm trying desperately to reign in, along with the tears spilling down my cheeks. He's so right, it's almost embarrassing. But, I don't want him to stop because no matter how much this hurts, I need to hear it and he definitely needs to say it.

"I'm not telling you all this to make you feel…guilt or pity. Fuck, please don't pity me. I just need you to know that you weren't the only one hurting."

I shudder out another breath. I knew he didn't give up, he tried to make sense of everything, he tried to find a way out of this. That much was apparent based on the mountain of paperwork accumulated on his dining room table. But, now I see that it was more than that. While I was trying my hardest to forget him—and I had quite a few moments of respite—he was trying his hardest to hold onto me—providing him with nothing but agonizing memories and near-obsessive behavior.

"When you were in the conference room, showing Amar your work. Did you know I was there? Standing behind you? Watching you?" he asks in a softer tone.

I clear my throat before I answer. "No."

"For me…" He sighs and I hear him sit up and his voice is muffled, so I can only assume he had buried his face in his hands. "… I've felt as if we had this strange connection. I always just knew when you were near. Um… So, am I alone in that? Don't…lie—"

"No," I state sincerely as I quickly wipe under my eyes and turn around so see him watching me. "I've always felt it."

"Not that day." He shakes his head and looks at the wall in front of him. "You seemed to lose that so easily. I couldn't get a handle on it. I just didn't understand. And then that night, you just gave up. 'Just do it.' Those were your words. 'Target practice.' You actually thought my affections were that shallow. Fucking target practice."

"I'm… I'm so sorry—"

"Fuck!" I jump at his shout. "It's not your fault! And I'm not telling you this because I want you to blame yourself or for you to take any of the blame away from me." He runs his hands through his hair and stands, looking at me head on. "And I hate it when you apologize for things that are out of your control. Everything I just said is selfish bullshit and honestly it's nothing I ever intended to tell you because _I'm_ the one, _I'm_ the one who did it. But…this shit is just kind of coming out of me right now—"

"You never intended to tell me that?"

"No. Unquestionably not."

"Why?"

"Just my saying it aloud makes me want to throw up and then punch myself in the face, so I can only imagine what you think of me, right now."

"Tobias, listen to me. You're not selfish. It hurts—hearing that. But I think you're brave for telling me. Okay?" I try to make the eye contact he is blatantly avoiding. "Thank you for telling me you were hurting too. It's an incredibly screwed up relief." I place my left fingertips on his cheek to turn his head to face me. "I love you, okay? Just…no matter what, please remember that."

"Will you ever tell me?" he mumbles. "How you felt…that day?"

"Maybe someday," I shrug as he pulls my hand off his face.

"That makes you quite the hypocrite," he states crossing his arms.

"No. The difference between you and I is that I _want_ to tell you. I'm not holding back because of me, I'm holding back because of you," I answer, very self-satisfied with my response.

He quirks his head skeptically. "Well, maybe I hold back because of _you._ There are similarities to our life stories, you know. I have _always_ been overly conscious of you and how things make you feel—how certain aspects of my experiences may affect you. So conscious, in fact, that I'm constantly second-guessing myself."

I purse my lips in frustration at his valid point. "Fine." I take a deep breath. "From the moment I left your office, I felt guilty…incredibly guilty…because I kept something from you—Marcus watching me. And then that _same_ thing I kept from you, I used against you. I hated myself! I fucking hated myself! I thought of _nothing_ but you, drank _way_ more than a bartender should, worried, and worried more, cried, and cried some more until I finally got a very discon _certing_ text from you. Then I was pissed. I threw my phone and passed out. Then I woke up and felt awful for being angry." I stop and wipe hastily at my tears _._

 _I shouldn't be crying because none of this is valid anymore. I should be happy that it was an act! Why am I fucking crying?!_

"Don't stop," he says as I pretend I don't see him rub his eyes.

"When you came back, you seemed so torn and were acting so erratically. I just wanted to calm you down and find out what was going on. I just _fucking_ wanted to help. And, I mean _now_ , I understand your conflicted emotions. It explains…a lot. But, it _doesn't_ explain your drastic change in personality after you…well…after you _stopped…_ you know. I know it was your hamstring, but then after… I…" I glance up at him as he grabs the bottom of my shirt as if he's holding me in place. Then I realize why he's doing it. " _Fuck_ …" I say more forcefully than expected, most likely trying to hide my embarrassment. "You didn't hurt your hamstring, did you?"

"No."

I back up, twisting his hand to let go of my shirt. Not because I'm mad, but because this is now a semi-humiliating scenario and I know I'm about to react poorly.

"I had to stop. It wouldn't have been fair. It wouldn't have been right. It would have been nothing but giving into my impulsivity issues when it comes to you. I had to—"

"Well, you always have been able to control yourself better than me."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Tris? I have _always_ found you nothing less than irresistible—"

"Can we move on?!" I exalt knowing I will soon become self-deprecating and resentful if this aspect of our relationship stays at the forefront. "After _that,_ when your split personality reared its head—it made me, well, I saw you…in a different light. You treated me like I was nothing…and it made me feel like nothing. And I wondered how many other people are out there who you have made feel the same."

I squeeze my eyes shut to hold back whatever may come spilling forth because I know what I just said…definitely hurt him. I open my eyes, however, in just enough time to see him back up until his knees hit the bed, and then slump down resting his eye sockets on the heels of his palms. I stand there not knowing if he wants my comfort or some space. I want to take back what I said, but it was the truth and we said no more secrets. Then he sniffs and looks up at me with red eyes and I almost break down right there. But I hold it back the best I can, aside from one stray tear. Me crying like a fool will do neither of us any good.

"You are _not_ nothing." He shakes his head, perplexed and slightly shocked. "I don't give a fuck about anyone else. But _you_ … You're um…" he veers off his train of thought briefly and then focuses again, "…everything…to me, you're everything."

I walk to him, placing my hands on either side of his face. I don't know what to say when he utters perfect sentiments like that. I think I feel sorry for him. I'm a fuckin' mess, yet he says I'm his everything? He's so smart and talented and so worth knowing if he lets you. How do I fulfill that role? I'm not sure if I'll ever know how or if I ever will.

I kiss the top of his head as he rests his hands on my hips. Then I tilt his face to give me access to his forehead, where I place my lips, moving my head right and left to feel his skin against them. I decide to linger there for as long as I want, letting the taste of his skin soak in. My fingers find their way to the back of his head and I easily grab onto the longer-than-I'm-used-to locks. Until he reaches up and takes my wrists, pulling them apart and then subsequently pushing me softly away from him. His palms are sweaty and he won't look at me. Which is good because I'm sure my expression exudes nothing but hurt.

"Keep talking," he mutters, looking at the floor as he crosses and uncrosses his toes. "Why did you believe me so easily? Why did you…let go? I know I did it. I'm not placing blame. I just…want to know _why_ or _how_ or… I just want to make sense of it—"

"I don't know why! I… Fuck, this is…so hard to explain!"

"Welcome to my world."

"WelI…I _didn't_ let it go!" I exclaim as I twist my hair into a bun furiously, trying to occupy my hands. "I thought about very little, aside from you, for weeks, trying to figure out where I went wrong—"

"Again! Do you hear yourself?" He runs his hands through his hair on falls on his back on the bed. "Where _you_ went wrong?! Jesus Christ!"

"What I'm trying to say is…Tobias, I DIDN'T accept it!" I grab onto his shirt and yank at it for him to sit up as he smacks my hand away. "Well, at least not as easily as you think! Would you sit up, you fuck bucket!?"

"What the _hell_ did you just call me—"

"Did I question it? Yes, absolutely! Do I _hate_ that it didn't take much? Yes, absolutely!" I'm now the one who's pacing. "But, that night…when you came over—that lasagna _wasn't_ for Chris and Will! I…made it for _us_! See…there's proof! I… I didn't give up!" I stop and think about that for a minute. "Or maybe I did and that was me trying to talk myself out of it. Fuck, I don't know…"

Slumping my shoulders, I look to Tobias, seeing he is sitting up. He finally makes eye contact with me and nods his head sadly.

"I fucking turned you down for dinner because I had a _self…defense…class_. And you know what? I had _NO_ such class."

I have to look away at that one. I appreciate that he's coming clean, but the lies are hard for me to hear. Even the small lies.

"Jesus, you looked…so disappointed. But the extent of that disappointment didn't quite resonate until I saw Christina upon my blind stumble of an exit. When she told me you did all that—the homemade dinner, candles and what not." He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. "Saying that you worked 'forever _'_ on it. And, right then at that moment, I remembered your face before you got on the elevator—how you froze and your eyes widened. And then you played it off like it was no big deal that hours were spent trying to make the perfect evening for us because you thought you did something wrong. It felt like Christina shot me—a bullet to the chest. And then I pictured you eating by yourself and… Jesus, it even hurts…right now," he comments as if he's talking to himself.

I glance up as he presses the heal of his hand to his heart and I experience the similar feeling of a constricted chest brought on by nothing put broken heart and sadness.

"I swear, hurting _for_ someone is marginally worse than experiencing it yourself." He puts his head in his hands again. "Fuck, I couldn't believe we had just broken up or that I had broken us up…whatever. I just… I fuckin' lost it in the car. I don't know how the airbags didn't deploy."

He rests his forearms on his knees and keeps his eyes on the floor.

"Why did you look like you were being brutally tortured when I woke up?" I ask quietly but directly. It's the one thing I can't put my finger on—his reactions or mannerisms at that very moment. "The look on your face was… I don't know, I can't even describe it."

He moves into his thinking pose—right elbow balanced on his crossed forearm, chin on his knuckles, lips between his teeth. But this time, his eyes are closed.

"Can I… _please…_ plead the 5th on that one?"

I narrow my eyes at him, a "hell no" on the tip of my tongue, until I see the look of intent pleading on his face.

"Just for now? Tris, I'm very serious. I don't think I can…talk about that…today."

"Okay," I say softly, turning and going back to the window. I shake my head as a memory sneaks up on me. "I remember the look on your face when we literally crashed into each other on the sidewalk—you were begging for me to understand…something. From that moment on, I knew something was off. I fucking exhausted myself thinking about you. So, although I get where you would have been hurt by my so-called acceptance, I didn't accept as much as you think." I turn back around to face him. "Uh…," I chuckle at the fact that I'm actually going to bring this up. "I tried to talk to you. I came to…" I swallow as the memory of Tobias pulling Kirsten to him by her hips raises the temperature of my face significantly. "I came to your apartment. Ha…um… It was the day after your Happy Hour promotion shindig. I was training with Uriah that morning, and he and Marlene were being gross." I take a shaky breath again. "So, I left and sat at the bus stop. It reminded me of…" I gather myself for a moment, not feeling the need to go through every thought in my head. "Ya know what? It doesn't matter. I just ended up in your apartment lobby and…" I stop again for some reason and take that as a sign that I'm not ready to have this discussion, yet. "Okay, well, anyway I did attempt to come talk to you, but I left and didn't and anyway I just want you to know that I tried and that's it."

I realize I got all that out without looking at him. So I focus on his face...but see nothing but regret in his eyes, not the relief I was expecting.

"Fuck… I saw you." He scratches the back of his head nervously.

"Oh. I didn't see that one in the emails—"

"No. That one never made it to Marcus. Gertie had erased it before Gregory sent it."

"Gregory? Gertie? You…saw me? Well, why didn't you…? Um… I'm confused as hell."

 _"_ I suspected Gregory was working for Marcus. The whole Kirsten thing was a…ploy." He runs his hands down his face and a look of 100% unabashed shame appears in place of his hands. "I wanted to see if he would contact Marcus if he knew I had a female visitor. Turns out I was right. He called Marcus right when I…took Kirsten upstairs." He flits his eyes up to mine and I meet them, not knowing what my expression looks like because I don't even know what to think right now. "Marcus was watching to see just how _over_ you I was. And based on my very convincing performance, he happily reported that I was indeed moving on." He laughs in disbelief at himself. "And I fucking _wasn't_ …obviously," he adds smiling slightly at me. "But my plan worked. And I know that because I asked Gertie to show me the footage. And there you were, watching me…with…someone else—"

"So, with Kirsten, it was all an act?"

He clears his throat. "Mmm hmm," he responds with an unsure pitch.

"So, nothing happened? I mean, aside from in front of Gregory?" I ask hopefully.

"Uh… Well, it wasn't supposed… I... It wasn't…" He looks me straight on and I have my very confusing answer.

"So, you _knew_ something was going on with Marcus and you were trying to figure out what that was…so _WE_ could be together… But you got… _distracted?"_

"That's not entirely… I mean, it was more about Marcus than… Mgghhh! Tris—"

"I don't want to talk about it whatever you did I don't want to know."

"Tris, it wasn't—"

"I don't want to KNOW!" I yell pulling my hands away that he tried to grab—not in anger, just in desperation to hear no FURTHER!

It's confusing as hell! Which was he going for? Forgetting me or trying to figure things out?!

I'm on overload and _this_ conversation cannot be had right now.

"But you know it felt wrong, Tris," he remarks quietly. "Right?"

I think back to David, knowing it's not the same thing, but understanding how sometimes we do things that are wrong so we can have a respite from always thinking about the things that felt so right.

I turn and approach him, tired of talking and tired of respecting his comfort level. So I purposefully lock eyes with him. "I know all about _things_ feeling wrong."

I rest my hands purposefully on his shoulders and look down at him. I'm sure he is running through the millions of memories I presented him with when he walked in on me…drunk and practically naked. _Boy, did he get the short end of the stick!_

"Okay."

I'm finally close enough to his face where I can actually get a kiss in, so I smile to myself as he parts his legs and lets me stand between them, wrapping his arms around my hips. I tilt my head and place my lips on his, but he bites his lips between his teeth, stopping me.

"Hey, um, since we're talking about things feeling wrong… Um…"

 _I am so sick of this shit!_ "Ya know what, Tobias? If it's so wrong—"

"It's _SO_ wrong!" he grits out as I try to back away but he tightens his arms around me in an iron grip.

"…that I never got to try your lasagna."

My frown instantly turns upside down as he raises his eyebrows waiting for a response. And how can I resist his damned FACE! He leans up to capture my lips quickly but then pulls away.

"Am I right?"

I nod and appraise his face. He looks like he just added years onto his life. I swear he looks brighter than I've seen it in quite awhile—not back to normal, but so much better. I can't even imagine what it feels like to be him—to hold onto so much.

"Soooo…you'll make it for me?" he asks as he moves his hands to cuff my hips under my shirt, rubbing circles over my bare skin with his thumbs.

"Uh huh," I breath out nervously. _I'd do anything for you if you keep your hands on me._ "Gladly."

"Thank you," he smiles slightly and pulls me closer kissing my jaw and moving slowly up to my ear.

I feel a snap on the waistband of my linen shorts and I laugh at his odd gesture as I move my face to question his.

"You went out in your little pajama short things."

"Yessss." I lean in and whisper in his ear. "You were there."

"I know." He sighs through his nose and runs his fingers teasingly up and down my lower back. "I just love that."

"Love what?" I ask as I run my hands down his amazing arms.

"You're just…you. You don't put on airs. You don't… This is Lake Street and you practically walked out in your underwear." He purses his lips and screws his face up. "Wait a minute… Yeah, I don't like that one bit."

"Mmmm…" I pause contemplating how bold I want to be. _Oh, what the hell!_ "Well, I didn't walk out in my underwear."

"Well, close enough," he laughs at how short the shorts actually are. _Okay, maybe not totally appropriate, but…eh…_

I smirk at him and slowly, bracing myself on his shoulders and hiding the ache in my side, I straddle his lap. He instantly lands his hands on my thighs and looks at me with a surprised expression.

"Actually, not close enough at all," I whisper as I graze my lips down his neck and back up again.

His hands always seem to be guided by instinct because they immediately run up my thighs, and rest where he most likely thinks my bottom is covered by some sort of underwear. He stops his hands suddenly as I kiss up behind his earlobe, running my hands down his sides and grabbing the hem of his shirt. I hear him swallow thickly and he swells equally as thickly underneath me.

"Uh… Yeah…" he breathes out. "I see what you mean."

I move my head to face him as his eyes land on my lips and mine do the same. As if we can read each other's minds, we attach ourselves, moving against one another in synch but with urgency.

"Does this hurt?" he mumbles before he shoves his gracious tongue in my mouth and pulls me closer to him by my ass as if he really doesn't care what my answer is.

"Mmm mmm," I moan, feeling the tip of his erection twitch against me. I roll my hips to feel more of him.

"Fuck…" he grunts as he grips both of my butt cheeks hard.

I know I let out a shaky breath and my chest heats up because that's the most responsive he's been to me in a very long time. I feel his hands creep up my shorts even higher until he's palming my ass with both hands, pulling me down to his hardness.

"You have the best ass, ever."

I smile into his lips and as much as I love hearing that…I really want his hands elsewhere but am completely unwilling to tell him that. _Damn you, Prior!_ So as where I was twisting the hem of his shirt with my hands, I push it up his chest hoping he gets the point that I want it off…now. He does hesitate for a moment until I keep running my hands up his chest. Finally, he nods with a trembling "Okay" and pulls his shirt over his head giving me a-ma-zing access to him. _Holy shit, I forgot how gorgeous he is_. I back up and move my eyes over his torso before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling myself flush to him, probing his mouth with my tongue and lifting my hips to position his length right where I want him. And just as I hoped, he lands his hands on my hips and pulls me down, guiding me back and forth. I feel just a little sorry for him because he's in jeans but it feels so good that I can't stop and based on his grip tightening on my hips and his labored breathing… _God…_ he seems okay with it. Each time the fabric from my shorts passes over me, along with the aid of his erection and the denim of his jeans, I feel more of that tingling in my stomach I missed so much.

"Tris, Tris, Tris… Fuck…" He stops and locks desire-filled, wide eyes with me if I'm reading them correctly. "Um…is this okay?" I _think_ he has the look that says please-God-say-yes. "Because if it's not, that's fine—"

I push on his chest roughly and he catches himself on his palms as I lean in and brace myself on his hips, kissing him slowly and adding very, very, purposeful grinding motion. He growls frustrated expletives into my mouth before he turns his head.

"Tris, I really…need you…to tell me," he pleads.

Then a loud knock on the apartment door interrupts me before I can answer. What I want to say is, "Hell, yes. Just…please go slow?" and, "I may be more comfortable if I were on top, please?" I roll my eyes at myself knowing I'd never have the balls to say that. We hear the knock again as Tobias seems to get the hint that I'm more than fine with where this is going. He wraps his arms around me and lays back gently on the bed, running his hands up the back of my shirt and quickly but with shaking hands fumbles with my bra strap, finally by chance freeing a couple of the clasps _. He's as nervous as me. Thank God._ I lift my head to look at him, finally getting the sense knocked into me that he really, really, needs reassurance. But, I didn't anticipate the muscles that that one small action would activate in my torso. So I suck in a pained breath as he stops and moves his eyes to mine.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, babe," he says as I lay my forehead on the bed next to him in defeat.

He holds the back of my neck with his left hand and keeps his right arm still wrapped around me, sitting us both up. I don't even know what kind of expression I provide him with. Something akin to I'm-a-huge-disappointment.

"Hey, um…," I start as I lay my head on his shoulder, not being able to look at him any longer. "We can always—"

We hear the loud knock again.

"Are you _FUCKING KIDDING ME_?!" he roars as I bury my head into his neck.

Some guy yells through the door, "Mr. Eaton, I'm here to change your locks! Uh, Ms. Ghertrude said it was urgent! And I'm not supposed to leave until…you answer! She says she knows you're here!"

"Just go," I sigh out as he looks at me with stern eyes, smoothing my hair out of my face.

He lifts me off him all the while making a crying noise with his mouth closed that he somehow pulls off as manly and endearing at the same time. He gets up takes a deep grumbling breath and staggers slightly.

"You okay?" I ask with genuine concern until I see him adjust himself and I stifle a laugh as he looks at me smiling shyly as if he's just been caught.

He clears his throat. "That's a relative term at the moment—"

"Mr. Eaton?!"

"I'm COMING!" he shouts as he exits the room.

"Hey, why do you need the locks changed anyway?" I yell after him, adjusting my _self_ in my seriously wet panties. "You never told me."

He appears back in the door after a moment with a scrunched face as if he's bracing for impact.

"What?!"

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

I knock on Four's door, which I never had to do before Tris came into the picture. But I will gladly concede my apartment rights as long as Miss Tris keeps Mr. Gumpy-Ass in good spirits.

The door opens immediately and a very _grumpy-_ looking Four presents himself and walks away. Apparently that's my cue to enter. I see Tris sitting at the little counter thing, sipping something out of a mug and flipping through some papers.

"Hey, Zeke," she says as if everything between us is just normal.

"Uh, yeah, hey, so, how ya doin' with… Ya know, just—"

"Zeke, don't be weird," she states as she shakes her little blond head.

"Oh, well, I'm not, uh—"

"You were doing your job. I'm over it."

"Well, I'm not." I kick my shoes into the wall and quirk my head, waiting for Four to flip.

"Zeke!" _And there it is!_ "Don't _fucking_ kick your shoes into my _fucking_ wall!"

I silently hi-five myself and commence my journey toward the kitchen.

"How are you _not_? I'm fine. _He's_ fine. We're all fine!"

I lean over the counter on my forearms (they are pretty damn sore from taking on Four's extra classes) to see what she's working on.

"Yeah, well. Seeing your best friend's girl die… _twice…_ in one day—it leaves its mark. Especially since I thought _I_ was the one who killed you the first time." I laugh and then think of the amount of beer Four still owes me. _I'm going to insist on a lifetime of drinks! Awesome._

"What?" she asks softly as I pull one of the papers closer.

"What are you workin' on?"

I look up, once I notice she didn't answer me.

"Zeke. What do you mean…twice?"

I probably look like an idiot because I'm pretty confused. "I waaaaas the…first responder?" _Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...now I get it!_ "And apparently _you_ didn't know that."

She shakes her head slowly and seems to have no idea what to say, which always makes me uncomfortable.

"You, uh… Well, you _were_ breathing, definitely breathing—painfully breathing—but definitely breathing! And, uh, then…you weren't. And…you just _weren't there_ and I—"

" _You_ were the first responder?"

"Yeah…Well—"

Before I can explain that I almost ripped her lungs apart, she's hugging me harder than I'm comfortable with, considering her injuries.

"I had no idea. No one told me," she whispers as she keeps holding on to me. _Okay, that's good. I'm a hugger, but time's up! Four doesn't like this shit._

"I thought you knew." I gently grab her shoulders patting each of them as I push her away. "You said my name and looked right at me. And…I can say with total confidence that it calmed you down…big time.

"Zeke… Thank you. You… I would have…died—"

"Want a beer?" Four interrupts as he walks into the kitchen with his head down, opening the fridge.

"Sure, man."

"Want one?" I see him direct his softer and strangely quieter voice accompanied by some serious I'm-sorry eyes at Tris.

"No, thanks," she answers as she goes back to whatever she's looking at.

Four hands me my brew and goes to sit on the couch while I decide to stay and chat with the more pleasant human.

"So, what is all this?"

"Apparently _Amar_ feels I'll be _bored_ seeing as I can't work, dance nor paint. So, these plans have flooded my inbox." She throws her hands up like she's annoyed, but she was pouring over them not even two minutes ago.

"House plans?"

"His new philanthropic venture—rehabbing old homes, apparently."

"Sweet-"

No, not sweet. Amar has gotten it into his head that _I'm_ qualified to make design decisions—"

"Looks like you already have." I look down at the scribbles she has all over each separate paper as she covers them up and gets down from the stool carefully.

She grabs my hand and squeezes it lightly. "Thank you, again, Zeke."

"Psh! It's all part of the job, woman. Do you think you're special or something?"

She smiles cutely— _What?! She's got a cute smile!—_ and walks toward the kitchen. Four leans his head back to try to get her attention but she definitely ignores him.

"So…" I waltz into the living room and do my token run, jump, twist into the Heffner chair, bringing my beer to my mouth before a drop even spills.

"If you break my damned chair—"

"Got a new door guy, huh? What happened to that Gregory dude? Ha! 'Member that night you two got into a street brawl?" I laugh remembering these two yahoos goin' at it like drunk baboons in the street. "When Shauna and I brought you home—'Evenin' Gregory, ya fuckin' piece a shit!' That was awesome!" I look up, surprised no one is joining in on my comedy. "What? Are we not talking about certain things still?"

I look at Four who is scratching the back of his head and looking back and forth from the floor to Tris...and the floor…and then Tris.

"Nope, it's fine," Tris jumps in. "Turns out good 'ole Gregory was leaking surveillance footage to Marcus. Picked up on all kinds of goodness."

"No, shit? Damn! What the hell, man?" I lean forward and look at Four who is staring at nothing. "Was that on the emails? Did you…?" _Oh, fuck… Kirsten, Kirsten, Kirsten, Kirsten, Kirsten! Oh, fuck… Nita, Nita, Nita, Nita, Nita!_

"Well, the cameras picked up the amazingness in the lobby, the elevator, and the hallway, but, not the apartment. Better for everyone that way, right?" I watch Four close his eyes as she stands and goes to the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.

"Yeah, so…" I begin as Tris walks down the hall toward the bedrooms. "Uhhh… Is she okay?" I whisper.

"She's…upset," he shakes his head and leans his head back on the couch. "I had to tell her about…Nita. And the particular way she woke me up."

"But, she knows that wasn't _your_ fuckin' fault."

"Yep, but it doesn't make it any less upsetting, now does it?" he asks as he takes a large drink of his beer.

"Guess not." I think about that for a second. "No. _Definitely_ not. Could you imagine if some dude was rubbin' his junk all over Tris's back while she was sleeping? Holy—"

"Stop talking or I will throw you off the balcony."

"Just sayin'—"

"Stop sayin'. Now hurry up. I want to get this shit over with—"

"So, how do you feel about all this, man?"

"We'll talk in the car, come on." He stands and downs his beer at mach speed.

"I mean, I know how all this shit ended, and that Jack _royally_ fucked up—and by the way, I'm still convinced that email was some sort of conscience-clearing line of fuck wattage. But…he was a big part of your life!"

"Zeke—"

"All those times he would covertly pick up Uri and me so we could take advantage of that _way-too-large_ pool in your backyard!"

"Yeah," he states as he throws his beer in the recycling and looks down the hallway, probably wanting to say bye to Tris.

"Remember that one time he hid us in the pool house when Marcus came home early?"

"Yep. Zeke—"

"And fed us candy and ice cream to keep us quiet?"

"Mmm hmm." He looks over his shoulder, waiting for Tris.

"Which back… _fired_! Oh, my God! Uri pukin' and—"

"Fuck…" He runs his hand down his face at the memory of this story.

It's funny but sad at the same time—probably hard for Four to hear. But…let's focus on the good, right?

Tris walks around the corner and Four glances up at her without moving his head from where it's positioned staring at the floor.

"Hey, Tris? Have you ever heard this story?"

"No."

"Should I start from the beginning?"

"No need," she says lightly as she leans against the wall finishing her beverage.

"So, yeah, Marcus found out that we were hiding and Jack totally shouldered the blame." I look up at Four and I must say he seems a little off.

"Hey, you alright? Should I not be talking about this?" I ask as Tris goes into the kitchen with Four at her heels following her like a poodle.

I see she's grabbing some more beers. _Sweet!_ She stands and smacks into him because he's practically her shadow right now, and then she shoves the beer into his chest with a feline growl, throwing him off balance. _She really is deceivingly strong._

"Tris, come drink with us! He's not being very talkative," I offer as he says something in her ear, which she ignores. _I hate it when Shauna does that shit!_

She hands me my beer and sits at the kitchen table where I have also taken up residence. I take my moment to do as I was told. Shauna says I am to compliment Tris. And I must do this by "invoking the side of myself that is evolving," according to my fi-an- _cee_. _And I get to piss Four off in the process! Bonus!_

"Tris," I state straightforwardly. "You look fuckin' great! Hot damn!" I waggle my eyebrows and check out her outfit without checking her out because that's what I'm "supposed to do." She has on shorts and a shirt. I look over at Four, who is giving me a death glare because he definitely saw me lookin' over his woman. _Ha! I love it._

And the truth is, she does look good _. Well…better. Ya know, minus the Incredible Hulk tint to her face._

"Hey. Ya know?" _Subject change!_ "Funerals and shit are weird. You should be glad you're not coming. And you didn't know Jack, so…"

"No. I knew _very, very,_ little about Jack."

I watch Four hang his head as he leans over the breakfast bar. _Shit!_ I need to make this a happier subject.

"Yeah. I don't know what happened toward the end there, but…he was always great to us, growing up."

"Sounds like you knew him well," she says kindly as she moves her eyes over to Four with a worried look.

"I mean, not as well as Four, obviously, seeing as they lived in the same house and we weren't even allowed over for sleepovers. Which sucked ass because Tobias fuckin' Eaton had the best gaming systems…EVER! Right, bro? That's back when I was allowed to call him 'Tobias,'" I whisper sneakily to Tris. "Anyway, I'd see him when he dropped Four off for camp or at our house when Four was allowed to visit. He'd chat it up with Mom while we played ball or whatever."

"Did you play basketball? Like on a team?" Tris asks innocently as Four seems to pretend the two of us aren't here.

"Yep! I always wanted to play against Four's team, but they weren't in our conference, so…" I lean in. "He's fuckin' good, too," I whisper. "But don't tell him I said that."

"I wouldn't have said anything because I didn't know he played."

"Seriously? Dude!" I try to get his attention but he downs his beer. "He played all through Elementary, Middle School and half-way through high school. Three-sport kid until Marcus made him quit. Apparently, basketball was 'Only for thugs.'" I remember how hard it was for Four to tell me his Dad said that.

I watch Four bite his bottom lip as he starts pulling the label of his beer. And then I see that Tris's eyes are glued to him.

"Did I…say something wrong here?"

She directs her attention back to me. "No," she sighs. "Not at all. I just…didn't know much about… Anyway, it's fine. So…well, you guys should probably go."

"Yeah, probably." I stand as Four stays frozen in the kitchen. "Dude? You alright, man?" I walk over to him and give him my man clap on the shoulder.

"Zeke, I'm fine," he sighs.

"Alright, sorry to bring shit up. I just remember when, ya know, with Dad..."

"Your Dad died?"

"Yeah," I state. "Cancer. So...I get it. I mean, my Pops wasn't around a ton because he was always working. He'd be gone for weeks at a time. So, I don't know, he was a good Dad, but almost like a father _figure_ than a real Dad, ya know? I mean…kinda like Jack was to you."

I here Four let out almost a groan as he stands up straight. Now it's _his_ turn to dig a hole in Tris's eye sockets as she stares at the floor, turning pale. _Shit… Where did I go wrong here?_

"Thanks for everything, Zeke." I watch as Tris takes the rest of her beer down in one gulp. _I need her as a Flippy Cup partner!_

"No problem, ma'am!" I bow as she exits the kitchen with Four pushing past me.

"Tris… Tris, hey!"

I peek my head around the wall and see him grip her arm as she looks down at his hand. He immediately lets go and grabs her shoulders lightly whispering something harshly in her ear.

She just puts her hands on his chest and looks up at him with serious disappointment. _Oh, that shit is the worst!_ He rests his hands on top of hers as she shakes her head, kisses him on the cheek quickly and walks into the bedroom. He holds her hand as long as possible. _I've tried that move, several times—_ Ooooo! The _worst_ —she shuts the door behind her. Four stares at the closed door for a minute before hanging his head and storming past me out the front door.

"What the hell just happened?" I squeak out as I close the door behind us, feeling a sudden hard—very hard—smack up the side of my head. "Damn it!" I squawk instead of squeak. "What the fuck did _I_ do?!"

"SOCIAL CUES! SO-CIAL _CUES,_ you dumbfuck!"

"First of all—Fuck you," I say through clenched teeth rubbing the back of my head. "And second of all—What social cues?!" I follow his huffy ass to the stairs as he books it down, obviously needing to expel major energy.

"She didn't know… _ANY_ …of that! And she just… _had…_ to hear it from your…ignorant…ass!"

"What…the…hell ?!" I stop in my tracks and rest my hands on my knees almost out of breath from following Mr. I-could-win-the-100-meter-sprint-in-the-Olympic-Games. Go…talk…GAH…to…her!" I point up the however many flights of stairs we have somehow descended. _FUCKIN' A!_

"She doesn't want me to," he states barely out of breath.

"How the hell do you know? She didn't say anything!"

"She didn't have to."

* * *

The ride out to Winnetka has been cloaked in silence or clouded in silence, I don't really know the expression. Anyway, literal…silence. Okay, not literally because technically we can still hear shit. But talking, with words, is not on the menu. But I _must_ interrupt this silence!

"That is SOME SHIT, man!"

"What?" he asks knowing damn well what "SOME SHIT" I'm talking about.

"You fuckin' kidding me? You never told her who Jack was? At all? How did you leave him out?!"

"I hadn't spoken to Jack for years until I saw him at Marcus's house." He chuckles under his breath. "He acted like everything was so fucking normal. And then at the bar, when I found out he had been running _surveillance_ on me and my girlfriend, who at that time, was technically my _ex_ -girlfriend seeing as we weren't together, it wasn't exactly the time for explanations!"

"And what about bef _ore_? Be _fore_ you found out Jack was two-timing you?"

"He wasn't…two-timing me," he grumbles.

"Yes…he was." _I knew he was going to buy into that whole "I only did it for you" video!_ "Did you mention him _at all_?"

"No."

"Why?!"

"Zeke," he sighs as he veers onto our exit. "Talking about anything that happened in my life, living under Marcus's roof, is not as _fucking_ easy as you think it is."

"I never said it was easy! But, Jesus, from what I've overheard—and I can now say, I've overheard plenty—she has let you in big time!"

He doesn't answer me for a moment but I can tell he's choosing his words. "I've done…I'm doing…my best. I'm fucking _trying!"_

"Okay, okay…" I can tell he means it, but I still feel the need to drive my point home. Although I'm being fairly hypocritical. I only _just_ told Shauna what my real middle name is.

"So, what high school did she go to? Assuming they have high schools in the sticks! Or are there like 30 kids Kindergarten through Senior—

"Eagle Crest County High School."

"Hmm. She seems pretty smart. What was her GPA?"

I see him smile and then try to hide it. _He loves talking about her!_ "She's incredibly smart. 4.03."

"What?!"

"I'm serious," he states as he shakes his head. "She was the Salutatorian. To be beat out by her own brother, Caleb, who got a 4.08."

"Damn. No college?"

"No college."

"Why?" _She had a fuckin' 4.03!_ I look to my left to see Four clenching his jaw.

"She was in a very controlling relationship, Ezequiel. Among many other life experiences, that got in the way."

Speaking of control. He controlled that sentence surprisingly well! But I don't want to push my luck so I continue to stick with the small stuff on my hypocritical journey.

"Where's she from again?"

"Kittridge, Wisconsin. It's a couple hours north of Madison."

"Did she like it there?"

"Uhhh...yeah," he comments switching lanes. "She had a lot of good memories. Her parents were…very different, but… I don't know, you'll have to ask her about them sometime."

That's classic Four, right there. One thing he won't do—betray someone's confidence. Unless he's drunk…then he's an accidental open book.

"What do they all do for fun up there? There can't be much! Madison and Milwaukee are great, but aside from that, what do they really have goin' on?"

"Um…their town was very much focused on their church. Her Dad was the Pastor."

"Pastor's daughter? Reeeaaaaally? Aren't they supposed to be like a freak in the sheets—"

"Shut the hell up. Anyway, the church had a cabin and they used to go boating, hiking, snowmobiling, fishing, ice skating or whatever and then hang out at the cabin." He pauses for a minute before moving on. "I think it sounds kind of…fun. I wish I had that, ya know?"

"Well, you did when we went to camp."

"Yeah, with a bunch of dudes."

I laugh at a totally fucked up memory. "Remember that last year? Sleepin' in _that_ cabin?"

"Jesus… Fuckin' gross," he groans. "Seriously…ten fourteen-year-old boys in a cabin should never happen."

"Right? Every damned morning! Who needs a wake-up call when your alarm clock is the sound of someone jacking off. And it was usually Tommy Rogers!"

"Uh…and Uriah," he says as if I'm supposed to already know this piece of familial history.

"No fuckin' way!"

"Yes, fuckin' way! You didn't _sleep_ next to him! Didn't you _ever_ wonder why Hana had to continually send socks?!"

"What the fuck?!" I shake my head at my failure. "I shoulda taught him…"

" _Taught_ …him?" He looks at me like I'm some sort of freak.

"Yes, fucker! To be a gentleman. Ya know… Go find a tree."

"A tree? Are you…? A tree?!"

"Hell, yeah! Why?! Where the fuck did you go?"

"We had showers! Private…showers!"

"I was fourteen and had minimal control! Seriously, man… I could _not_ tame it. There was no makin' it to the showers! Anyway, back to Tris… Ha! Great segway, huh?" I ask laughing at my totally inappropriate subject change.

"Actually, jerking off in the shower reminds me perfectly well of my beautiful girlfriend." He looks over his shoulder and changes lanes again. "So that is indeed the perfect segway."

"Wow. Should we…uh…talk about that?"

"Nope."

"Good. So, what else about Tris the youngin' can you tell me?"

He exits the highway as he thinks…and thinks…and thinks.

"Well, she was on a nationally qualified dance team."

"Makes sense."

"Yes. And her parents never even went to _one_ competition. They didn't even go to her _fucking_ high school graduation because she was receiving an award and they thought that was self-indulgent."

"Wow. They really are _different._ "

"Were."

I glance at Four, waiting for an explanation.

"Car accident."

"Ah." Instant guilt hits me as I think back to the apartment—Tris's interest in my Dad passing away. I didn't even give her room to comment. "Did she have friends?"

"Yeah. It's a small town so everyone just kind of hung out. There's a drive-in movie theater and a rock quarry. Oh…and apparently an amazing gas station/pizza joint/arcade/motel/currency exchange."

"Whoa."

"Yeah." _He's smiling like an idiot!_ "The way she said it, ''Cause why _wouldn't_ a town have a place where you can convert your Yen to quarters and play an arcade game while waiting for your pizza to cook and your gas tank to fill.'"

"Well, you sure as hell don't sound like her and I don't know what a Yen is, but aside from that, I can dig it—except for the motel thing. Sounds nasty."

"Yeah."

We drive in quiet for a moment and I decide to use this as my in—for him to see the error of his ways.

"So does she know about _your_ extravagant high school memories?"

"They weren't extravagant," he says as if he's right. "And she knows I played sports and hated everyone."

"That's it?"

"What else is there?" _You evasive motherfucker…_

"Mucho. You just recited her life story. What does she know about yours?"

"I know what you're trying to do—"

"Does she know what Marcus did for prom and graduation?"

I remember Tobias hitching a cab to our place to spend the night while each and every asshole from his high school partied at his house on his father's _grand_ invitation.

"No."

"What about your mom?"

He clears his throat and turns down a side street. "What about her?"

"Well, what does Tris know about her?"

Silence…aside from, ya know, the radio and what's outside—

"She knows she loved art, and that she used to take me to get ice cream and the lake when—"

"Not…what I'm talking about." I take a deep breath because this is going to be a long one. "Does she know what she was like? Or even what she looked like? That she was so quiet that sometimes you could barely hear what she was saying, but then she would surprise you and say something funny? Does she know how awesome it was when your Mom laughed—because she rarely did it? Does she know that her face would light up the damned room and it would make you want to do jumping jacks because you made Evelyn…Eaton…laugh?" He throws the car into park and I can see the redness creeping up his neckline. "Does Tris know you resent your mom—"

"I don't."

"You do."

"Enough."

"Four—"

"Enough," he chokes.

He leans his head back on the headrest and I can see beads of sweat on his forehead and I immediately feel like a total piece of shit. "Sorry."

"I'm just getting so _fucking_ sick of people who have had _great_ childhoods telling me to fucking talk abut _mine_ as if that's so easy!"

I nod my head ready to say something that may send him spinning off into the stratosphere. _Is that the right word? Or atmosphere? Dunno…_

 _"_ If that's how you feel, then _maybe_ you should try _talking_ to someone who knows what they're talking _about_."

It's been a while since I mentioned therapy. Personally, I would give a big "hell no" to seeing a therapist, but it doesn't mean he should!

I don't expect an answer out of him so I just wait looking out the window into the parking lot of the Wades Funeral Home. It's definitely…not full.

"What are you going to say…or do…to Marcus?" I ask needing to be prepared.

"Not a God-damned thing."

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"Really."

"Even though he made you break Tris's heart in two?"

"Yep."

"Even though he's been watching her for weeks?"

"Yep."

"Even though he opened the gate for her to be brutally attacked and possibly raped followed by an almost unheard of near-death experience and most likely severe emotional trauma?"

He lets out a trembling yet controlled breath. "Yep."

"Even though Jack is dead and has left behind a wife and two kids?"

"Yep."

"Even though he may have gotten exactly what he wanted with no further consequences?"

"Either you're purposely trying to give me a brain aneurism or you're testing me…and I think it may be the former."

"Is the former like the one I just said? Or the first one I said? I never know which is which…especially when someone throws the word ladder in there. Is that like because you climb over the last one like a ladder—"

He opens the door and gets out, slamming it behind him.

"Damn." I fumble with his fancy door handles and get out of the car, jogging up behind him. "Hey, I just need to be prepared for a likely bought of emotion…expressed through a physical altercation." _See! I can do vocabulary good!_

"No need."

"What are you going to do anyway? In the big picture."

"Turn him in."

"To who?"

"Whom." _Fuckface._

"Not the captain! He's got her so far in his pocket, she could probably give him hand-jobs! On-call hand jobs!" _That would be awesome._

"To someone else entirely."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

We arrive at the funeral home and, as expected, there is very low attendance. Jack didn't have much of a life outside of his family…and Marcus. Both his and his wife's parents passed away years ago and all of their extended family, as far I know, is still in China.

Zeke's incessant chattering about _everything_ in the world I _didn't_ want to talk about made me want to ring his neck—not the expression. I actually wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and shake it so his eyeballs knocked into his brain and made a lovely ringing noise. I pretty much felt the same way when he started to spout his mouth off about Jack in front of Tris. _Fuck! I don't purposely not tell her things._

That's not entirely accurate. It's just…talking about numerous events from my past, I've learned, sets me off. I've had panic attacks so bad that they've felt like seizures. Even admitting that much to her already makes my heart race. She promised me _time_ when we first started dating. Where's my time? I gave _her_ time…didn't it?

 _She shakes her head, crossing her arms and toward the sky. "You won't get past…what happened with Eric…I know you won't."_

 _"You don't know that."_

 _"I know that I couldn't even look at your face earlier because I kept picturing your lips on hers! Fuck… I still do!" she exalts in frustration. "I can't even begin to imagine how you would look at me if I were to…tell you...everything."_

 _"Well, Tris, I can't imagine it either because you haven't…told me…anything," I state poignantly and impatiently._

 _She moves her eyes quickly back and forth between mine as if she's in decision mode._

 _"Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to push you. But can you give me a little credit? Please don't assume that everything is going to change for the worse. What if it changes for the better? Brings us closer?" I lift her chin to get her attention because she has averted her eyes. "I've had to get past a lot in my life. I'm an expert."_

 _You know what else I am? A hypocritical piece of shit! Apparently I didn't give her time. That was practically an ultimatum! As in—how can we possibly move forward unless you tell me ALL about EVERYTHING! And I even promised her I would react appropriately because I'm an "expert!" I fucking left her on a fire escape!_

"Oh, God…," I moan under my breath at the memory of her frozen toes and bruised face.

"I know, right? Pretty sparse," Zeke comments louder than appropriate.

"Oh, um…yeah."

We walk through the doors of the Wades Funeral Home and I'm immediately met with what I can only describe as a scent. But it invades more than my nose. It's nothing I can put my finger on, yet, that makes it no less pungent. Suddenly my back hits something forcefully.

 _I really wish Tris were here. I really fuckin' wish she were here. Why isn't she here? Why couldn't she be a stubborn ass when I need her to be?_

"Hey." Zeke grabs my arm leading me away from the glass door I must have backed into as I loosen my tie. "When was the last time you were in a funeral home?"

"My mother's wake."

"Okay, let's get this done right quick."

All I can do is clear my throat as Zeke escorts me through the second set of glass doors. The first thing I see is Marcus…shaking someone's hand…

 **Flashback:**

I watch my father as he shakes hands with strangers. What I'm really trying _not_ to do is look at the woman that doesn't look like my mom in the casket thing. Everyone told me it would be weird, but, to me, it's not that weird. It's not weird because I don't think it's her. _But why would people lie to me about that?_

I feel my father staring at me. So I stare at him just the same way he does to me. I hope he sees my face and gets it—that I hate him. I hate him. I'm mad at Mom. I'm so mad at her. I'm so mad at her.

My father looks at whichever guy is trying to shake his hand and he reaches out to return the handshake. I've seen him shake other people's hands, but today is different. It's too fast. He's in a hurry. Everything is in a hurry.

"My condolences," the guy says.

I'd never even heard of that word until today.

"Tobias? Son, let's say our good-byes," says the mean serious voice of my father.

"What?" I tear my eyes from the woman lying there.

"They're going to close the casket," he says again in a hurry.

"Right now?"

"Yes, son. We have to get to the burial site."

I stand and feel sick. Sick everywhere. But I walk anyway, toward the lady who can't be Mom.

"Say goodbye, Tobias," he grabs my arm and pulls me toward her.

"No!"

"Tobias, you will _not_ make a scene in front of —"

"Don't!" I pull his hard hand off me. "I'm not saying…anything! That's not her! She doesn't look like that! I don't need to say anything to… _that_!"

"Tobias James Eaton. Show some respect—"

"Lemme…go!"

"Get him out of here, Jack."

I feel hands pulling me back but I jerk free going towards the strange lady. For the first time, I look down. It's definitely _not_ her skin. She doesn't have pink skin! Yuck! Her lips are wrinkly and weird. But…"

"Hands… Those are her hands!" My cheeks are wet and my voice isn't my voice.

 _Don't look away! If you look away, she'll really be gone! Don't look away!_

 **End Flashback**

"Four?"

"Mmmgh." I'm grateful for the reprieve but embarrassed it was necessary. I wipe my brow with the sleeve of my jacket only to see that it's soaked. "Fuck."

"Eye the prize, my friend," Zeke says like an idiot as he moves me forward.

"Tell me you didn't just say that."

"Just get to Kim."

I stop in my tracks and make eye contact with Kim. She nods her head once and I take that as my okay that I can go and speak to her. But my tunnel vision is so strong that I don't anticipate the voice nor the body coming at me from my right side, until it presents itself right in front of me.

"Tobias." I focus in on the hazy face of the man who is second to the top on my murder list.

"Step aside."

"Son—"

"MOVE!"

He must have gotten out of the way because suddenly I'm right next to Kim, avoiding the enlarged picture of Jack, which is standing in place of a casket. I collect myself enough to reach my hand out and give each of his boys a most-likely sweaty dead fish of a handshake before sliding onto the bench next to Kim. I feel Zeke's presence behind us and take in the blurry brown movement of his hand on Kim's shoulder. I blink as the image turns white…probably from her hands?

"Kim… I—"

I feel cool fingers on the neckline of my shirt and I grab them to hold them there because it feels amazing.

"What … … last funeral …. went to?"

"Evelyn's."

"Let's …. …. …. outside."

"Come on, man."

….. ….. ….. …..

I take a sudden deep breath and realize we are outside and even in the sweltering heat, I feel nothing but crisp, fresh air.

"You alright?" I look down at Zeke's hands gripping my right arm as I lean on him. "Better? You almost—"

"I'm fine. Just…give me a…minute." I stand up straight and put my hands behind my head, making sure the blood rushes down from my brain.

"Not his first rodeo," I hear Zeke comment to someone.

I turn to see it's Kim, sitting on a bench.

"Kim… I…"

"Sit, Tobias."

I sit slowly and awkwardly seeing as my shirt is sticking to my back. "I can't tell you how sorry—"

" _I_ am," she interrupts. "I knew he was watching you. I didn't know why and I didn't know to what extent, but I still knew."

"Wh—"

"Here." She shoves a waded up piece of paper in my hand.

I open it to see a check for $100,000.00 made out to me…from her. I look up at her ready for some kind of an explanation as to what the fuck is happening.

"The deal was—Marcus would pay for the boy's colleges. I didn't see the harm because your father always kept tabs on you anyway…and so did Jack."

"I know he did." I pause not knowing where to start. "Kim, I don't know how much you're aware of, but Jack kept quite a bit of imperative information from Marcus. So not matter how upset I _was_ about his role, I am also incredibly grateful that—"

"Don't make him out to be someone he isn't!" she spits.

I look up at Zeke who seems equally as shocked at that uncommon reaction…from a widow…at her husband's wake.

She narrows her eyes and stares straight ahead. "He sent me one video file. One God-damned file with the message, 'Get this to Tobias.' Not, 'I love you,' not 'Take care of the boys,'… nothing."

"I'm sorry," I mutter, not knowing what to say to that…at all. "Did you want me to…take a look at the file—"

"You already did."

I stop and think back at the mass amount of messages I probably have.

"Did you email it to me? Because I haven't checked—"

"11 messages containing 123 separate video feeds, 42 email correspondences, 72 audio files along with various pertinent articles concerning Monroe Agriculture all of which was never intended for your eyes. Now how sorry do you think Jack is now?"

" _You_ sent me those files?"

"No. I sent your _girlfriend_ those files. I didn't know how much you were being watched and I was confident that Marcus had discounted Beatrice as a casualty at that point. So like I said…how sorry do you _really_ think Jack is?"

I clear my throat, still unwilling to let go of the fact that he could have done so much more damage. But he was looking out for me.

"He could have passed on more footage than he did to Marcus."

"I never said he didn't have a conscience. It just didn't run very deep. I think, for him, _not_ passing on that footage was some subconscious means of justification."

"I'm not following."

"Which is weird," Zeke comments leaning in.

"Jack may not have given that _useless_ footage to Marcus." She looks at me intently. "But he sure as hell didn't have a problem with _editing_ that video."

My throat goes dry at that very moment. Every ounce of hope I had that Jack cared about me as much as I for him as a child had just dissipated along with the moisture in my esophagus.

"It hadn't even crossed my mind…" I find myself standing again and my scalp is on fire.

"How did he die?" Zeke asks Kim as I face toward the wind, cooling my face in the searing heat.

"A pocket knife to the carotid. They left the knife. He was facedown on our kitchen table with a busted ear drum. Smart. Give him a good bought of vertigo and you can do just about anything to a person."

I look to Zeke again to see him with wide eyes because those are not the words of a grieving widow—more like a sociopath. But Kim is no such thing. She is a woman betrayed—left behind to raise two kids.

"Did the boys see—"

"No."

I flex my forearms and feel the balled up check in my hand. So I open it and immediately tear it apart.

"Tobias—"

"Are you employed?"

"Not at the moment, but I—"

"Good. Your tax bracket will be significantly lower than mine. Seeing as I can only claim $10,000.00 as a gift, I'd have to claim the remaining $90,000.00 as income. I'd really rather that 1/3 in taxes go to your boys than to the government."

"But I—"

"Transfer it to a 529 Plan. It'll be tax-free as long as the boys use it for college expenses. It only makes sense."

She must see the resigned, stubborn look on my face because all she does is nod.

"Kim, are you going to accept his death—"

"And move on, yes," she sighs almost in relief. "Jack and I have had problems for years. I feel remorse…but only for my children." She stands and walks toward me taking my hand. "And you, Tobias, should feel none."

"What about betrayal?" I ask honestly.

She laughs lightly and wraps her tiny arms around me in a friendly embrace, which I hesitantly return. "He loved you. Even assholes are capable of love."

I hear a clapping noise and we both look at Zeke. "That ones goin' in the books. I really am sorry, Kim."

"Nice to see you again, Zeke."

"You too, Kim." He goes in for the full-on Zeke hug, relieving me but my eyes stay on her face because it has suddenly changed into a blank, now unfazed, expression.

I turn to see Marcus waiting at the front of the funeral home. I would imagine Kim has some very mixed emotions—but happiness that _he_ is out of her life may be at the top.

I nod to Kim and Zeke as Zeke and I head for the car.

"Son…or, yes…Tobias." He steps in front of me as I stop and cross my arms staring him down. I know very well, very, very well, how intimidating I can look. And the effect it is having on Marcus is incredibly validating.

"Ezequiel, may I please speak to Tobias alone?"

"Nah," Zeke answers trying to mimic my posture.

"Well…how is Beatrice? I do feel the need to shoulder some of the burden. I should have kept better tabs on Eric. It was never my intention to put her in harms way, I hope you know that son. I feel like this situation had escalated into something—"

"Escalated?" I quirk my head and bite my tongue at his wording and at everything that is coming out of his mouth in general.

"Yes. I was under the impression Beatrice—

"Who?" Zeke asks.

"I was under the impression she was safe."

"Safe." I repeat the perfectly fraudulent adjective.

"Well, yes. I had been having, well, Jack, keep an eye out for her. Just to be sure. Tobias, _Jack_ led Eric to Beatrice—"

"Who?" Zeke asks again.

"Tris," I answer trying to control all facial expressions and vital murderous instincts.

"No, shit?"

"I'm not sure _what_ led him to contact Eric," Marcus remarks like the pontificating liar he is. But, I'm my father's son…I can lie just as easily.

"Me neither."

"Oh, so you knew?" I watch Marcus's body language change as an almost amused expression crosses his face. His shoulders relax and he lifts his chin slightly, rubbing his slight beard.

But I have more control over my amusement at him. I don't let a fucking ounce of mine show.

"Of course, I knew," I state nonchalantly, loving the fact that I'm playing the fuck out of Marcus.

"There must have been some kind of payment involved. Wouldn't you say?"

"Kim mentioned finding $100,000.00 in an account," I mention borderline conspiratorially. "But I didn't have the heart to tell her the source."

"I entirely agree. What's done is done."

"Eric is in a mental institution. Jack is dead. So now, you only have Carlos to worry about, correct?"

He narrows his eyes at me, testing the waters. He must feel they're safe because he continues.

"You know, a part of me wonders if he has moved on to bigger and better things? I think what happened to Beatrice may have just been quite enough to satisfy his vengeance. And well, then there's… _Juanita._ " He practically chokes on her name.

I shake my head as her noxious image appears in my head. "She quit. Most likely also moving on to bigger and better things."

Marcus seems _actually_ happy at this very moment. He is just about smiling. "So, it seems this unfortunate situation may be coming to a close, much to my relief. And yours I'm assuming?"

"You assume correctly."

"Yes, siree."

I watch the smirk appear on his face as he begins to turn on his heel. "Well, Tobias, Ezequiel, you both take care now."

"Bye, father."

"Bye, dickhead," Zeke salutes.

I feel his stare as we walk away.

* * *

I've been waiting for about a good ten minutes for Zeke to say…something. But it's not until we're on the expressway that he actually chimes in.

"So, what the fuck was that about?"

I laugh at what I'm about to say. "I hate being ignorant, but surprisingly, _feigning_ ignorance is quite satisfying."

"What was the point of that? He blamed Jack…for _everything_!"

"He certainly did. And now he thinks everything is settled. He won't even see what's in store for him," I say, adjusting my mirrors because some high school fucks are driving like jizz beaters behind me.

"You're scary, man."

I look to Zeke, with a sarcastic "really?" expression.

"Nah, I'm just playin'!"

His phone buzzes and he takes it out uttering a very obnoxious. "Saaaaaaweet!"

"What?"

"Shauna's parents left. I can have my lady back!"

"How long were they in town for? And why? They hate it here."

"A whole 24-hours! And because we, uh, well I had to ask… Um… Just hold on! I'm busy."

I take a relaxing breath, happy for Zeke's distraction because I don't want to think about what just transpired with Kim nor Marcus. I just want to get home, throw Tris over my shoulder, slap her ass, jokingly, of course, while telling her "no questions until tomorrow." Then I want to take a hot shower with Tris, drink half a bottle of wine with Tris, and pass out with Tris. _No…talking!_

I hear Zeke snickering to himself at whatever he's texting Shauna.

"Busy sexting?"

"Fuck, yeah. It's been a full 24-hours since I got to say or do _anything_ nasty. I have plans for her!"

I think about my plans for the night versus Zeke's plans for the night and I quickly decide that I would love to be Zeke—if Shauna were Tris…among many other "ifs." I glance at Zeke and make a split decision.

"Okay, I'm about to ask you something from one best friend to another. Do not be disgusting because this is some serious shit."

"I will put a lid on my dirtiness," he remarks while still sexting.

"Impossible. Never mind—"

"Come on!"

"This could very well be one of the least-productive conversations I may ever, in fact, have," I grit, trying to talk myself out of this impending disaster.

"Let _me_ help _you_!" he says grandiosely.

 _Say it! Just fucking say it!_ "I don't know when the right time is to have sex with my girlfriend!"

"Don't you mean make loooooove—"

"You're a fuckin' dick!" I throw my head back against the headrest. "I knew it. I can't talk to you about shit!"

"Jesus, I'm just being me! Do you expect less? Or more? 'Cause you should really stop if you do." He laughs as if this is the funniest fuckin' thing ever.

"This is not… _funny_."

"Alright…I'm gonna Missy Elliott this shit."

"What?" I roll my eyes wishing I could speak his less-than-affluent language sometimes.

"I'm gonna put my thang down flip it and reverse it!" he recites in the worst Missy Elliot voice I've ever heard and then he fucking continues to "rap" the lyrics.

"I…hate you—"

"I'm serious! Let us…begin again," he mocks formally. "What, dearest one, are you afraid of?"

"You giving me TERRIBLE advice."

"Ha ha! Not what I meant! What are you afraid of with _Tris_ …or is it _Beatrice_?"

"She fuckin' hates that name. I fear for you if you call her that."

"Whatever, I can take her," he laughs, but them seems to sense my discomfort at that comment. "Okay, okay. I sincerely apologize. So _what_ are you afraid of?"

"Everything. Hurting her, making her uncomfortable, sending the wrong message. What if she's not ready? If I bring it up, she'll feel pressured. She won't admit it, but she's a pleaser and—"

I see Zeke's shoulders convulse out of the corner of my eye. _God!_

"Not like that! I mean, she is, but… Damn it! What I mean is, she would do it because it would make _me_ happy."

He actually does take a moment to process this. "I don't know. She's a pretty blunt lady. Wouldn't she tell you if she didn't want to?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

"It would make her seem weak."

"Well, that's some horse shit."

"Yep!" I state angrily directed right at Tris. "Anyway, I hate tip-toeing around everything! But, the ball is in her court and it HAS to be that way."

"What do you mean 'HAS to be that way?'"

"I've read up on it. I'm supposed to go at her pace. But, holy fuck, I'm not a mind reader! One minute she's like…"

"Like…"

"Like green light."

"Ah, yes! Pro _ceed_ little Four!" _Yeah…not so much._

"But then the next… I don't know."

"So what have you guys done? You know, there are other things besides makin' sweet love."

"I know," I groan, switching lanes. "But once you have indeed made sweet love, the rest just feels like high school." I take a breath, unsure how many lines I'm crossing right now. "She won't let me see her naked either!" I look over at Zeke who seems to be concentrating. "Do not picture her naked!"

"Impossible, my friend. Anyway, it's because of her bruises, right?"

"Yeah. And she's lost weight. But I still…mmmmmggghhh." I shake my right fist in the air because I'm unable to communicate.

"You want her hardcore."

"Mmmmmyesssss…" I emit with a tight jaw. "But, I am totally okay with softcore." I looks at him sideways as he waits patiently, which is rare. "Okay, we were messing around." I roll my eyes at the elementary expression. "If you'd call it that, on the couch and, well, she stopped me." I think about how to proceed with this anecdote without betraying an intimate moment.

"Man, you have to give me more than that if you want my very wise words of wisdom."

"She said, 'It's okay.' But she said it like fast, like really fast, a couple times. So I took that as a 'please continue.' But, I don't know, maybe she was just talking herself into it? But, at the time, I could swear she wasn't!" I roll my eyes because I'm going to have to do my best Tris impression to accurately explain the situation. "And then she said, 'I just can't…I'm sorry.'"

"First off, stop trying to talk like her—"

"I needed to convey sentiment!"

"And second off, yeah, that's gotta suck. Shauna pulled the same shit when she fractured her wrist—her dominant wrist if you know what I mean. She felt so bad and it was so damned cute! Don't tell her I said that! Anyway, as if foreplay is a deal-breaker? What is wrong with these women?"

I take a moment to let the whirlwind of combustible energy burn out as I let this information take root.

"Oh, God… No, no, no, no, no… Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck..."

"Keep your hands on the damned wheel! And, may I just say, that was some serious moanin' and groanin'! Is that what you sound like whilst making sweet sweet love? 'Cause if it is…I can totally see Tris's apprehension—"

"Can you do me the favor of telling me you're not suggesting the reason she stopped me was because she couldn't RECIPROCATE!"

"I always thought honesty was the best policy—"

"Zeke!" I grunt.

"Why?" He laughs as he takes his phone out. "What did you do?"

"I stopped…and said…" I take a side glance at him as he looks at me expectantly, "I'm sorry."

I brace for impact and I get it as Zeke laughs his ass off. "Which she _definitely_ took as "Yeah, we can't hump unless you can properly jack me off!"

"You could quite possibly be the most uncouth motherfucker—"

"What the hell does uncouth mean?"

"Never mind."

Reflecting back to this morning, we were definitely on our way…somewhere. Thirty more seconds…tops…of her dry-humping me and I would have come all over the fuckin' place. All over the place in my damned jeans! Now _that_ is some high school shit!

But I need to hear the words—she has to talk to me. I know it makes her uncomfortable. But this morning, she didn't tell me and then I took it too far. I hurt her!

 _I'm going to fuck everything up!_

"Ravage her."

"What?"

"You heard me, man," Zeke tilts his sunglasses down his nose. "Sounds to me like she doesn't know you want her. So, therefore, you must ravage her… Ya know, the toned-down version."

"The toned-down version… Okay."

"I love it when _you're_ the ignorant one!"

 _And let the raucous laughter ensue…_

* * *

 **Lots goin' on! Long chapter! Sorry!**

 **Thanks so much for the reviews everyone!  
**


	6. Be There

**Chapter 6 –** Be there

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Sipping my coffee, I stand at the end of the bed gazing at shirtless Tobias as he sleeps like the dead. He unintentionally passed out last night and hadn't moved since. He barely even got out of his jeans—they were still hanging off his toes when I came in to see what the hell was taking him so long.

It's 8:30, which means he has been asleep for twelve hours—a nightmareless twelve-hour sleep, at that. I wish I could say sleeping soundly was a part of my regimen last night, but that would be an all out lie. _Oh, well. My life as I know it, right?_

He inhales quite a deep breath followed by a puffing sound as if he's whispering the sound the letter 'P' makes when he exhales. I grin and laugh softly. _He's so damned cute, and he has no idea. I kind of want to pounce on him._

Seeing his shoulders slump when he walked in the door last night, and the subsequent beeline for me would have been enough. But, when was accompanied by a very, very, long, I-never-want-to-let-you-go hug and a sweet lingering kiss (cupping my cheeks and everything. Mmmm...), it did nothing but solidify the decision I had already made—I wasn't going to make him talk. He barely got the words, "I'm sorry," out before I covered his mouth, kissed him on the cheek and pushed him into the bedroom ordering him to put on his pajamas and then come out to eat dinner with me. But, he never returned, and I found him just like he is now—rolled over onto his side. He almost looks like he made an effort to get out of bed, but failed.

I have to say; it was a good thing he left last night. That wake couldn't have come at a better time! _Oh, the things I say in my head…_ What I mean is—conversation wouldn't have gone well. Him leaving gave me needed time.

After a bottle of wine, and an hour of pacing, I made the decision _not_ to push the issue about Jack nor Nita. In all honesty, the whole Nita debacle was just her being a stage five psycho slutbag. He knew I wasn't angry with him, I was just angry in general—the image of her rubbing her dirty vagina juices on his back was horrific enough, but then, him thinking it was _me_ was beyond nauseating. I mean, I realize we are trying to make the whole full disclosure thing work between the two of us, but there are just certain things I can live without knowing. But he was ashamed, and I felt terrible for making him feel terrible, not just about Nita, but about Jack too.

His leg jerks slightly, and I do a quick, silent prayer that he's not having a nightmare before taking one last look at him. I note his messy hair and relaxed face ( _Good. Relaxed face is good_.) and then make my smooth exit closing the door quietly behind me.

I refill my coffee and put a cover on the oatmeal in the pot on the stove. I've had quite the productive morning—already having showered (More like a rinse off. _I can't wait to get these fucking stitches out!_ ), gotten ready for the day and made coffee and breakfast.

 _And onto my project! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Amar!_

I've only been back since Tuesday, but I'm stir crazy as hell, so this has been a great distraction. And who knew I'd be good at this shit?!

Apparently, it was some philanthropy scheme Amar put together—ALG bought up a bunch of dilapidated houses in some of the surrounding suburbs in hopes of rehabbing them. I'm not quite sure what he plans to do with the houses once they're done, but I don't give two shits because it's keeping me busy for now. _Lies, Tris. You couldn't sleep last night because you had so many ideas on what Amar could do! Which was awesome, because no sleep means no nightmares! Win win!_

My job is to look at the pictures of the homes that have been cleared out and help with design decisions—flooring, cabinets, plumbing fixtures, lighting, tile, countertops, and a thousand other things. Amar has sent me 4-D renderings of the houses, so I feel like I'm walking through them as I browse on my tablet. I've already scoured through three houses, each unique in their own ways. One was even a barn that someone half-assed into a house ( _idiots_ ) while another was an old boarding house, and the last—my personal favorite, an old Victorian style that should probably be a teardown but I hope, hope, hope they don't because it's gorgeous.

"Next," I breathe out as I grab my pen and paper ready to take notes.

I pull up a picture of a bare-boned house and start on my notes:

 _Built in 1931_

 _English style_

 _Original wood flooring—ripped to shit! Sand it, keep character grade_

 _Semi-open floor plan_

 _misplaced cabinetry—tear that shit out!_

 _Bathroom off kitchen leading to an office? An Addition? Why, people!? Why?_

 _Detached garage—NOT OK! Add addition onto garage to make three-car, attach to house, turn office into mudroom, move plumbing making full bath into powder room. Result: Enlarged kitchen— add an island—Shit! Living room small. Did they have a damned kitchen table?_

I chuckle to myself because I am so not qualified for this. _But I'm loving it!_

My eyes are interrupted by an email notification flash in the upper right-hand corner of my screen—"Recommended Pins for You"

"Fuckin' Pinterest bullshit."

Yet, because I've succumbed to the horrors of Pinterest, just like every other sucker in the world, I select the email to check out my inadequacies. I see the token, "We found some pins for you!"

"I'm gonna friggin' pin _you_ ," I mumble to no one, especially when I see it's nothing but inspirational bullshit crap.

Christina sent me a pin when Tobias and I broke up—something about love lost, and moving on, and letting go, and how you know they loved you, and how shitty love can be but then, at least, you knew you " _loved"_ so life can move on and be awesomely full of shit...or something along those lines. And ever since then, Pinterest has thus concluded that I have an interest in their not-at-all-life-altering-obviously-invented-from-a quote-generator—

"Oh… Oh, oh, oh, oh…" I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands as the anonymous quote that will be forever imprinted in my mind shows itself in all its meaningful glory.

The words etched by Tobias's mother, in turn, etched into my memory after reading it over and over and over in disbelief at the happenstance of coming across that painting and also how fitting those words are. I ran my fingers over her handwriting as if it were braille and I'm certain I could rewrite it in her perfect script if Tobias ever wanted me to— _FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! What happened to it? What did I do with it? Or what did he do with it?!_

I slide out of my chair at the breakfast bar, grabbing at the sides of my head, which aggravates the fuck out of my ribs but I don't care because I need the pressure on my cranium.

"Oh, my God. Okay, okay, okay…" I walk out to the living room, breathing heavily and trying to evoke the memory I've been trying to bury since Tobias clued me in about the skank jockey's uninvited entrance and subsequent not-so-dry humping. _Puke! Puke! Puke!_

 _Okay, think! What did you do with it? You had coffee and scones too! What did you do with them? I saw Nita and I…I think I just froze in shock! Yes, I did. And then I… I think I just… Holy damn! I think I left…it…in…the…hallway. His mother's painting—possibly the only thing left of her—and I left it…on the floor…in the hallway._

I groan to myself and sit at the counter again, burying my head in my arms over my tablet.

 _It was stolen or thrown away by a custodian. I know it was. Cold coffee, moldy scones, and a rickety canvas that looked like nothing a 5-yr-old couldn't do, sitting there in the hallway for days—definitely taken away by a custodian. Do I tell Tobias? "Hey so, I know one of the regrets you have in your life is that you have nothing left AT ALL of your mother. Well, I kinda, sorta, royally fucked up and left a priceless painting that she pretty much did specifically for you right in the middle of this hallway and…geez…I'm really sorry. Can I heat up some oatmeal—"_

"Morning, beautiful."

I'm encompassed by the warm embrace of Tobias as he wraps his arms lightly around my ribcage and nuzzles his face in my neck taking his token deep breath of my hair.

"I can't _believe_ I passed out last night. I'm so fucking sorry. That was beyond unplanned." I feel him lift his head, and I scrunch up my face as if that will make time stop. "Hey, what are you doing? Are you okay? Your heart is…racing." He pulls on me to sit up, and I do so very, very, reluctantly swiveling on the stool to look up at him. "Hey, what happened?" he inquires softly.

All I can do it shrug my shoulders. It's my natural reaction seeing as I have no clue how to explain this situation. But he watches me, patiently waiting for my response.

"Just…um…I don't know. I'm fine." I lean my forehead on his chest, and I can just imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what's wrong.

"Shit," he sighs as he kisses the top of my head and then begins rubbing my shoulders. "I'm really sorry…about everything. I should have told you about Jack and… _Nita…_ and then I fell asleep, and you said you made dinner—"

"I'm fine. I'm not mad about anything. I'm really not," I state quickly still keeping my head where it rests.

"Okaaaay, then why were you lying on the counter? And what the fuck is Pinterest?"

I lift my head quickly, just about hitting his chin. "Oh, um, nothing. Just a cheesy, girly, get-ideas-that-are-completely-unattainable website."

He furrows his brow as I turn and close out of the app before he can read further. "That does _not_ sound like you…at all."

"Ha! I agree," I state. "No, I was, um…just working on Amar's project and I must have fallen asleep and then I don't know I… Anyway, how are you? I made breakfast! Are you hungry? I made coffee! Here." I scoot myself off the chair as he drops his hands to his side in defeat.

"Tris…" He sighs and sits at the counter with his face in his hands in obvious, yet unnecessary, guilt.

"Mmm hmm?" I grab a bowl out of the cabinet and scoop some oatmeal into it while adding a little extra milk and practically throwing it in the microwave.

"This is about me. I know it. Can I please explain?"

I glance at his pleading face, miserable that I am about to _agree_ with him! "Yes," I whisper looking away.

"Okay," he replies with his face that screams "I'm strategizing." "How much detail do I need to go into here? I know that's a fucking weird question, but—"

"Um… Whatever you…want to tell me." I glance at him as the microwave beeps, and I reach up and pull out the bowl.

"Tris, don't act like you don't care. I feel awful that you didn't know about Jack and the extent of Nita's obsession and so many other things—"

"Tobias—"

"Just hear me out and don't…say anything. Please, say… _nothing._ " _I have no problem with that!_

I nod my head in miserable remorse as I pour a cup of coffee and slide it over to him.

"Thank you," he mumbles most likely desperate for me to make some kind of eye contact with him. "So Jack was my father's butler, for all intents and purposes. Ah…he made sure everything ran smoothly at the house, and he was always just kind of…there. So, yeah, I suppose Jack was the closest thing I had to a father figure. And…um…he _did_ live with us until he got married and then he moved down the street. I, um, do I have to tell you…stories or—"

"No, it's okay…or I mean, whatever you're comfortable with," I comment as I listen to him struggle through this rather unnatural conversation.

I drizzle maple syrup and sprinkle cinnamon on the oatmeal as he continues to talk and I listen half-heartedly, thinking more about how to explain his mother's painting to him than his childhood stories that I've been desperate to hear.

I can't even begin to imagine how it would feel for him to find out that he probably tripped over his mother's painting when he sped out of his apartment. _Jesus! He'll blame himself! Damn it!_

"… so as it turns out, surprising as it is, I can say I feel more of a sense of deception and betrayal than guilt, you know?" _Shit! That sounded important._

"Um… I'm sorry. I was concentrating on your cinnamon. You like…uh…cinnamon, right?"

I flit my eyes from him to his oatmeal as I pass it to him.

"Um…yeah. Sorry, uh, thank you." He runs his hands down his face. "I'm really at a loss here. You seem…"

I watch him try to assess my behavior, and I realize I need to put him out of his misery. "I'm really okay."

I hand him a spoon and smile at him with sincerity because I really _am_ the one who is okay. He returns my smile as I lean over the counter to kiss him. And with a suddenly wider and happier grin, he meets me half-way and gently places his lips on mine.

He pulls away slightly with raised eyebrows. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. I was…worried," he whispers as he ghosts his lips over mine again. "Are you going to eat with me?"

I back away, having absolutely no desire to do so but my right side is on fire.

"I already did," I chuckle. "It's 9:00."

"Are you serious?!" He taps my tablet to check the time and pauses with a shit-ass sweet grin on his face as he stares at the picture.

It's the one Christina took of the two of us right before the Stanley playoff game. Tobias rarely smiles his best in pictures. It's usually just a masculine grin or a sexy stare. But this one…this one was special.

I walk around to the other side of the counter and wrap my arms around his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck, thrilled for the distraction.

"I may have blocked your number and thrown out your deodorant—"

"Which made me very sad."

"But I couldn't bring myself to change… _this._ " I tap my finger on his face enlarging the image, and I quirk my head to see his lip twitch up into a side smirk. Then he turns his head and kisses me chastely on the cheek.

"So, this isn't a newly placed screen saver?" he asks sizing me up.

"Nope. This is my favorite face on your face. Your real smile…not the other one."

"Which other one?" he asks lightly and with bullshit cluelessness.

"You know which other one," I deadpan as I pull out the stool next to him.

"Nope. Too far," he comments as he pulls me to him from behind fitting me between his legs. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and holds me securely around the waist with his left arm. "Thank you for the breakfast," he says after her swallows his bite. "What is this? _Definitely_ not oatmeal."

"Actually, it's steel cut oatmeal."

"Hmm… Anyway, back to that smile—"

"No."

"Why?" I can smell cinnamon and syrup on his breath, and it makes me think of morning sex and breakfast in bed.

"Uh… 'Cause I fuckin' hate it, and you know it. It's your tramp trapper smile."

"My _what_?"

"You heard me."

"Then what does that make _you_?" He squeezes above my knee and chuckles when I smack his hand away roughly.

"You didn't have to use it on me."

"Yes, you were attracted to my natural charm and grace, how could I forget?"

"Definitely _not._ " I feel a sharp twinge on my earlobe. "Ow! Did you just bite my ear?"

"Yes. Closest thing in bitable distance. Plus, you deserved it."

"Why?" I rest my head back on his shoulder as he takes another bite of oatmeal. "Because you _weren't_ charming and _definitely_ not graceful that night?"

"Mmmm… If given the proper chance, I may have been very graceful in the back of Will's SUV."

My cheeks start burning at the memory, and I get instant goose bumps. I had never been so attracted to a man before that night. I wonder what would have happened if we were alone in the back of that Jeep? His fingers were so close to my panties and my imagination so vivid at that moment that I could have sworn they were touching me—

The back of Tobias's palm is suddenly against my cheek. "Mmm hmm. That's what I thought," he remarks smugly.

I smack his hand away. "Not my fault your apartment is warm."

He pulls me to him, closer than before, and kisses my neck. "Mmmm, nope. This apartment is quite cool, actually. Pretty sure you're the one who's warm. Why are you so warm by the way?" He inquires although he doesn't truly need to be informed. He slowly kisses down my neck, and I close my eyes at the feeling until I hear him sigh and pull away, which now makes me feel like I've been doused in ice. "So, I gave the money to Kim."

"Who's Kim? And what money?" I ask, my head spinning a bit from his change in subject and tone. _Not that it wasn't expected, though, right?_

"So, you really _weren't_ listening to me? Like, at all?" He pushes me away by my hips and turns me to face him.

"I was…lost in…thought. You know, the whole project with Amar. I just got really into it and, yeah, that's it."

"Hmm." He furrows his eyebrows comically, sensing my lie, but thankfully he doesn't call me out on it. Instead, he picks up the pad of paper and scans over it, which is unnerving as fuck because he's a God-damned architect! "You swear in your notes?"

"Yep."

"Nice touch."

"Thank you. Now, I'm sorry." I sling my arms around his neck as he sets the notebook aside. "Tell me. I want to hear everything. Well, you know, whatever you want to share."

He turns his head and kisses the inside of my arm. "Better get your coffee."

He leans his long torso over the countertop giving me a full view of his tattooed back. I can't help but run my fingers down them until he sits back and gives me a cute quirk of a smile, handing me my coffee.

"Hey, before I dive deep here…" He takes a sip of his coffee. "What did you make for dinner last night? I still can't believe I absolutely passed out."

"Nothing I can't reheat another time."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Waking up thrashing this morning from yet another nightmare where I knowingly aided in Tris's death was disturbing enough, but then realizing where I was and that I most definitely fell asleep without ever returning to the kitchen aided in my disgrace and misery.

After I had dropped Zeke off, I sat in my car in the parking garage and reevaluated my priorities when it comes to Tris. There is a bigger picture here. It's not just her; it's me. Something is off, and I can't put into words what it is. It's not a lack of connection, definitely not. We are still just as drawn to each other as before, and, to some degree, more emotionally connected than ever. I ended up coming to absolutely no conclusions and just being more discontented than before.

Then an incredibly bought of exhaustion came over me, most likely both emotional and physical, as I leaned up against the elevator wall in wait for the 16th floor to ding. I actually nodded off and almost missed it. I can only attribute it to the lack of sleep I got the night before and then cognitive exhaustion. I remember how grateful I was that Tris didn't make me talk and literally sent me to my room to put on my pajamas—the one and only time in my life I was totally cool with being treated like a child. Then the last thing I remember was plugging my phone in by my bedside.

"Well, good, because I wasn't going to ask you how you were feeling. I want to know when can I start again!"

I hear Tris's voice from the living room as she talks to Tori. So, because she _needs_ my input, I walk out there and mouth her my opinion—"Never… _ever_ ," to which I receive a very ungrateful middle finger.

"Seriously?!" She looks taken aback at Tori's obvious answer of, at the very least, "four weeks." Tori's no dumb ass.

I wander back into the bedroom (apparently not _our_ bedroom) and take advantage of my chance to make the bed before Tris does. I take a deep breath as I've become accustomed to doing any time her scent is lingering and pull the sheets up. Her aroma is most heady in the bed where it isn't just her shampoo and body wash, but just _her._ And it now brings to mind other painfully arousing scents of hers that I've tried to hold onto for so many weeks because it is beyond unique— _What the hell is it? Mildly sweet, a rare savor for sure, just an addictive mix of feminine deliciousness—_

"Whatcha doin'?"

"What? Me? Nothing! Why?"

I quickly sit back on my ass facing the fucking headboard and cover my crotch with a pillow to hide my raging boner. I must look like the biggest imbecile.

"Because you looked like you were having a conversation with a pillow."

"Oh, well. Yeah. I was apologizing because it's 2:00 and I hadn't made the bed yet."

"Aw… You're evolving," she comments in jest as she approaches the bed most likely noting my seated position.

"Hmmph. So," I turn and face the normal direction one utilizes while sitting on a bed—towards the end. "Speaking of conversations…"

"Tori said I could start tomorrow—"

"No." _I don't think there's anything beyond that to say. Exit the room, please._

"You're pretty funny sometimes," she retorts as she exits the room while I jump off the bed to follow her.

"Does this look like my funny face?" I stand in front of her and double point to my face as I give her my _not-at-all-funny_ face.

"Does this look like my so-you-think-you-have-a-say-in-this face?"

She returns my double point and shows me the face she had just described quite accurately. I must give her some sort of defeated look, which is accurate because it does bother me that she doesn't give a shit that I give a shit.

"Let me rephrase that in a tad bit more loving way?" She squeezes her fingers, so they're about an inch apart.

"I would _love_ to see you try," I respond crossing my arms cynically.

"You don't have a say in this."

"Great." I roll my eyes and walk to the bedroom, yelling over my shoulder. "Fail on the _loving_ part, and duly _fucking_ noted on the other!"

"Tobias, I need to work," she says in a softer, yet equally as irritating, tone as she leans on the doorframe with a mix of apology, cuteness, and understanding. _She's not allowed to do that._

"Then work on your photography! And the cute doorway lean is _my_ move."

"I will," she chuckles and walks toward me. "But that's not a sustainable income right now. And, you didn't corner the market on doorway leans."

"Well, once they start trading it on the markets, I will make sure I do," I mumble as she rests her hands on my hips and stands on her toes, kissing my nose.

"Don't do that—"

"Al _though_ …listen to this."

"Can't wait."

"Some dumb fuck did pay $1000 for one of them!"

I bite my tongue so hard, it's practically bleeding and I don't know if it's because I was dumb enough to pay $1000 for it or because—

"Well, maybe it was priceless! Did you ever think about that? And why does that make them a dumb fuck?"

She looks away, and I know, I know, she has regrets that she sold that painting because it is damned priceless. But I'm too stubborn to tell her that the dumb fuck is standing right in front of her, fucking pissed off, and the painting is not even 30 square feet away from her. _Idiot._

"Why are you so upset about this? I made $500! And the others were going for like $75-150."

"Wait! You only get half!? You're the damned artist. You should be getting…99%."

"Number one—You're ridiculous. And number two—Amar was there and said it was an appropriate deal. They do almost _all_ the work—"

"I wholeheartedly disagree with that."

"Well, just because _you_ happen to disagree—"

"Amar was there?" I interrupt as that fact hits home.

"Yeah. He set me up, or tricked me into, meeting with Dalilah."

I hate the fact that I wasn't there. I should have been there to support her. She was probably nervous as all get out. Or maybe she didn't give a shit, and it was better that I wasn't. I glance up at her and notice that she is looking at the floor and wringing her hands. I can't help but think it's an odd moment for her to be nervous about something. So, I push the jealous part of me that wishes I had been there in Amar's place and edge toward her, taking her fingers in mine.

"I wish I had been there."

She nods her head. "I wanted you there."

I close my eyes as two separate emotions collide at that statement.

"I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. I just… It's important that you know how much I do…need you. I know I don't show it enough, but I do." _And she just about summed that up!_

"Thank you," I say softly as I pull her to me and rest my chin on her head, our finger still interlaced. Then I run my hands up her sides, stopping at her bandage, which brings me back to our original discussion. "So, you really think _tomorrow,_ the same day you get your stitches out, is the day you want to start back at work? What about the high bottles? You're right-handed! You have to wear those dumb shoes and… What if you fall? Or what if some fuckin' asshole—"

"She _needs_ me back at work. I don't think she's doing well." She looks past me, and I know I've officially lost this battle because Tori just trumped me, rightfully so. "I'll be careful. I promise. Tobias, I _need_ to do something. And it's only a Monday. If I have to reach something high, I'll ask for help."

"I appreciate you saying this, but you still have a tendency to _subconsciously_ push yourself past your limits—"

"As do you."

I sigh at her ridiculous diversion. "Tris?... Can we keep the petulance off the menu, for now?"

I flop down on my back on the bed as she hangs her head and crawls up to lie next to me.

"I'll be careful," she states taking my hand in hers and squeezing it.

"Thank you."

We drift off into our own thoughts for awhile, I assume, before I hear her speak softly and almost tentatively.

"I'm sorry you had a tough time at the wake."

I clear my throat, not having admitted this to her, yet. "You know, I really needed you there."

I can just see the frown on her face. "Well, I _tried—"_

"Please, allow me to finish," I smile to myself knowing she would react that way. "I shouldn't have told you not to come. I… _panicked_ …and was immediately mad at you because you just had to choose _that_ moment _not_ to be stubborn. I think had you been there; it would have helped. So, I'm sorry for telling you not to come."

She stays silent, and I hope being needed feels as good to her as it does to me.

"So, you panicked?"

"Yes—as in a panic _attack_." I sense her turn her head to face me, but I can't bring myself to return the gesture—one of my many flaws. "I used to get them all the time—badly. Sometimes they were brought on by nothing, or nothing I could consciously put my finger on, but yesterday, it's like I was nine years old again. All of the old fears and confusions of my mom's funeral hit me like a ton of bricks. I think I would have passed out if Kim hadn't taken notice and gotten me the hell out of there."

"Kim sounds like someone I would like."

"Yeah," I chuckle at how similar they are in their straightforward personalities. "She's always been a tough lady." I clear my throat thinking of her kids growing up knowing their father was murdered. "Kim is very smart but has some financial lessons to learn. I'm going to make sure her boys are taken care of."

"I know," she quips as if this is just an assumed fact.

"You do? You've never even met them—"

"It's because you're the best man I know."

Rolling my eyes, I turn my head to see her still staring with a mix of kindness and intensity. It always amazes me how she can convey near-mutually exclusive emotions simultaneously. Or maybe I just have the miraculous gift of being able to read her so deeply.

"How can you even say that? After everything I…did."

She purses her lips and I see a hint of pink tint her cheeks, so I know she's going to say something intimate—most likely mildly so, but I'll take what I can get.

"So, um, one of my more…memorable moments was when we were in your shower. I was lying on the bench…and you were…" She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. "…admiring me."

Her cheeks are just about full on red and I'm trying not to be full-on hard, but she is painting me a picture of her sexy body, literally sprawled out naked for me on my shower bench. I roll achingly onto my stomach, trying not to groan at the discomfort as she continues, in her own world of discomfort.

And you said, "Do you know you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?"

Now it's my turn for my cheeks to warm at the intimate memory. I can just about feel myself crouching down next to her and saying those words in genuine soft tones. She opens her eyes, and rolls onto her side, staring down at my hand. She begins to slide her index finger up my knuckles and back down, tracing the veins.

"Well, I had no idea how to respond to a compliment like that, and I still don't. But I'm going to say to you, the same thing you said to me. She lays her hand over mine, covering it entirely. "I will get you to believe that someday."

 _Someday. I love that—knowing there will be a someday._

Not in the least bit prepared to accept any of her nonsense, I look away. But 'away' happens to be down and I can't help but notice there is a decent amount of skin peeking out from the top of her yoga pants to the hem of her tank top—a solid 2 and 3/8 inches, for sure. And because I'm feeling emboldened by her revealing moment, coupled with the advice of Zeke ( _Lord, help me_.) I decide to take slight advantage of what's right in front of me.

I had made the decision that 'ravaging' is off the table. I know my physical control disabilities when it comes to having sex with this girl, and there is no way I'm going to be able to control my movements to the point of not hurting her. It's an absolute impossibility. That, coupled with other issues left to tackle, is how I came to that conclusion. But, I can still communicate to her how much I want her, if that is indeed an insecurity of hers, without taking it further.

 _Fuck, what if that's not an issue and Zeke is full of shit? Which is a big possibility—no, a probability. Okay, Tobias, you're here for her. You're not doing anything out of the realm of your mutual comfort. Just a lazy Sunday afternoon. That's it—a lazy Sunday afternoon._

So, staying on my stomach, I scoot myself lower in an attempt to be level with her abdomen, soon finding out that my line of sight is far too low to enjoy my intended view.

"Mmm mmm." I shake my head in disagreement and reach my hand up pulling a pillow down to elevate my head as she laughs lightly. "Ahhh…" I sigh out as I begin to trace my fingers over the soft, cool skin of her belly. "Much better."

I delight in the little peach fuzz hairs that stand up as goose bumps pepper her skin under my touch. I fucking love the fact that I have that effect on her.

 _Or maybe it's just cold in here?_ I take my chance and glance up at her nipples that are…very erect right now. _Yep! Definitely cold—Wait, what the hell?! No bra…again. She needs to learn to just put one on, first thing. Step 1—get out of bed, Step 2—put on bra to cover perky tits._

"Can I be honest with you?" I ask as I creep my hands up under her shirt to trace the muscles on her stomach.

She drags her fingers through my hair and mmmm, God, do I love it. "Of course."

"I think you may just be trying to torture me with your non-bra wearing antics." Then another torturous thought crosses my rather pensive mind. "And I bet you're not wearing panties either," I ask as I lean in to kiss her hip bone because, well, it's right in front of my face.

She doesn't respond so I pull her pants down over her right hip, not enough to expose her but enough to reveal—nothing. _Not a damned piece, not a damned scrap of fabric between her pants and her exquisite pussy. Jesus, Tris!_ I groan and bury my face in her abdomen while she stifles a laugh. _A laugh! Laughing is good._

I'm trying to be more carefree with my commentary, like I used to be, but a small part of me feels as if we are starting over so I don't want to cross a line.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I need to do laundry and, well, yesterday I _did_ locate your washer and dryer, but you had no detergent."

"I have a laundry service," I say, turning my face toward her.

She laughs through her nose at my pathetic lifestyle. "It's fine. Christina's bringing some, along with some more of my stuff so I will, uh, have more coverage in the future—"

"I didn't say it _bothered_ me." _I fuckin' love it and want to exploit it._

"You're right. You said it _tortured_ you." _Oh, yeah. I guess I did say that._

"Well, only because…" I take inventory of my thoughts quickly. How honest should I be? There is still so much left unsaid—things up in the air that she doesn't seem to want to talk about, which is a big problem. I have my own hang-ups—the nightmares being proof of that. Then there's the not wanting to pressure her aspect along with—

"Tobias…"

"I think I'm trying too hard." _Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from?_

She looks down at me, willing me to continue when I would really just rather let that comment lie. _Must we talk about…everything?_

"Uh…" I sling my arm over her midsection and prop myself up on my left elbow, rubbing her ribcage under the hem of her shirt with my thumb. "What I mean to say is—I'm overthinking… _everything,_ when it comes to you and I on a… _physical_ level. And well, I happen to find you very _enticing_ and when you are sans undergarments, it makes me…very… _Damn!_ I just want to do the right thing, and I don't know what that is anymore!"

 _There. It's out there! I said it! Up top, Tobias!_

I watch her worry her lip as she glances at me apologetically. "Well…" She looks up at the ceiling and shakes her head in rapid succession. "So, nothing comes… _naturally_ to you, anymore?"

I can just about hear her holding back the tears. _Oh, I fucked up. I fucked up._

"No, I didn't say that, I didn't say that," I plead desperately…too desperately. "I mean, um, being with you, just having you here, feels _completely_ natural…relatively speaking." _You did NOT need to add that last part!_

"Fuck," she emits under her breath.

I sit there in the same position trying to figure out how to do the ultimate backpedal. But, the problem is—I meant EVERY WORD.

"Hey," I take her right hand and twine our fingers, twisting them so I can kiss the back of her hand. "I won't apologize for being nervous."

"Why are you nervous?" She sniffs and keeps her eyes on the ceiling.

"Don't you think we should talk about some things first?"

"Like what? We've been doing a lot of that 'talking.' What more is there?"

"Still plenty more of that, unfortunately, for me." She clenches her jaw as it dawns on me how shitty that sounded. "Don't take that the wrong way, please. I only say it because _I_ struggle with it and it is…taxing."

"Okay," she responds, seeming to accept that reason.

"But, Tris…that's not the kind of talk I'm referring to." The back of my head tingles, so I drop her hand to scratch my fingers over it, relieving the intrusion. "You went through a very traumatic experience and—"

"And I dealt with it before!" she spits in what I can only attribute to annoyance.

"You did. And you're amazing and strong and…so many other unbelievable things. But, _I_ wasn't there last time so I don't know what my role is—"

"You don't have one."

I try to make my face as blank as possible, not having any desire for her to read the hurt on my face. She has absolutely no fucking idea how brutal she can be.

"This didn't happen to you. And what do you want from me? Do you want the play-by-play again?" she suggests with dripping sarcasm.

I have to swallow thickly to control my temper along with not revisiting the scenario that already haunts my dreams. "It's not particularly about what happened…but, how you feel. Fuck, just what if I do something that… _reminds_ you of—"

"Well, that's doubtful because I really don't remember," she quips. "Or I'll push through it." She shrugs.

It takes me a moment to process her meaning of that off the cuff sounding verbiage, which is actually choke full of meaning. "You'll…push…through…it?"

"And you would have to as well," she whispers so quietly that I almost don't hear her.

It takes everything in me to not absolutely lose my mind and it seems to take equal effort to even look at her. Yet, somehow I manage it and, damn it, she's going to fucking reciprocate.

"Look at me," I say roughly.

She purses her lips stubbornly until I place my hand on her cheek and, with restraint, turn her face toward me.

"I…love…you. There will be no _pushing_ through anything…ever." My mouth drops open because the physical reaction of my needing to continue jumped way ahead of the fact that I can't conjure mere syllables, right now.

"And that's why you're the best man I know," she comments as a tear escapes which I catch with my thumb.

"Yeah, well, if you knew what was going through my mind you may not say that—"

The loud repetitious sound of relentless knocking interrupts my thoughts.

"That's…Christina," Tris states as she pushes herself up to a sitting.

I gently, but firmly push her back down onto her back and hold her there.

"She needs to go away, now. Right now!"

"She's bringing me…undergarments," she emits laughing as she gives me an indian burn.

"Ow! Fuck. Let's just be quiet. Maybe she'll leave!" I whisper.

"I invited her—"

"Shh! Shut the hell up! She'll hear you!"

"I told you," she grits out as she pinches my nipple.

"Shit! Ow!" I flop on my back not enjoying the burn left over on my wrist and chest.

"We're going up to the pool while you're at work. Look at the bright side, I won't be sans bra and panties anymore! Less torture!" she yells over her shoulder.

"I told you it doesn't bother me!" I roll on my side, burying my head in the pillow, talking to no one. "…it just makes me want to make sweet, sweet love to you even more."

I roll onto my back, hearing Christina's mindless white noise of chatter as disappointment hits me. There was so much more I wanted to tell her—that I understand, that the look in her eyes when she feels she's letting me down speaks volumes, that I know expressing love physically is a big deal but I think she may be overestimating her readiness. And what was that 'pushing through things' bullshit? Was that what she did before? Because, holy shit, there is just so much more to her and I. Does she even know that!? She better fucking know that—"

"Can I just tell you that this place is truly great for like an out of town condo. But to live here? Uh, uh! No way!"

I feel the bed dip significantly next to me and I slowly turn my head to see _Christina…_ lying on _my_ bed…right next to me…shoulder to shoulder. _What the fuck makes her think this is kosher with me?!_

"You were totally talking to yourself by the way and what's with the death stare? Is this not okay!?"

I hear Tris snort out a laugh as she walks into the closet, closing the door behind her.

"Come back! Don't leave me here alone with her!"

"God, you're such a baby!" I feel the sharp jab of Christina's bony elbow. "What do you think I'm gonna do?"

"He's ticklish in his ribs!"

"Really?!" _Oh, fuck no!_

Before I know it, I'm being attacked by debilitating Christina rib tickles. The uncontrollable laughter that is coming out of me is fucking painful.

"God, damn it! Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" I shriek like a girl as I literally curl into a ball.

She finally ceases fire in hysterical laughter as I shoot up from my fetal position and bee-line it to the kitchen in a murderous rage.

"Holy hells bells, Trissy! That shit's the big guns, right there!"

As I catch my breath and lean against the counter in embarrassment, I hear Tris's equally hysterical laughter, clearly at my expense. _Seriously? Did that just happen? I was just violated! And Tris is LAUGHING!_

"Hey, Tobias?"

"Mmm!" _And that's all the response you're getting from me, babe!_

"Told you he would grunt," Christina comments as I roll my eyes at myself for my predictable response. "And I know your name's Tobias, haa-haa-ha-ha-haaaa!" the idiot sing songs.

Yet, even more predictably, I head back into my room because, well, Tris needs something. But I immediately halt and see a sight I have yet to see…but am now seeing—Tris in a bathing suit. She's facing away from me in an athletic looking one-piece. She walks to the other side of the room still facing away from me and I can see how the swim suit fits her ass snugly, so that when she walks her cute butt cheeks pucker out.

"Where did you say the pool cards were?" she yells.

Suddenly I hear a not at all stifled laugh coming from Christina as she texts on her phone, _still lying on my bed!_ "Like what ya see, Four?"

"Yes," I say evenly and clearly, nodding without pause nor hesitation.

Just then Tris turns around and rolls her eyes at me. But I couldn't care less because _my_ eyes are drawn to her perfectly modest bathing suit that fits her like a damned glove. It pulls taut against her boobs, leaving very little to the imagination of the exact location of her succulent nipples. And then…there's a zipper. One downward pull of that thing and she would be all mine. As my eyes graze her body, they are unrelenting—so much so, that they land right on the finger prints indelibly and exactly driven into the juncture of each of her thighs. I swallow, hiding a commanding choke that tries to emerge and occupy my eyes by looking past her. But, my ears are distracted by the distinct sucking in of breath from Christina.

It's like time stands still as I look from Christina's wide, surprised eyes, honing in on Tris's bruises, back to Tris who then looks down at herself and back up, flitting her eyes between Christina and I—an immediate look of shame and indignity appear on her face as her eyes glaze over and her bottom lip quivers.

Suddenly she stands up straighter. "Do you have beach towels?" she asks through tears.

But just the look on her face, the one that tries desperately to hide all other less desirable emotions, breaks my heart in two and I'm unable to answer.

"Um… Four? Beach towels… Do you…do you have them?" I hear Christina rustle off the covers. "Just tell me where. I'll find 'em."

But my gaze doesn't leave Tris as her eyes dart around frantically, seeing as my and Christina's presence are blocking her escape.

"Four?"

"They have them at the pool," I mumble.

"Great! Uh…ready, Tris?"

"Yeah," she somehow gets out as tears spill over. "I'm just gonna…"

She attempts to walk past me but I block her, grasping her securely, very securely, by the hips as she squirms.

"Please, just let me go," she says calmly as the tears continue.

I'll never know how she can pull off the whole crying while still showing little to no emotion.

"How 'bout those card thingies—"

"Give us a minute, Christina," I command evenly, not giving her the option to dispute my non-request.

"I don't need a—"

"I didn't say, ' _you,'_ I said, ' _us,'"_ I interrupt, not giving Tris an option either.

"I'll meet you in the hall," Christina mutters.

Hearing the apartment door click shut, I look down at Tris and put my index finger under her chin, tilting her head to look up at me. She flinches away and crosses her arms.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," I say resignedly as I brush my palms up and down her arms. "I just don't want you to be embarrassed about—"

"I'm not! I'm pissed at myself for giving a shit what you both think!"

"Are you finishing my sentences for me now?" I quirk my head trying to meet her eyes. "I just don't want you to be embarrassed because you'll probably make quite the statement, okay?"

"Whatever," she scoffs in deflection.

"Because your nipples are hard as fuck," I quickly graze my thumbs over the small protrusions. "And your butt cheeks peek out the sides of this suit, right here." I run the tips of my fingers over the flesh of her ass where it sticks out of the suit. "So when you give the nice elderly towel man a heart attack, be prepared to make a… _statement_ …to the police."

I watch her closely as she purses her lips and then suddenly relaxes, lying her fore head on my chest. She starts laughing as I wrap my arms around her and continue to describe her sexiness.

"I actually feel quite fortunate that your friend, who has no concept of social boundaries, is out in the hall because I have much to say. This line right here…" I trail my fingers back down and leisurely trace the elastic hem of her suit from where it starts at her hips to where I can reach no further without her assistance. "…cuts into your very fit, very firm, very perfect ass so your cheeks hang out just a little right here."

I watch the goose bumps trail along her body along with my fingers as they graze back and forth over the area I'm most interested in. I can feel her fore head warm as she's still leaning on my chest

"Is my suit too small?" she asks breathily. I bite my bottom lip loving the response I can elicit from her.

"Definitely. Which is why it's awesome. I can see every beautiful curve of your body." Dragging my hands up her sides, they take purchase on her waist. "Like this one." Against my better judgment I continue my way up her torso, determined to make myself very clear. Although the hard-on I'm trying to control may already prove my point just fine. So, apparently this is all for my benefit now. "And these…" I place my hands gently on her breasts as she bites the hell out of her lip and wrings her hands. "Now the problem with this bathing suit is that it makes your perfect tits look rather…flat. But _I'm_ lucky enough to know that is _not_ the case, and I'm perfectly content with other men _not_ checking out your amazing breasts." I run the heel of my hands over her nipples and whisper in her ear. "I'm already trying to get over the ass thing…"

She laughs nervously and clears her throat, but still won't look at me.

"But I need you to do me a favor?" I ask backing away slightly.

"Wh, what?" She asks lifting her head.

"Don't ever let anyone else do this." I pull on the zipper just a tad, only to give an example of what no one should ever, ever, ever, do, and it rapidly falls open, way faster than I expected as her breasts are freed from the confines of that suit.

Where I was trying to control my visceral reactions as my hands were on her, now there is no controlling my dick or my hands, apparently, because they slide in and cup her breasts, tightly and without my permission.

She sucks in a breath as I walk her backwards to the bed, hands still glued to her, pleased that she's fisting my shirt and pulling me with her.

With serious reluctance, I groan and remove my hand so I can support her back and lay her down properly. She looks up at me and bites her lip, breathing heavily as I take her mouth as mine passionately, cupping her cheek then moving to take a fistful of her thick hair. It crosses my mind that she is laying on the bed in the perfect position for me to completely check her out—well, not completely, but I'm not complaining. So, I continue with my not-at-all-careful ministrations with my mouth and prop myself up on my left side. I can't help but pull away from her lips to admire her as the outline of the swim suit rests perfectly alongside her boobs, pushing them together slightly—not that I care about that because suddenly my mouth is on one, taking as much of her as I can while working in tandem with my tongue.

She grabs onto the back of my hair and pushes me to her chest roughly allowing me, even more, access, which I happily…with _utter_ happiness…take advantage of—mapping out missed areas with fervency. I feel her arm brush my face, and I know she's reaching for my dick that wants to be in her hand so badly. I swear it's trying to meet her halfway. But this is about her so I brush her hand away with an "mmm mmm," as to not remove my lips from her breast. Just then, I realize how selfish my mouth is, and I remember she has two breasts that need equal attention. So I reach in and flick the tips of my fingers back and forth over her left nipple. She bucks her hips at the sudden sensation with an expletive I didn't quite process as I'm beyond distracted. But not distracted enough for my eyes to _not_ catch her squeezing her legs together and squirming. Thank God for my right hand because it's needy as hell and makes its way purposefully under her swim suit without any ounce of hesitation. My fingers brush over the top of her folds, and I groan, way louder than I should. She is so damned wet. It's the hottest thing ever. I can't believe my fingers are on her again. And much to my delight, she's equally as loud, especially when I brush my thumb easily, so easily, over her clit.

"That is so…mgh..." _Whatever the fuck that meant, Tobias!_

"Fuck, I could come just…" She sighs out as I continue to stroke her wetness.

"Please finish that sentence," I plead as I move to her other breast sucking hard and biting her nipple.

"…just by you doing that."

 _Fuck… I'm barely doing anything! I've always wanted to get her off just by sucking on her tits…and a few other minor ministrations—a challenge that's been in the back of my mind. This could be my chance!_

I harden even more at her words and the thought, so I press myself onto her leg needing to relieve some pressure. And this time, I don't stop her as she forces her hand into my sweats, grasping my cock with the perfect amount of force. I moan and move my head up to her luscious lips, no longer able to multi-task to the extent necessary. _And there goes my chance…_ Somehow, I'm still able to move my fingers over her other luscious lips as I grind into her hand.

Soon enough her mouth goes slack, and her breath picks up along with the speed of my fingers right over her sensitive nerves. So I kiss all around her mouth, wherever I can reach. And then the feeling I've craved but haven't been able to duplicate…ever—her hand…bare hand…on my shaft, as she has pulled me out of the peek hole of my briefs. She squeezes hard but doesn't move her hand, which makes me smile smugly because that means she's appropriately distracted, so I thrust at a speed that works for me.

Adding a little bit more pressure I can feel more moisture spreading on my fingers as her center pulls away in flexion. I know she's almost there.

 _Jesus, so am I. What the fuck is wrong with me?!_

Knowing one move will do it for her, I hope. I move my index finger in perfect alignment and push—

"I need sun! Can you please get past the ego boost already! I've seen the bruises. Let's move on! Puh-lease!"

We both stop and make wide eye contact as Tris pulls her hand out ( _Fuck!_ ), and I quickly zip her back up ( _Fuck!_ ) upon hearing Christina actually coming down the FUCKING HALLWAY! Tris immediately covers her face while I literally tuck my cock between my legs and sit up quickly. _Oh, it hurts. Yes. Definitely…hurts._

I rest my head in my hands in misery as Tris plays the pretend crying act…in the worst way.

"Is she okay?" Christina mouths as I lift my head and glare at her.

"Just about."

She looks me over and I can only imagine how red my face looks and my general appearance.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Just about."

Then it seems to register as fast as the DMV. "Oh! Oh, fuck! Sorry, sorry, sorry! Aw, that's great guys. But, yeah…just give me a pool card and I'll be on my way."

"Great. Side table, top drawer on the left—"

"I'm coming," Tris groans as Christina snickers and leaves the room.

"Well you _were,_ " I whisper with a clenched jaw directed at Tris as I help her sit up. "She is so dumb. So, so, so, so, so, so—"

"It's not her fault."

"Yep. Her fault!"

"I can hear you, asshole," Christina droles from wherever the hell she went.

I take a deep breath and help Tris up to standing. "Have fun at the pool," I say sarcastically as she leans up and kisses me on the cheek, where I immediately turn my head and take her lips in mine because they're mine! I try to keep them as long as possible until she pushes me away, giving me a sad face.

"I would rather not be under a time constraint…o _kay_?" she pleads softly.

"Fine by me," I emit with even more sarcasm as she laughs. I watch her and actually do get a small amount of satisfaction as she just about limps out of the room.

"Something wrong with your bathing suit, Tris?" Christina asks laughing.

"Not funny," she chastises.

Actually, it's hilarious and I can't help but jump on the band wagon because she is leaving me with a serious set of painful blue balls.

So, walking toward the hallway, I lean on the door. _MY move!_ "Well, I'm just gonna take a shower." She turns, wrapping some scarfy thing around her waist and narrows her eyes at me as I lick my thumb slowly—the one that not five minutes ago, was working her quite well. It was a bold and crass move, but I couldn't help it.

Her mouth drops open as the insinuation of what I'm going to be doing in the shower sinks in. _Yep! That shit turns her on!_

"But you have fun at the pool…in that, suddenly ill-fitting swimsuit."

"You're an ass," she mouths to me with a face pinker than I've seen in a long time.

"Be thinkin' about ya!" I yell over my shoulder as I walk to the bathroom, having been 100% honest with my intended goal.

I hear Christina just about die of laughter in the hallway as Tris returns the favor with some choice words of her own.

After the door closes, I turn the shower on and immediately step under the water. It doesn't take even five seconds before I have myself in my hand, completely erect and on my way to probably the best orgasm I've had in forever because I have a very, very fresh…very…very…very fresh, wet, soft, image in my head…accompanied by many…other choice words…and soft sighs…and escalating breaths…and heavenly scents…and luscious lips of…two varieties…

I moan and finish myself off in less than a minute. _High school! May as well be in high school!_ Sighing, I hold my head under the water—the image of Tris's ass in that bathing suit still fresh in my head as I rinse myself off.

"Why even bother?" I ask myself. _Just gonna do it again in ten minutes!_

* * *

 **Christinas's POV:**

I climb out of the pool, watching Tris sit with her knees up in a lounge chair in the sun. I know there will be _no_ getting her in this pool with those profane bruises on her legs. Not that I blame her! Yikes! That would reflect very, very poorly on Four. I mean, seriously, it looks like— _Jesus, Christina!_

"What's with the look?" Tris asks lazily as she glances in my direction. "Your eyes are wider than a bush baby's."

"Um… What the hell is a bush baby?" I ask as I walk from the indoor/outdoor pool ( _This place is badass!_ ) straight to sit in the lounger next to Tris, stretching my legs out and sliding my sunglasses on.

"Never mind," she chuckles shaking her head.

I pull my phone out of my bag. "Siri? Show me a picture of a damned bush baby."

"Here are some pictures of a damned bush baby I found," says my sexy male Siri.

"How'd you get the Australian-accent Siri?"

"Girl, it's time for an upgrade," I comment as I take in a very unpleasant picture of a cross between a monkey and a bat. "Thanks a lot," I mutter as she laughs.

"You deserve that and so much more."

"Why? Because of my relentless teasing and mockery?"

I smack her with the back of my hand, tempted to continue my total onslaught of sexual banter. But, I decide enough is enough. Especially since she seems to be kind of unresponsive. More like shaking her head and looking the other way, rather than giving me wide-eyed glares and throwing things.

"Yes."

"Then I'll take your jungle baby comparisons!"

"You have no choice."

We sit silently, which I hate, so start up some convo, right away.

"When is Four coming home?" I inquire, not that I really care.

"He said in time for dinner."

"When's dinner?" _Not that I care._

"I don't know," she laughs lightly. "Why?"

"Because I need to know when I have to leave," I state honestly.

"You don't have to leave. Stay and eat with us."

"Yeah, 'cause he would love that!"

"Chris—"

"What? He doesn't like me!"

"Well, don't feel bad. There are very few people he likes." She shrugs her shoulders as if that's supposed to make me feel better.

"Thanks."

"I'm kidding. And you have an equally low tolerance for him."

"Well, he can be a prick."

"And, you can be a bitch."

"And, so can you."

"Yes. But I'm the bitch he happens to love," she remarks.

"God, does that man _adore_ you," I groan in part-envy, part-not-my-cup-of-tea.

She shakes her head and reaches into her bag for a book. "You should hear us argue. You'd definitely be retracting that statement. Anyway, Tobias adores me no more than Will adores you."

"Yeah…" I ponder that idea as an image of William's sweet face enters my mind. The way he looks at me melts me, but it's not the intense melting iron look Four gives Tris, which is fine by me. "I know Will definitely does. But Four is like… I don't know. It's hard to explain. Sometimes he looks at you like you're this ethereal creature or something. And, just what he went through to _protect_ you and then to _be_ with you…" I trail off as I notice Tris looking in the opposite direction. But I decide to keep at it, anyway. "So Will told me how Four just always seemed like he was in silent agony at work when you two were apart. He would either bury himself in work, or Will would just catch him staring off at nothing. He wouldn't mingle with anyone at ALG—ditched all lunches! And you know how friggin' awesome that food is."

"Actually, I don't."

"And he definitely drank himself to sleep most nights at the office. Will had to put him to bed! Oh! And he was looking at pics of you! Hey?...Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," she looks over smiling only slightly. "It's just... It's… I don't want to upset his life so much. I'm not… Fuck, I don't know. No matter what I say, it's going to come out wrong."

"Lay it on me, sister."

"He would do anything for me."

"For shizzle."

"And the problem is—I know it! And I feel like… I feel like I'm gonna fucking need it! And I _hate_ that. Because he _would…_ he _has…_ disrupted his whole life for me. And I don't want that for him! And, Jesus Christina! Do you know he's a really fucking big deal?!"

"So, you've mentioned," I comment cheekily, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm serious."

" _It_ sounds serious."

"God, Chris! He's not like the behemoth! It's not like a freak show side act."

I think about how strange that would be. Quite an attraction, can't deny that! "So, it wasn't like you broke out into a cold sweat all like, "Howz-that-gonna-fit?" or like, "Holy shit! It's a steroidal zucchini!"

She quirks her head in thought. "Mmmm, no. Never thought that. But definitely, definitely, above average. God, there are so many things wrong with you—"

"Yeah, you can totally tell with Four, not so much with Will—"

"What?!"

"Grower not a shower. Which, at first, I was like, 'Ohhhh,' but then I was like, 'Oooo.'"

"Not with Will!" she freaks. "Christina. I told you to stop…looking…at my boyfriend's dick… _please!_ "

I brush her off because it is so not my fault. "The whole non-pleated pants thing… Yeah—"

"Please stop looking at his penis," she growls like a she-lion. It's pretty priceless.

"Fine, fine, fine."

"I don't even know how we got here!"

"Four's a big deal," I remind her as I grab my magazine ready to be uninterested.

"Yes! So, Matthew was telling me Tobias is like internationally sought out—"

"And do _not_ talk to Four about Matthew," I interject as I have no interest in seeing World War III take place. _Or do I?_ "No, I take that back! Definitely, do it…just make sure I'm there for the show."

"Oh, please. So, he thought we went on a date…and we didn't!"

"Nope. Wrong again lady. He thought you were full on banging."

She seems wordless for a moment, so I just take in the sun, waiting for her reaction. "How do you know this?"

"Matthew told Will and Will told me."

"Matthew told Will _what_?"

This is territory that I will not be navigating on this beautiful day. Plus, I'm not fully informed. She needs to talk to Four."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm not saying another word about that! But…oh, God. Poor Four. Poor, poor, Four."

I see Tris's bottom lip peak out in pity, and I know she's thinking about how Four must have been feeling.

"Not such a prick, huh?" she suggests, changing gears.

"Just because I pitied him, doesn't make him any less of a prick."

"You do know he just tends to act like one. It's a defense mechanism!" she says with a borderline angry tone.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Yeah, but it's a little innate too."

"Maybe."

"Look, it's kinda cool if you think about it. He's got that whole tough nut to crack vibe going on. He's like...a mystery. I think it's something you two have in common. It's like you're each others' projects, ya know? Always trying to figure each other out and—"

"So, you think he's trying to _fix_ me?" she implies with full-on snark.

"Not what I meant—"

"'Cause I'm not trying to fix him!"

"Sure you are," I add as I open up Elle to page 47.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, you said there's so much he hasn't told you. But 'you're gonna find out if you have to tie him to a chair and hump it out of him!'"

"I said no such thing." She flops back on her chair and crosses her arms.

"Actually, you screamed it off the balcony, drunk ass."

The memory of Tris's hair blowing in the wind, clutching a glass of red wine and yelling at absolutely no one comes back in bright, vivid colors. She must have some recollection of that because she doesn't shut down the conversation.

"Still, that's not me fixing him. That's me wanting to _know_ him."

"I guess." I shrug. _I really just want to read my magazine, now._

"So, you…you think he's trying to fix… _me_?" I see her sit up out of the corner of my eye, and I can hear the worry in her voice.

"Well, I think he wants you to get better—"

"Get _better_?"

"Geez! You know poor wording is like my M.O.!" _Except those are the exact words I meant to use._ "He wants you to heal."

"I'm fine."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" she prods.

I give her a double-take and realize this may be my chance to say what's been on my mind!

"You haven't said one word to me about what happened with Eric. I've had to hear it from other people and then it just made it all official after the police took all of your bedding. You're not talking. Well, not to me. Which is okay because I know you're, at least, talking to Four, right?"

She avoids my stare for a moment and then nods her head, all-out looking in the opposite direction. _She's lying… I knew it._

"Miss Prior?" A cute little high school kid has appeared with an ice bucket and a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot. _THIS PLACE IS AWESOME!_

"What? Yeah?"

"This is from Mr. Eaton. I'm supposed to say, 'For his beautiful girlfriend…um…and the…and the other one.'"

"Such a dick," I mumble. But I am still totally willing to—

"An 80$ bottle of champagne. No..thank you!" Tris waves him away as he looks on nervously.

"Okay, so… He said you'd say that. Now, I'm, well, I'm supposed to tell you to, "drink the fucking champagne…uh…idiot."

"So…romantic," I remark sarcastically, waiting for Tris to refuse the champagne again. But when I look up from my magazine, I can see she's smiling brightly. "God, you're weird," I say shaking my head. _If Will ever called me an idiot...mmm mmm…no, no, no, no, no…no to the o._

I sigh as the concierge errand boy hands Tris a champagne flute and fills it up nicely, but then he hesitates when it comes to my turn.

"What?" I ask trying not to be annoyed.

But all I get is a very apologetic look, along with a _fucking_ red solo cup.

"What the _hell_ is _this_?"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I make it halfway up in the elevator and then decide to take the stairs the rest of the way needing to expel some extra energy along with getting some exercise seeing as I haven't been to the gym for almost two weeks. It also gave me some more time to think, as I know I'll be completely immersed by the time I sit down at my desk.

After a semi-shameful, yet necessary, round two in the shower, I emerged and felt some very conflicting emotions. I had completely contradicted every decision I had made to hold back until Tris talks to me about…stuff. Even though we didn't get very far, we could have. And then I had to go and be a sarcastic dick when she went up to the pool, making her feel guilty for leaving me. I seem to lose control so readily with her. Fuck, I barely remember how we even got to the bed, let alone how my hand ended up between her legs—no matter how amazing that was. I want her. But I want all of her, and I feel like I don't have it. She's holding back. And there's something I don't even think she has admitted to herself yet—she thinks us being together will make everything okay. It'll make her forget what happened—replacing memories as she's always said. I always thought it was healthy to do that, but now I'm not so sure. It feels more like burying problems. Plus, this time, was different. I can feel it. I can see it in her eyes. I know I wasn't around to experience the after effects of her abuse three years ago, but something in me is telling me, this time, was different.

"Fuck," I emit under my breath as I see that I have made it up to the 86th-floor. _Oh, well. Couple extra flights of stairs never hurt anyone._

The door immediately opens as I quickly turn to head back down. And then I hear it.

"Four? Wow! You're…in the building. Four is… _IN_ …the building! Aaaaaahhhhh…"

So not ready for this shit yet, I continue my gallop to the 85th-floor while… _Matthew_ …follows me with his incessant misrepresentation of applause.

"That was my best impression of Blackhawks fans, and a terrible impression of the Stanley announcer guy. What's his name anyway?"

"I'm assuming when you say 'Stanley announcer guy' you're referring to the official Blackhawks broadcaster, Pat Foley?" I reply as I throw the door open to our floor and proceed to my office in hopes he'll stop at his cubicle.

"Yeah, sure, that guy. So, hey…uh… Can I ask, um, how's Tris, Tris, um, Tris doing—"

"Fine," I deadpan wanting to give minimal detail on the condition of my girlfriend to the guy who covets more than friendship with her.

I breeze into my office and switch on the light, stopping immediately to take in the scene, while Matthew barrels into my back.

I grunt but hold my stance as he plummets backward.

"Good God, man! So that's what they mean when they call you a brick wall," he laughs as I continue to gaze over the hyper amount of paperwork and plans falling off my desk bearing a strong resemblance to an Alaskan glacier. "But, I'm pretty sure they mean _talking_ to said wall rather than _face-planting_ into said wall."

Feeling the need to direct some frustration elsewhere, I address his semi-insulting albeit accurate comment. So I turn and give him the best wordless stare I'm capable of at that moment.

"Oh… Did I say 'they?' 'Cause there is no 'they,' That's really just a relative term. A relative term…of endearment."

"The word 'they' is a term of endearment?"

"No."

Shaking my head, I walk to my desk. Various plans and paperwork fall off as I lean my palms onto it and hang my head. _How the fuck am I going to handle all this shit—_

"So, did you here Nita quit?"

"Yes." Right before I fired her for defying all sense of appropriate existence.

"Gotta admit. I may have run around and hi-fived the whole office."

The visual of Matthew making his rounds to all the cubicles with this hand in the air, hi-fiving all staff members does bring a hint of a smile to my face _. Only a damned hint!_

"She was, uh, pretty toxic…borderline plagueish."

"Yes," I respond to his perfectly descript assessment.

"Definitely thought you two were churning butter."

I straighten up and turn to him hoping he didn't mean what I think he did. "Churning… _butter_?"

"Yeah. Sex. It's what my grandma used to say. I'm trying to be more professional."

"You…are…failing." I turn back to my desk as another bout of exasperation at the natural disaster in front of me hits me head on.

"Well, is there, uh…anything I can help with? Speaking of my grandma, this place looks like her attic. If her attic was a state of the art high rise—speaking of art…" I actually turn to see what Matthew is referring to. "Wow. Did you choose this? Because this is _not_ your style!"

I hold back a smile, keeping as stern of a face as I can while I gaze at Tris's barn picture perfectly placed next to my credentials on the wall. _Amar…_

"You know my style, Matthew?" I sigh out as I walk toward it, standing next to him.

"Oh. Well…I can only imagine—you know, bare walls, mahogany furniture, pre-furnished. You just don't seem at all creative on the decorative end of things." _Well, fuck…_

"I actually find this piece to fit my style quite perfectly…on many, many, levels," I respond curtly and a little smugly.

"Really?"

"Really." I internalize the image of Tris in the window of the barn, and before I can control myself, I actually address Matthew. "Do you like it?"

"You're asking me…my opinion?"

"It would seem that way."

"Well, it reminds me of Wisconsin, so, yeah. But, I wonder how purposeful the resolution was? It almost looks like it was… I don't know—"

"Taken with a cell phone."

"Exactly! But then…this one part draws you in. Huh…enhancement? I like it! I fuckin' love it! Hey, there's someone in the… Is that a girl?"

"It is."

"Well, whoever did this is exceedingly talented."

"Really."

"They kept the outline of her in almost a perfect visual relief. If you stand here… Just move…" I feel, for real, Matthew's hands on my shoulders trying to physically inch me to the left. "…right like… No, more…a little bit more. See, there. She looks like she's coming out of the picture. Like a relief. Do you know what 'relief' is?"

"I know what relief is. I'm an architect."

"I know that. Duh…"

"You just said 'duh,' didn't you?" I cough out as I rock back on my heels.

"Yes. You just don't seem much into the "artsy" side of being "artistic." Creative, yes. Artistic, no. Wait! I take that back. One of the few times I felt it was safe to fly into 'Four territory,' not that I ever particularly wanted to fly into 'Four territory,' but anyway, yeah, Tris said you pretend you can't draw. But you're actually full of shit."

"She said that?"

"That you're full of shit. Yes, I quite enjoyed that."

I stay silent and wait for the dipshit moment to pass.

"Oh, the other part? To quote you, 'Indeed.'"

"Don't quote me."

"Sorry, but you say that a lot. So, you can draw? I mean, you can obviously _draft_ …but that's a whole different ball game."

"My mother enjoyed art, and I went to several camps as a kid. But, in my opinion, no, I cannot draw. At least, not when I'm up against _this_." I gesture to Tris's brilliance while also realizing I'm having an actual conversation with Matthew. "And I'm particularly competitive, as is the artist. So, I'd be fucked either way."

"You know the artist?"

"Quite well."

"Cool. Do they sell in a gallery?"

"Yes. Dalilah's."

"As in Bucktown?"

"Indeed," I say in jest, which he doesn't seem to pick up on.

"That's where Tris sells her photography, right?" _Yes, Matthew. Shall we put two and two together?_ _"_ I've never actually seen her work. Geez, I must have talked about myself a lot. Is that where I fucked up?"

"Yes, Matthew. I'm sure that's why it didn't work out between you two," I say flatly as I turn to face him.

"Yeah. That was a dumb thing to say. Well, just so you know, from my perspective, there really was never anything to work out between the two of us—at least, not on her end."

I walk back over to my desk, smirking at that comment, before beginning to sort through my deluge. _Okay, let's categorize—1. Project 2. Management, and 3. Ownership responsibilities—_

"Okay, I just have to say it. I'm sorry I gave David Tris's number I didn't know they would get sloppy and then well more sloppy and—"

"Matthew!" I yell through a very, very, clenched jaw.

"Yes?" he squeaks.

"There will be no subject that will be more off limits than the events of that night. Understood?"

"Good, because I really did _not_ want to go into details," he laughs as if anything about that night was remotely humorous. "Sorry, I'll stop. So… She's okay, though?"

"She's okay."

"So, I can meet her for coffee—"

"Matthew!"

"Just kidding!"

 _Okay… What's this…? Rental agreement for new tenants for the 3-8_ _th_ _floors. Hmm… George and Amar privately own the coffee shop? Smart—different tax system for small businesses. We donate the 12 and 13_ _th_ _as storage for the Illinois Food Bank. Great tax write-off…I wonder how they got that space appraised—"_

"WHAT the fuck are you doing?" I exalt as papers slide of my desk into Matthew's clumsy as fuck hands.

"Helping?"

" _How_ is this _helping_?"

"Well, _this_ is the project Will is heading up. Bucktown reno? You were there. I was going to organize this and update you…?" he suggests even though he's already started.

"Just don't…fuck anything up." _It's actually a good idea. Damn it!_

"Hey, I know more about this than you do, pal! Sorry….we really aren't pals."

"Not even close."

"Will we ever get there?"

"Not at this rate."

* * *

I pull off my glasses roughly and rub my eyes, harder than I have since I was in the waiting room at the hospital. Then I sit back and run my hands over my face, peeking at the state of my desk.

I have now organized nine new projects in perfect alignment with staff requirements and assignments, progress, finances, materials, risk, and profit. In addition, I scoured the list of staff salaries I asked Amar for—sorted by department. I reviewed a stack of 21 resumes in search of an administrative assistant and what seems like, and very well could be, 1000 other odds and ends that Amar says, "I will have to become acquainted with."

"Okay… I need to get the fuck out of here."

I stand and head over to the black-out curtains. The Air Show was in full effect earlier, which I now thoroughly resent because I broke out into a cold sweat at the mere thought of what it would feel like to be in one of those planes. So, upon frantically pulling the curtains closed and seeing Matthew's wide eyes in reaction to my behavior, I had to offer him an explanation, to which I received a—"You serious, Clark?" from him. I was annoyed, but it was actually funny. He was a bigger help than I will admit to him…when he finally shut the fuck up.

I pull on the curtains and my eyes take in the black landscape of the lake on a Sunday…NIGHT!

"Shit!" I grit as I search for my phone, but I end up just turning in circles all around the room.

"Whoa, boss! Lookin' fer…this?"

I stop in my tracks and run at Matthew, ripping the phone out of his hand as he tries to yell an explanation behind me. But I don't even hear him as I scroll through the myriad of texts from Christina.

 **(5:32) Christina:** U may want to come home soon.

 **(6:17) Christina:** She found out the date and shit got real…real fast. Srsly u need 2 get here.

 **(6:48) Christina:** She said she will push me off the balcony if I text you, but I'm takna risk here and

 **(7:42) Christina:** OK. U R a prick. I have to leave!

 **(8:04) Christina:** I hate u I hate u I hate u and fuck u!

I call Christina in a fit of panic as I take deep breaths in the elevator. Apparently I'm in the elevator.

"Hey, asshole!" she answers immediately and loudly. "What's up? Not TRIS 'cause I put her to bed—"

"What happened?!"

"I gave her half an anti-anxiety and _YES, TO-BI-AS,_ she had been drinking—"

"You are the worst friend…EVER—"

"In fact, she was in drink-myself-into-a-stupor-ville!"

"Jesus Christ—"

"Relax! I made her eat…which was VERY, VERY, difficult because she didn't want to eat without YOU—"

"STOP TALKING! STOP TALKING! STOP TALKING!" I shout as I start jogging toward my apartment. "What…happened?"

"Dude! I told you in my text!" she retorts as if she's baffled.

"You did not!"

"Really?... Whoops!... Okay, this is the anniversary of her parents' death. Why do we call it an anniversary? Isn't that supposed to be like a happy word? Not a reference to parental death or what-have-you. Are you there?"

I'm now full out sprinting, and I have no words to give her.

"So, she's WAY passed out. And I can't leave Tori puking her cancer cells out at the bar, so I left! And this is your fault! Are you there?"

I vault over a homeless person's legs and just about eat the pavement.

"Oh… And it didn't help that she called Caleb, and he all out ref _uses_ to see her. Like... _all_ visits in general! As in, for-ever! So, what the hell happened to you, _fucker_?"

"I don't know," I choke out.

"Good one!"

"I didn't know. Ah.. I never knew. Mgh! She never…told me...the date."

"Oh. Okay, well, un-fuck you, then…and un-whatever else. And sorry I called you Tobias—"

I grip my phone in my hand and pick up the pace with more gratefulness than ever that I wore my running shoes. My eyes are burning, and I have no idea if it's from the air whipping through them or for another reason altogether. I know how _I_ react the day of my mother's death—quite the same as her. Except I hole myself up in my apartment, alone. I'm glad Tris isn't the drink-alone type. At least, she didn't use to be.

 _God, I'm an asshole. What the hell is wrong with me? Who does this shit? Six hours! Six hours! I couldn't even have called her? I can't believe I'm thanking God for Christina, right now!_

* * *

I shakily put my key in the hole but struggle with it and don't want to plummet into my apartment and scare the hell out of Tris. So I lean my head on my door and take several very bated, short and shaky breaths.

I barely remember getting into the building, let alone how I arrived at my door. I've always known I have incredible focus when it comes to an end-game, but this was borderline frightening. And even if Tris doesn't agree, I'm currently ecstatic that this is where I live—blocks away from ALG.

Once I've collected myself, I wipe the sweat pouring off my forehead and enter the apartment. All lights are turned off, aside from the one above the stovetop, and all seems calm and put together. I toe my shoes off and slide the chain on the door, proceeding to the bedroom.

Once I'm there, I see a very serene-looking, sleeping, Tris. Her breathing is even, and her face is relaxed. She's wearing a white cami-thing and the light from the surrounding buildings shine on her pale, slim shoulder and over her neck just right. I lean down to leave a soft kiss on her ethereal looking skin but think better of it as she seems so damned peaceful. My mind goes to the worst as I envision her evening with Christina—full of deflection, laughing things off as if they don't matter, followed by bouts of unexplained pacing and hysteria. I don't really know if that's accurate, but that's what my mind is conjuring.

As a few stray hairs lay on her cheek, so I run the back of my finger over her seemingly tranquil face, tucking them behind her ear. She stirs briefly, leaving me with a breathy sigh and a slight nod of her head. I'm not sure if that was meant for me or not, but I feel the side of my mouth smirk at the sweetness of it.

I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but I feel the sudden need to be near her. So, without doing any of my nighttime routine, I quietly walk to the other side of the bed and kick out of my jeans and socks, toss my jacket to the side and slide under the cool sheets only stopping when my body is melded with hers, and I have my arm draped over her waist, fitting her to me perfectly. I chastely place my lips on her shoulder, just to feel her skin under mine and then bury my face in her hair. I know it won't take me long…just a few…drawn out…deep…breaths…of her…and that's…all…

* * *

I'm startled by a shaking sensation moving through my limbs, along with muffled noises, and it only takes me seconds to realize where it's coming from. All I do is hold her tight to me and kiss the back of her head, not saying a word because she'd hate it if I did. Once she realizes I'm awake she slowly tries to turn her body toward me and I back up to let her. Her eyes meet mine as her bottom lips quivers.

"Christina told me," I whisper.

A guttural moan leaves her throat, and I can tell there is only one thing she needs. So I cradle her to me as she immediately lets go of whatever she had been holding in. She cries, and cries hard, into my chest, which continues to constrict for her but I try my hardest to flex my pectorals, so she doesn't feel the sinking of my ribcage as my body tries to absorb her pain. I desperately try to control the few tears that escape from my eyes because if she finds out I'm grieving for her, she'll stop, and stopping is the last thing she needs to do. So I distract myself by softly brushing the hairs off her convulsing shoulders, along with smoothing the thin strands away from her face that continue to catch and travel with her tears. She pulls at my shirt, and I hold her tighter as she sobs, the cold wetness of her tears drenching my T-shirt. It's all I can do—hold her as close to me as I'm capable, and right now it feels like we're one—physically impossible to get any closer. I hold her lower back to me firmly and rest my chin on top of her head, kissing it when there's a lull or telling her how much I love her, not expecting any response.

I come to the realization that she was, indeed, correct—apparently I hum. It came out naturally as I try to soothe her nerves. I catch myself doing it on and off leisurely, depending on the moment—even when round three of crying comes out in full force. I don't stop; I just continue with my tune that is of no particular song or pitch, just a relaxing rumble in my chest that eventually seems to relax us both.

Time passes, and I'm without thoughts anymore apart from making sure she gets what she needs from me. Until she finally speaks.

"I hate it…that you sleep in T-shirts…now."

"Okay." I disentangle myself from her and peel my shirt off from where it is drenched with her tears, tossing it wherever and immediately returning to her.

"Thank you," she whispers as I kiss the top of her head and she lets out a sigh from deep in her throat.

I can't help but be pleased that my bare skin comforts her as much as hers comforts me.

"I think I hate them," she whispers. "But I don't want to hate them."

I nod my head as I process her words. It's nothing I've ever thought myself, but for some reason, I can relate.

"It's okay. Tell me."

"They've been in my dreams ever since…what happened. They're just there…staring at me, waiting for _me_ to say something. But I just scream at them. So, they're just going to be here _now?_ In my damned dreams? Because I needed them _then…_ in real _life!_ I deserve answers."

"You do."

"But I'm not going to get them, so not what the fuck do I do? I know they loved me, and that's why it kills me to hate them." She wipes her tears off my chest with her hand before resuming her position, just adding more in their place. "Can you hate someone and love them at the same time?"

"I think so."

I may be imagining it, but I feel as if she deflates just a little, even though more tears follow. It isn't until she utters the words, "Thank you," that I realize it was relief—validation. One lone tear falls out of the side of my eye in honor of the fact that I gave her that gift.

She suddenly relaxes in my arms in a passed out state, and I feel myself following after her.

"I love you, and I'm sorry," I sigh out in a delicate whisper. I swear I feel her head move, but my imagination may have taken itself to a more hopeful place as her breathing continues to be even. And soon enough…mine begins to match hers, leaving this day off with a silent prayer for a deep, nightmareless sleep.

* * *

 **AN:**

International readers: Matthew's reaction to Tobias's fear of heights—"You serious, Clark?," is a line from the suburban Chicago gem of a movie, _Christmas Vacation._

Also, thank you for the feedback and reviews. It's always great to hear from you guys!


	7. Silence

**Chapter 7 – Silence**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

"Say something, please," I stand there wringing my hands and looking away.

My mom looks over my shoulder and tisks several times. But, I, of course, don't have the courage to turn around and see what's happening right behind me in my own apartment.

"Dad?" I ask with a mousey voice.

I glance up as he furrows his eyebrows and looks down in shame—shame at me.

"Well, will someone tell me…um…what to do? Or, what's happening?"

My mother's eyes look over my bony shoulder again, and she nods her head for me to turn around and see for myself. But, I don't. And I know I won't. Why is Tris not even screaming? She should be screaming. Why isn't she screaming? Someone would help her, right?

This time, it's my mother who looks at me questioningly. And I realize I'm making no sense.

"I know. I'm being stupid."

She shrugs her shoulders, agreeing with me.

"Crap," I say under my breath until I catch myself. I look up at my Dad's chastising face, guilty of my poor language. "Sorry, Dad."

Tobias walks by and makes brief eye contact. He nods his head at me acknowledging that I'm a human being, no more, no less, as I give him a nervous wave. And now I really don't want to look because the shouting and groaning from whatever is happening behind me is just too much. The thumping on the floor and the breaking of glass and the shrieks and the aching between my thighs. God, I'm gonna throw up…

….. ….. …..

My knees light on fire along with my throat as the uncomfortable, intrusive feeling of acidity pours out of my mouth. I only have a moment to register the porcelain in front of me before it starts up again. Then the briefest of pauses before the pulsing feeling of anti-gravity continues.

I take a few quick breaths and rub my hair off my forehead with the back of my palm, but it goes right back where it came from as I lurch again and retch into the toilet. I'm at the point where nothing is coming out except bile and whatever else comes out of your orifices when you puke.

As I gag again, I feel my hair being gloriously swished over my shoulders, twisted and laid nicely down my back.

"Hey," Tobias whispers in my ear as I still hug the toilet. "You okay?"

"Can you just _not_ be here…for once…when I'm vomiting?" I groan as I hang my head.

"Do you want me to leave?" he chuckles.

"Kind of."

But he knows I'm full of it because I immediately wipe my mouth off with toilet paper and pull down the flusher on the toilet, sitting back on my butt. He catches me and plops down on his opening his legs for me to recline.

"I drank too much," I moan as I slump into him.

"I heard."

I feel him rest his forehead on the back of my head. "Christina?" I ask, of course, already knowing because who the hell else would have told him.

"Mmm hmm… I got quite the earful."

"I told her _not_ to text you."

"I think you _threatened_ her."

"Same difference."

"Not really," he disagrees as we sit there for a moment.

My mind wanders to the events of last night. The last happy memory I have is of myself laughing quite hysterically as Christina throws the full six-pack of PBR Tobias sent her into the pool. The next couple hours went by with little to no excitement as we dozed by the pool and sipped champagne. _I actually felt like a self-entitled schmuck, but it was out of my control, right?_ Then upon entering the apartment, I check my phone to see if I missed a text from Tobias, and I saw the date.

 **Flashback:**

I hear the phone ringing in the kitchen, and I huff out an annoyed breath, ignoring the call. It's definitely not for me. Only solicitors call the landline or old ladies from the church who still won't get a cell phone. So I continue working on the photo I'm doing for Dad. I really hope he likes it and that he'll know I'm doing it for _him. This_ is me being selfless—doing something for other people with no personal gain. _Who the crap am I kidding? It's an act! I love doing this, and the fact that I can get away with doing something that I love AND play it off as a sacrifice is flippin' great._

I roll my eyes as the phone begins to ring again. So, I look over the painting and decide walking away from it for a bit won't be the worst I clamber down the ladder in a hurry and run inside to answer the call.

"Hello?" I answer as I catch my breath on what I would imagine being the last ring.

"Um…Beatrice?"

"This is she."

"Hey, Bea. It's…Campbell, from the station—"

"Ugh… Cam, just tell Caleb I'm on my way."

"Beatrice, I—"

"I knew he would get caught! He was supposed to be on a dumb date! Whose equipment did he _'borrow'_ this time? Why can't he develop hybrids the _normal_ way? Or, how about we just _not_ mess with nature? How much cash do I need—"

"Beatrice it's your parents there's been an accident!" _What did he just say? I didn't quite get it. It was...too fast._

Time seems to stop as my heart starts to race, but…I'm just being silly. Mom and Dad go to the station or hospital, often, to console people and sometimes they don't come home for hours.

"Okay, well, tell them we're fine. I'll…uh…I'll start dinner—"

"Beatrice."

"Yes?" I choke as unexplained tears fall out of my eyes. _Why am I crying?_

"I'm so sorry." His voice wavers and it's infuriating. "Can you come down to the station? Or should I come get you? I'll come get you!"

"Are they dead?" The words exit my mouth before I can understand why I even said them.

"Yes."

Time is standing still again.

"We aren't sure what happened, yet. I'm coming to get you."

Dropping the phone, I walk outside, ready to trek the twelve miles to the police station when I see Mom's Ford Taurus still parked nicely in the garage, right where it should be. Laughter has never felt so amazing! It is literally cooling my throat in relief. _Their dang car is right here! What the frick, Cam? What's with the cruel joke?_ I hurry back inside to get Campbell's stupid butt on the phone when—

"Bea?" I hear Caleb call from the back.

"I'm in the kitchen about to raise hell!"

"Don't let Dad hear you talk like that," he chuckles. "Is Mom home? Susan wasn't feeling well, so I dropped her off. Kinda sucked because I had this whole day planned. Anyway, the precious outdated Taurus is back in its rightful place without a scratch. You'd think she'd put plastic covers on the seats. Beatrice?"

I feel a thump in the bottom of my chest cavity. I can only attribute it to my heart dropping.

"Caleb…"

 **End Flashback**

Tobias's warm breath and his soft lips kissing the left side of my neck normalizes my suddenly racing heart.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

I don't know why I don't answer him. Maybe because saying it out loud will make it truer? _Ridiculous._ Sleeping in the same bed as Tobias used to be an antidote to nightmares. But that doesn't seem to be the case anymore.

My non-answer is enough for him, though, as he nods his head in understanding.

"Well, have you successfully emptied your stomach?"

I do I quick internal review and find that I feel stable. "I hope so."

He stands behind me and helps me up along with him, holding my ribcage protectively as he's grown accustomed to doing. I can feel his fingers twitch, and I'm pretty sure he's counting my bones to make sure I didn't lose any.

"Are they all there?" I mumble.

"Seem to be. I'd feel better if the doctors would have _let_ me look at your ex-rays with them. I was _family_ after all."

I turn and look up into his soft eyes—the ones _no one_ ever gets to see—and grasp his hand, pulling it up to my heart. I kiss his knuckles lightly as he tucks my hair behind my ear. "You _are_ family."

He grins but tries to hold it back. Instead, a redness creeps into his cheeks as I bite my lips to hold back a smile. He clears his throat and knits his eyebrows.

"Shall we?" he gestures, moving me toward the shower.

 _Shit!_ "Tobias, I'm…" I stop us in our tracks and slump my shoulders. The whole totally-naked thing is still alluding me. I could barely get past it when he had me on my back only _partially_ exposed yesterday. How am I going to—

"Are you able to properly wash your hair, yet?"

I think back to yesterday's attempt, which ended in reluctant defeat. And the day before that, at the time, I thought it was a success until I found a glob of conditioner in my roots.

"Define properly."

"Now, you _know_ I don't like to waste syllables. But, are you _sure_ you want to get your stitches out today? Because I think you should reconsider, if—"

"Yes, Tobias! They're driving me fucking crazy. You're not honestly going to _try_ to talk me out of—"

"Then _SHALL_ we get the vomit out of your hair?" he swoops his hand toward the shower again, gripping my arm tightly and trying to hide his smile as I reach up and— _Oh, God…_

"Why do you love me?" I whine while the slippery feel of whatever was in my gut shows up under my fingers.

"Hmmm…" He looks up at the ceiling as if he can't come up with a single reason. "Come on. You know I love you because of your butt."

I giggle and push him away slightly as a wave of nausea hits, yet, somehow I breathe through it. "I'm good. I'm good," I state through breaths.

"Okay. Okay," he mockingly teases, grabbing two towels out of the linen closet and turning on the shower to warm it up.

He reaches out his hand and grins at me with light eyes, and as much as I appreciate his kind gesture, I need to brush my teeth.

"Be there in a minute." I swirl my hand around my mouth. "I'd rather not torture you."

He nods his head and enters the shower in his briefs, which makes me surprisingly more comfortable.

"Considerate! I like this change in you. Can you be hung over more often?" he yells while I scoff at his stupid comment and quickly put toothpaste on my toothbrush. "You don't actually believe me on that, do you?"

"Mmm mmm?" No, not for a minute, but I like our banter.

"Yeah, okay. Come on! You make me weird oatmeal and burnt toast! You're the _absolute_ best!"

"Ha…ha…ha."

"Oh, _and_ you're getting Gertie to provide you with coffee beans! I don't even want to know how you're achieving that feat."

"Sexual favors," I state with a mouth full of toothpaste.

"I'm going to pretend I never heard that."

I spit into the sink and start to brush my tongue, gagging loudly as I do so while trying to hold back the subsequent reflexes.

"Hot," he comments as I wipe my mouth and laugh.

I drag myself to the shower door, pushing down my sleep shorts and kicking them to the side, but I stop myself before I walk in and look down at my camisole. _You can do this. You can do this._ With my left hand, I pull it off and then in turn peel off the bandage, tossing it in the garbage. Before I change my mind, I walk into the shower. As a reflex, my hands twitch and my shoulders start to hunch in. But then I see the surprised look on Tobias's face that turns into an immediately shy smile. He wasn't expecting me to be topless, but his Adam's apple bobbing gives me confidence. So I clench my fists and flex my biceps, forcing them to my side, quickly going to where Tobias sits on the bench, happily patting the spot in front of him. I notice that he has literally set up shop—handheld shower head, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a towel at the ready.

"Welcome to the worst salon ever," he gestures grandly.

I tentatively sit in front of him and giggle.

"Is that the right word?" he asks in a low voice right beside my ear.

"Close enough. Anyway, I'm pretty sure any salon with _you_ waiting with your shirt off, would bring in enough clientele. You could retire in a day."

I feel his lips kiss my shoulder as I bring my knees up to my chest and turn to face away from him.

"Ego boost. I like it."

"Like you need it," I retort.

"Look up, please. And I do need it, actually," he says quietly, almost timidly, as I tilt my head toward the ceiling, enjoying the initial feeling of warm water running over my forehead and down along my ears.

"Come on," I prod in jest as I envision his physique and handsome face, wondering what the fuck he's talking about.

"Well, l only care what _you_ think, so…" he trails off.

"Tobias Eaton, are you fishing for compliments?" I realize after I said it that it came out as more of a groan because he's massaging my scalp.

"Lean back into my hands and relax," he murmurs.

I let him fully support my head, disengaging my abs as he massages the tense areas of my skull and it feels like heaven. He must have sensed a discomfort that I hadn't even been aware of.

"But to answer your question, I am _not_ fishing for compliments. All I mean is that if _you're_ impressed, then I'm a happy guy."

He laughs under his breath at me as I make another ridiculous moaning noise. _He's rubbing his thumbs in circles at the base of my cranium! Moaning is a reflex!_

"Uh…happy? Did you just refer to yourself as a _happy_ guy?"

"Indeed. Who knew, right?"

"I did."

"Can we just keep that between the two of us?" he whispers sitting me more upright.

"I wouldn't dare reveal your true identity."

"Thank you. Eyes to the sky."

I look up at the ceiling again and hollow my cheeks to keep from laughing. "Did you just say 'eyes to the sky?'"

"No."

I end up choking a little before I can contain my laughter.

"Stop it."

I clear my throat and feel him run conditioner through my hair, but I can envision him shaking his head at himself but grinning at the same time.

He lets the conditioner set while he thoroughly massages my body wash into my shoulders, moving down my back at the perfect moment and with the perfect amount of pressure, then across my chest, proving to be more loving than sexual. He finishes down my arms, linking out fingers briefly and kissing my shoulder again. I don't know, nor do I care how many times I sigh out in pure relaxation as he firmly caresses my body. Once I feel the water running down my shoulders, the bathroom gets quiet. It strikes me that he must have been humming, and now he's stopped.

"Hey, um, you…drank quite a bit, last night."

"Yes," I sigh out in regret at the amount of single barrel Jack I drank, mainly since it wasn't doing the trick. "Stop buying good whiskey."

"Mmmm…there are just some things in life I _will not_ do," he replies. "But...um...Christina said you… Well, _she_ gave you… She said it was an anti-anxiety...and...I know you take Xanax, sometimes. Which is fine! I'm not... It's, it's fine. I know I have no right to ask you to…do, well, anything because you're obviously a grown woman. I just… I laid in bed just... _holding..._ you last night, and you fell asleep...so fast. I was happy, at first, because you deserved to rest, but then I became increasingly more and more nervous and I couldn't sleep because I was just thinking a lot and… Okay, I'm just going to say it—mixing alcohol and benzodiazepines... Um, sorry, those are anxiety meds—"

"I know what benzos are."

"Well, they can be…addictive and extremely dangerous when consumed with—"

"I'm not a damned pill popper, Tobias," I state flatly. "I felt like I was having a freakin' heart attack last night. I _know_ you can relate to that. And the booze wasn't helping! And I know you can relate to that, as well. It's not like I take pills as some bullshit coping mechanism."

He stays silent and continues to comb his fingers through my hair while rinsing out the conditioner.

"Can you sit up a little?" he mutters.

I sit more erect and look up to the ceiling as he runs the warm water over my scalp. _I wish this weren't almost over._ _Unless, I can return the favor?_ I turn my head just as he turns the water off.

"Your turn?" I offer as I scoot my legs over the edge of the bench. And then my eyes land on his face, seeing a mix of upset and annoyance.

"Were you _that_ worried?" I ask in all seriousness.

I watch him swallow as he answers, so his voice is a little distorted. "It _bothers_ me."

"Tobias, it's not that big of a deal. I didn't toss it back with alcohol. I ate something!"

He runs his hands through his hair and diverts all eye contact.

"Geez, are you really that upset about this? You know, Ambien is a benzo, too," I laugh incredulously at his hypocrisy.

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"It only hits one of the three receptors while, anti-anxieties, for example, Xanax, hit all three and cause—"

"Okay, what the fuck? How and _why_ do you know all this?!"

"Years…of…research on the effects—"

"As a hobby?" I ask jokingly. It would be very much like him to obsess over something he didn't _fully_ understand.

He stands and tosses the towel at me, shaking his head and…laughing. He's laughing as if I'm ignorant.

"Tobias, people don't die from—"

" _Actually_ , Tris...they do." He stops in his tracks and looks down at me speechless—as if he doesn't know whether to be angry or furious.

 _Oh, nooooooo. Noooooo!_

"Fuck! Tobias, I'm sorry! Oh, my God. I didn't mean—"

"Tris!" he interrupts forcefully in a don't-fucking-interrupt-me tone. "I wish you could hear some of the shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes." He flits his eyes to me, and I hope to all that's holy that he sees the regret and apology in mine. "So, I think we're all set here. I love you." He leans and pecks me on the head.

 _Ohhhh. Why did he have to say, 'I love you?' And not in the spiteful passive-aggressive way?! That's the worst! I'm awful!_

He has already exited the shower, and I'm scrambling to dry myself off the best I can, considering the pull of my stitches. A nine-year-old Tobias, grieving for the death of his mother—the mother who was, essentially, a pill popper (Could I _not_ have used a more PC term?!) and _did,_ in fact, _die_ of an opiate overdose, keeps playing over and over in my head. And I deserve every agonizing moment.

After patting myself dry the best I can, leaving my hair soaking wet, I make my way out to the bedroom, probably looking like a cowardly fool because I'm unnecessarily tip toeing. But he's not there, so I quietly go to the kitchen only to find him trying to make coffee. He has a teaspoon out, and he's measuring a heaping teaspoon of unground beans into the coffeemaker. _How? How?_

"Tobias?" I ask, but it comes out as more of a quake because I'm freezing.

"I'm fine," he responds in his give-me-a-fucking-moment tone.

"Okay."

Even though every part of me wants to wrap my arms around him and apologize, I back out of the kitchen and lean against the wall in the hallway. I sigh aloud, not knowing if leaving him to his own horrible coffee devices in the kitchen is the wrong idea. I'm anticipating full shut down mode.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I stare as the coffee drips out looking like dingy water. _Where the fuck did I go wrong here?_ I lift the lid and see that I put the water in exactly as Tris did. _How is it not getting to the beans? The…beans…_

"Damn it," I growl as I glance at the clock—6:20. "I don't have time for this shit."

But still, not willing to accept defeat, I reach in and scoop out the beans with my hands to place them in the grinder, which could have been one of the dumber things I've ever done because I burn the fuck out of my fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my cheeks to keep from screeching. Yet another problem with having Tris here—I'm too macho to yell, even when I burn my hands.

 _Yet another problem? Wow, Tobias… Just, wow. You know you would go crazy if she weren't here. You're just pissed about…_

 **Flashback**

"Mom? Mom?" That's the fifth time I've called her name, and she's still not moving. So I run to her bedside and push her roughly. "Mom. Mom. Mom!"

"Mmmm…" she groans as I look at the clock on the nightstand—2:17 PM.

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" _This is the third time this week she's done this!_

"Hi, baby." She swats at my hand. _What is she doing?_

"I was just wondering… Mom?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are we going to—"

"Yes, mmm hmm. I'll jussss be… I'm…"

I watch the muscles in her forehead lift up and down, but her eyes don't open along with the movement.

"Mr. Tobias?"

"What?" I look behind me and glare at the maid who just walked in, even though it's Tess, who's really nice. But, I just want my mom.

"Would you like me to take you to the lake?"

"No."

 **End Flashback**

"Um… Tobias? I'm beyond, beyond, sorry for what I—"

I push down on the grinder trying to force out all intrusions, including my own thoughts, and just concentrate on making this damned coffee. The noise is music to my ears as everything seems to go blank for a moment. Then the grinding immediately stops and all I hear is a revving noise. I look down into the clear plastic cover and see nothing but sludge because...I put _WET_ beans in the grinder!

"Fuck!"

"Here, let me," Tris coos in a ridiculously soft voice. "See, now you get your wish of a clean grinder," she jokes lightly as I let her take it from me.

"I can—"

"It's really okay. Let me."

My eyes graze the back of her arms and legs, and I see goose bumps on them as she rinses out the screened cup. Her hair isn't dry yet and she's dripping all over my floor. _What the hell!?_ So, I reach into the towel drawer and bend down to wipe up the floor.

"Oh, sorry. It's hard for me to dry my hair still—"

"If you would have waited five minutes, I could have helped."

She freezes at my stern response with wide eyes. "I didn't think you wanted to—"

"What? Help? What makes you think that? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've proven the opposite of that."

She nods her head and turns back to the sink to keep cleaning out the screen. I see her straighten up her spine as she pats it dry and then moves back over to the coffee grinder. I turn and head back into my room to get ready for the day—clearing my mind the best I can as I grab a towel and turn the shower on. I strip down quickly and stand under the cold water, running through the thousand things I have to do at the office today.

I wonder what the hell Amar has in store for me? Most likely an overabundance of tedious shit, that, I realize, I signed on for, along with some pump-me-up phrases and bullshit. At least, I have nine new projects to oversee—even though, not as hands-on as I'd want it to be.

And then there's the administrative assistant. There were several, no, more than several, qualified individuals for that job. I'll have to go through them again. _Fuck, that'll take hours!_ But, something to distract me for hours sounds very inviting, right now. There's a certain cliché with hiring an administrative assistant that I cannot fall into, seeing as I have a particularly jealous girlfriend with whom I still have a semi-unsteady relationship.

 _Unsteady? Is that the right word? No. But what is?_ Sometimes it feels like she is the most solid thing I have in my life, but at other times, she makes me feel like I'm walking on a tightrope. Sometimes I want to pull her to me to both keep her safe and keep me sane, but other times I need her at arms length (but, no further, please) to relieve the pressure. _Arms length._ I'm doing that right now—holding her there by her shoulders so she can squirm, and kick, and be miserable, and watch me be miserable, and not be able to do a damned thing about it. _No escape…_

 **Flashback**

I'm throwing tacks at my tack board trying to get them in perfect horizontal alignment. The first five are practically touching each other. Zeke told me it was impossible. The internet told me it was impossible. _Fuck both of them._ I close my eyes and imagine the line of tacks as if they're inches from my face, I turn the tack in my fingers, feeling where the plastic melted just a little over the edge of the mold. That's the trick. That small amount of weight that can make it spin just right—

"So, no kids then?"

I open my eyes, hearing the voice of whom I can only guess is another stupid maid. Marcus goes through them faster than his nasty scotch. _He's a cocksucker, but seriously, what drives them away?_

"He has a son, Tobias. This is his room. We don't clean it, though. He's kind of a…special…boy—very particular about, well, everything."

I recognize the voice of Tess. She's always been nice, but right now she's pissing me off. I guess she likes to talk shit behind my back when I'm, supposedly, at lacrosse practice. _Whatever. I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me._

"Is he a jackass too?"

"Not to the extent of his father. He's very polite, but moody and very, curt."

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen. But he looks twenty. I have to admit, I've been caught staring on occasion." _What the fuck?! That's gross._

"Really?"

"You'll see what I mean, when you see what I mean."

"Is there a Mrs. Eaton?"

"There was. She passed away eight years ago."

"Oh, that's sad."

I shake my head at the token response from every damned person in the world: "That's sad."

"More like tragic," Tess replies as if this isn't my _mother_ she's talking about.

"What happened?"

" _Accidental_ drug overdose—painkillers and alcohol."

I feel suddenly cold at the way she said the word 'accidental.'

"At least, that's what we were told. But I'd seen her medicine cabinet. She was on _plenty_ more than that. Ah...but, I wouldn't put it past the jackass to hide it. He probably even paid off the coroner."

Aside from suddenly hating Tess, I hate... I hate... I...

"That _is_ tragic," the new maid who won't last a month adds. "I mean, he seems like an ass, but he must have been devastated."

"Well, Tobias was never the same. It's almost like a piece of him died with her. But, Mr. Eaton? No, he was just fine."

I scratch my head, feeling like I have a sudden rash.

"Not a loving relationship?"

"To say the least."

I rub my eyes to clear the fog as they move down the hall to wherever the fuck they're going.

"Was it a suicide?"

My eyes are no longer foggy. Now they're dry.

"I have my suspicions. I walked into the sitting room once. No one goes in there, and I wanted to avoid the jackass. But I found _her_ , lying on the couch in her satiny pajama get-up, crying. I could hardly understand her. But I caught the tail end of a few things. Something about 'no escape…'"

 **End Flashback**

The sudden burning intrusion of water in my nostrils sets me on the path of what feels like a never-ending coughing fit. _There couldn't be a more perfect distraction—_

"Are you okay?" I hear Tris call.

"Fine."

"Okay. Um… Well, let me know if—"

"I said, 'I'm fine.'"

I wait until I hear the door close softly for me to make my exit. Normally I would open the bathroom door to let the steam out, or do what I should be doing—taking this time to have few moments with… _Tris._ But, I decide to keep it closed and go on with distracting myself from… _everything._

 _So, how do I make sure she's, at least, twenty years older than me, unattractive, yet, entirely capable? I wish I had a male applicant. I need to make my rounds to accounting, HR, PR, food services, and maintenance and custodial departments. Are they going to hate me? They're going to hate me. I hate me right now._

I pat aftershave on my face and comb my fingers through my hair again, noting that I need a haircut. _I wonder if Tris would do it? Nope, nope, nope. You are not thinking about her at the moment, because you will lose it and you will not make it to work. She's on the other side of the door, waiting to torture you with questions and 'I'm sorries.' Don't fall into the trap._

Then, noticing that I had been on autopilot and had done my entire routine without even thinking twice, I walk out of the bathroom and straight to the closet to avoid all further confrontation and distraction. Picking out an appropriate suit and tie for the day, I dress quickly and efficiently. I don't even bother looking in the mirror to see if my tie is on straight, I just put on my shoes and walk out to my bedroom, noticing that it is perfectly put together as if no one had been there. I close my eyes as the image of Tris whimpering her way through making the bed threatens to overtake me.

I clear my throat and walk out to the family room and kitchen to find no one, and my heart starts racing. _Relax, relax, relax. If she left, it's only because she's pissed. She should be pissed. But she'll be back. If she's mad, then you can be mad at her for her being mad—deflection accomplished._

I spot a 2-go cup of coffee on the kitchen table along with some sort of breakfast sandwich and a napkin. My chest hurts suddenly, but I push through as I pick up the sandwich and coffee, en route for the door. But out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the balcony. I crane my neck to see Tris with her knees pulled up to her chest under one of my T-shirts, stretching the shit out of it. I watch her point and flex her small toes until my eyes move up to her profile— her bottom lip juts out just a little and quivers until she pulls it in with her teeth. My chest hurts again. And because I don't have it in me to be a _total_ prick, I walk or run, out to the balcony to bid her goodbye.

I notice she jumps slightly and looks away. _Good. Ignore me. Please, ignore me._

"Have a good day," I mutter as I lean in and place a beyond chaste kiss on her cheek. Apart from her stimulating scent, I'm also gifted with the taste of salt and wetness on my lips. _Chest pains… Call the cardiologist._

"You too," she responds.

"Oh, and…thanks for the—"

"No problem."

"See you…later."

She nods her head, still looking toward the lake.

 _Say something else. Nope, don't say a damned word. You'll see her after work. She'll be mad. You'll be you. You'll argue and then laugh about something stupid. YOU are stupid. YOU are the stupid one._

I find myself out the door and waiting for the elevator before I process how I got there. I look down at the sandwich thing as the elevator dings, and I wander onto it.

 _What the fuck is this? Some avocado, cheese toast thing? For breakfast? Whatever…_

I take an annoyed bite, even though it was completely sweet and wonderful that she made this for me. Then I groan even more annoyed. _Great!_ _It's fucking delicious._

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I find myself wandering toward the ICU instead of the outpatient wing. It wasn't in my plan, at all. But, the thought that Evey may be here holds a weird sort of comfort. And I'm craving any type of companionship that is outside the realm of my personal life, right now—a complete and utter diversion from the festering guilt I've been feeling all morning.

I walk up to the desk and exhale a breath of relief because I don't recognize the nurse. I am operating under no false pretenses—I was awful to the staff.

"Hi, um…is nurse Evey here?"

"Tris?"

I look up just as the not-annoying face of Evey appears from the back area, armed with her trusty tablet and… _Wow._

"Oh, my God. Your hair…"

I'm sure my mouth is as agape as possible. Where her hair was, to be honest, almost, a boring shade of brown, it's now a dirty blond that she's wearing in loose waves that hit just below her shoulders.

"Uh…This is what happens when people dye their hair." She exhales and looks around the corner as if she's embarrassed.

"Oh, no, no, no! I like it! I love it! You just look so—"

"So, what's up?" she interrupts.

"Oh, um… Ha. I don't know. I'm just, here to get these minuscule torture rigs out and thought I'd say, 'hi.' So…, 'hi.'"

"Hi."

"Okay, well I'm off to outpatient so, I'll just…" I make some ridiculous off-hand sweeping motion in a random direction. "…head out." I begin walking away in my direction, hoping I'm right.

"You're _heading_ the wrong way." _Damn!_ "How about we _head_ this way." She sweeps her arm mockingly, but I detect a small smile as I follow her in the _opposite_ direction.

When we're about half-way down the hall, she looks over her shoulder quickly and opens the door to a small examination room.

"Uh…" I stand in the doorway, unsure.

"Just sit down," she states calmly over her shoulder as she rummages through a drawer, placing several items on a tray.

"What are we—"

"Shut the door. Have you gotten your medical bills yet?"

"No," I respond, as I close the door and then sit in the chair she's motioning toward. "But…"

"But…?"

"Funny you asked, because, well, I, uh, hired a damned _realtor_ this morning to put my dead parents' house up for sale."

 **Flashback:**

I'm pacing with negative anticipation as the phone rings and rings. There is only one damned realtor in Kittridge, and he's probably about 80-years-old. _Unless he died? Maybe he died!_

"This is Bernie Reese, here. How can I help you?" _Or not…_

"Hi, Mr. Reese. This is Tris…or Beatrice…Prior." I don't hear a response for what feels like a considerable amount of time. "Hello?"

"Well, Beatrice!" he exudes. _Great…_ It's been—"

"Three years, yes. I need to sell my parents' home what can I get for it?"

"Well, well, well! Let me tell you this, little lady. Let me just tell…you…this. I can tell you this! Median home values are quite high, right now!"

"Great."

"I just sold a home for 176,000! A 6 bedroom, 5600 square foot home! Now it was under foreclosure, but don't let that deter you. I also sold a double-wide right up the street from Old Man Crawford's place for a pretty penny. Now the deal's not closed yet…still under contract, but that's as good as gold. And then we have the Clarendon barn! That place just about went up in smoke after Joey Dawson lit himself on fire at the fish fry, but I still got an offer on it for 7,000!"

"Um—"

"But, your place will be…difficult, seeing as it hasn't been maintained—"

"How difficult?"

"Well, I'll get an inspector out there, but from the outside alone, I would say the roof needs replacing."

"As in the whole thing?"

"Well, darling, the house was struck by lighting awhile back—"

"What the _fuck_?!" I yell in total disbelief that no one decided to inform me! But then I realize how rude that sounded. "Sorry, Jesus Christ, what the hell?!"

"Ahem. Okaaaay, Beatrice. So, I must also explain, there's a big ole' burn hole that's been, well, let's just say, open to the elements and—"

"How much for an inspector?" I cut him off before he can continue to taint every memory I have of my old home.

"$150.00. And, hey, listen here, young lady!" he chirps as if whatever he's about to say will lighten my blackened heart. "The good news is you won't be under water since you own the house out right!"

"Yes, that's fucking fantastic news."

"My commission rate is—"

"Don't care. Order the inspection."

 **End Flashback**

"So, anyway, yeah, let's hold out on hope!" I exalt with 100% false cheer and total sarcasm.

"You're selling your parents' house to cover your medical expenses?" she asks with a disturbing amount of disgust in her voice.

"Yes."

"Pathetic," she murmurs under her breath.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"The medical field…is pathetic," she clarifies. "At least, in that aspect. It's just not what I signed on for."

"Well, apparently, it was."

She looks at me blankly as I realize what I said.

"Sorry."

She shrugs. "The truth hurts. Let's get your arm out of your shirt."

She guides my elbow through my shirt sleeve and rolls it up, so it rests on my shoulder before she narrows her eyes inspecting my rib.

"You're going to do this?" I ask as if the answer isn't obvious.

"Nope."

"Oooookay."

I decide just to go with the flow as she pulls the bandage off and dabs some liquidy stuff all along the circle of stitches. Holding my arm up she seems to be waiting for something, so I can only assume it's a type of numbing serum.

"Hey, I tried to tell you earlier, but you look so much younger with your hair like this."

"Yeah, well, my motivation behind the dull brown _was_ to make me look older. Most hospitals aren't keen on hiring twenty-year-olds. So, I had to make myself look…older."

"You're…twenty?"

"Just turned 21, actually…yesterday. Celebrated it with my seven-year-old and my mother. Yay." She glances up and me, reading my expression and apparently my mind. "Go ahead, do the math."

"You got pregnant…when you were—"

"14. And… _that's…_ a story for a different day," she interrupts before I can ask her the million questions I have. "Hold your arm up and _don't move it_."

I nod my head at her very strict instructions and watch her take scissors off the tray and move toward my rib cage.

"Can you feel that?"

"No."

"Good."

I think the reason I can't feel anything is because I couldn't care less. _She was 14? How the hell did she manage that? And she's a ICU nurse?!_ I feel Evey glancing up at me while I stare at the wall, not knowing what to say or do.

"Now, reach your hand across your rib cage and feel for the scissors."

I close my eyes and find her hand with my left, my fingertips landing on the cool handle of the small scissors.

"Good. Now close them."

"Um…okay." I press the handles together and feel a slight pinch.

"Okay? You get the gist?"

"Yeah, but, why are we doing it this way—"

"Five more times. Starting…now."

I close the scissors again. _Maybe she wants me to practice? To save money for next time? Next time?!_

"So, how long did it take you to graduate high school?"

"Two-and-a-half years coupled with a very supportive guidance counselor and principal who didn't want a pregnant freshman roaming the hallways of All Saints Ascension."

"That's in Oak Park, right?"

"Yes. Close the scissors."

My eyes tear up at the pull, but it's getting easier.

"And, what about college?"

"Three years—night school, summer school, and clinicals." She exhales deeply as if this is a boring subject.

"Wow."

"Yes. My life is one big 'wow.'"

I stay quiet as I'm still processing how she, basically, had no adolescence.

"I had an amazingly pragmatic and fierce mother to help me—like the meddlesome, helicopter kind. She just wanted to make sure I wasn't treated any differently. She's…great. I don't know what I would have done…um…"

She seems at a bit of a loss, and if I'm reading her properly, it's because she's not used to divulging unnecessary information. _Sounds likes someone else I know…_

"Tobias graduated college in three years too."

My chest suddenly aches at the memory of how I treated him this morning. I still haven't heard back from him, not since his last text, which I'm trying desperately not to read too much into, but it's all I can do _not_ to think about it.

Nodding her head in acknowledgment, but not probing me with questions, she continues. "Now, come over to the mirror."

I stand and walk to the mirror above the sink, my eyes landing on the intense coagulation of bruises beginning at my hip up to my right breast.

She squints her eyes and then shrugs noncommittally. "I've seen worse. Now…" She hands me tweezers and guides me to where my stitches are now hanging loose. "Pull gently but steadily, parallel with the sutures."

She holds my arm up as I do as I'm told, sucking in a breath of pain as my skin pulls.

"Sorry, inventory is strict on locals, so a topical is all I've got."

"Why am… _I…_ doing this?"

"Keep going."

"Right." I grip another stitch with the tweezers and pull. "Fuck, that stings," I comment as I pull my hand away shakily with another piece of suture in the tweezers.

"So, how are things with you two?"

 _So much for the non-probing. I really don't want to talk about me…nor Tobias…nor us!_

"Fine."

"Really."

"Mgh!" I grunt, pulling out another stitch. "Have you ever loved someone so much that you just want to punch them in the face?"

"No. But I have a date this weekend. So, you never know."

"Hmmph. Well, it can be incredible and— _Fuckmmmgh, why are you making me do this?!_ But, be prepared. They're the ones who _will_ hurt you the most."

"So, things not so great?"

"No, it's not that."

"Do you know how little sense you make sometimes?"

"Meh, maybe." I close my eyes, which releases some stinging tears from the pulling. "We're good. I mean, he's infuriating, so I can only _imagine_ how he feels about me. We definitely have to work at things, but at the same time, I love that about us. He'd go to the moon and back for me…just for coffee."

"I could have told you that."

"And it scares me because I'm a FUCKIN' mess, and he has shit to work out too. But, at least, he's _trying…_ so damned hard, which puts pressure on me because I'm constantly wondering if I'm _not_ trying hard enough. And he takes care of me, and I just…seem to let him! I have to admit we're in a strange limbo right now. He's holding onto things; I'm holding onto things, and all of these things are just…" Now it's my turn to be wordless because I just spilled more than I intended.

She seems to get the message as she moves on quickly. "Done. You've officially removed your own stitches. Therefore, how could the hospital charge you?"

"Oh." I watch in a bit of awe as she wipes some antibacterial cream and secures my, hopefully, final bandage. "Thanks. That's…great." _That's all you've got, Tris?_ "Thank you, honestly."

She nods her head and I watch her make a few notations on her chart. But then she pauses and takes a deep breath as if she's bracing herself.

"I'm overstepping, yet again, but, this limbo you two are in—would it have anything to do with the results of your rape test?"

I can't even begin to imagine the look on my face because the one that crosses hers is a mix of surprise and near anger.

"No one contacted you?"

"No one…contacted me."

We're both staring at each other, waiting for the next one to make a move. _Now, this is a God-damned limbo!_

"It says that the results were shared and forwarded to the—"

"What are the results?"

"You should probably hear it from the doctor," she states more nervously than I've ever heard her.

"Are you qualified?" I whisper.

"Tris."

"ARE…you qualified?"

"Yes."

"Then what...does...it...say?"

I had yet to see discomfort on her face, but, there it is. However, it's nothing compared to mine.

"WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT SAY, EVEY?!"

* * *

 **Will's POV:**

I'm beyond ecstatic with how the Damen project has been going. The amount of reclaimed materials we have salvaged is fantastic,—particularly for Amar's new venture. It still baffles me that the owners wanted to preserve _nothing_ of its original charm. I can tell it bothered Four as well. But apparently he'd spent most of the morning touring ALG and said we have ample storage.

It's great to have him back. He's definitely in work mode. As in, hardcore work mode. Actually, now that I think about it, weirdly hardcore work mode, aside from checking his phone every five minutes.

I see a quick flash of blond hair practically run by my office. _Was that Tris?_ So, I jump out of my chair to investigate.

She's practically pounding on the button for the elevator before she opens the door for the stairs and races down them. Something is definitely wrong, and I don't know if it's the part of me that is tired of being out of the loop or the fact that I'm worried, but, either way, I find myself in the stairwell.

"Tris?" All I hear is the pounding of feet, but I still find myself running after her. "Tris! Stop! Please!" The slowing of feet makes me slow down, in turn, until we come face-to-face. I notice how pale she looks and just, not to be mean, but…disturbed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just came to talk to…uh, Four."

"Isn't he in his office?"

"Yeah, but there was a bunch of people…important sounding…people. So, I don't know. He just seemed really busy and… So, yeah, I'm gonna go."

"Well, stick around. I'm sure he'd want to see you." _Especially if she's like this._

"No. He's… He's good. This is good."

"What is?"

"He's doing his job, he should be doing his job, he's really... _amazing..._ at his job, and I'm not going to… I was just stopping by, anyway."

"So, nothing's wrong? You're fine? You don't look—"

"Nah, I'm good. Totally good. Just fine."

"Good and fine."

"Exactly."

"Okay, if you're sure… I'll just tell him you stopped by—"

"NO!"

"Whhhhhyyyy?"

She looks at me intently. "Because I'm asking you not to." And then she continues down the stairs leaving me to wonder if she plans to go down all 85. _Most likely…_

* * *

 **Tori's POV:**

I walk out of my office as soon as I see Tris appear on the monitor in the back room.

"What the hell is she doing here, already?" I mumble to myself as I lean against the bar, waiting for her entrance. I've been dying to know how the hell she's doing. But, at the same time, I don't want to know because then I'll be concerned.

She walks out with her head down, looking on edge, rather than her usual indifference when she shows up. I check what she's wearing, as I always do with the bartenders and servers. As long as they wear black and white and a semi-fitted outfit, I'm satisfied—not too casual, not too slutty. Christina often treads the line between slutty and appropriate and Tris often treads the line between casual and appropriate. But today, she's wearing fitted black pants that stop just above her ankle and her token fitted V-neck fitted shirt, hair in a messy bun. Approved.

"I told you not until 7:00."

"Hi, to you too." She turns and narrows her eyes at me, examining my face for signs of cancer, I'm sure.

"Hi." I return her scrutiny and note that she looks like death, yet again. "Go home."

"I _need_ to be here."

"I'm not paying two damned bartenders on a Monday night."

That's not true in the least. I can't have Tris scaring the patrons…and I happen to give a shit about her too. Right then, as if timing couldn't have been better, Myra, the worst hire I had ever made, aside from Drew, shows up.

"Go home, Myra," Tris orders.

"Are you fucking serious?" Myra stops in her tracks, and I decide just to let this one play out. _I can't stand Myra._

"Is there an iota of doubt on my face?"

"Whatever. Tori?" She swerves her head as if I'm going to defend her. Frankly, this could be my out.

"Go home."

"Ya know what? I quit!" _Definitely was my out._

"Good. Because I want all of her shifts." Tris looks at me, almost venomously, as we both ignore Myra's existence.

"Tris, you can't—"

"Tori," she all but chokes. "I want…her shifts." I see it in her eyes—the desperation. _But for what? Money? Or something else altogether…_

"You got it," I state leaning back in my chair and looking at Myra. "I'll mail you your check. It's been a pleasure."

She's out the door before I can even give a damn.

"Or the complete opposite of pleasure. Hey, Tris." Lynn scoots into the barstool next to me and props her knees on the bar.

"Hey," Tris responds vaguely.

"Are you stable?" _Jesus, Lynn…_

"Stable enough to sling drinks to douche bags."

"She has always been good for the bare minimum."

I realize this is Lynn's stupid fucking way of deflecting, but that isn't something Tris can't already do herself, and has been doing, since the day we met.

"Why are you here?" I ask curtly because she's not on the damned schedule.

"Bored. Get me a Stella, Tris."

"You don't drink for free," I direct my stern attention to my snarky cocktail waitress.

"Tell your bartender."

"Tris, she doesn't drink for free."

I watch Tris raise her eyebrows as she tosses back a shot of Jack. Her bottom lip starts shaking the second the shot glass hits the counter.

"Sorry, Tor," she remarks obviously catching my stare. "I usually do that behind your back."

"Nothing goes on behind my back."

She shrugs and moves her way down the bar. Her hands are trembling as she opens up the garnishes.

"Can I have a stool? I promised…um…Four…I wouldn't reach for the high bottles." She shakes her head as if she can't believe those words just left her mouth.

I like how this guy looks out for her. She's been different since him. She'd never really seemed the type to want to change, for lack of a better word, for anyone else. My guess is, it's because she had done a lot of that growing up. But with him, she seems to _want_ to be better, not just for him but her—he's instilled something in her. Amar sees the same in Four. I don't usually like men with Four's type of aloof, rude, demeanor. But for him, I have made an exception. Plus, Bud likes him.

"Lynn, get her a stool."

"I'm off duty—"

"Get her a damned stool."

"Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy," Lynn breaths out as she scoots her barstool out more roughly than I approve of at my bar.

I train my stare at Tris as she keeps at the pre-opening duties. She does it all without missing a beat, but I know better. She's not okay.

"Tris?"

She shakes her stubborn head and moves down the bar.

"Tris!"

"WHAT?!" she shrieks.

I've never heard her take that tone of voice. "Are you okay? I need to know."

"Ya know what, Tori?" she saunters back and leans on the bar, daring me to look her in the eye. "Today, I'm _not_ okay. And you? Are you okay? I need to know."

"Today, I'm okay." _Because I have to be._ "Now, go put some make-up on. You look like you could be an extra on the Ghost Tour."

She laughs through her nose and heads to the back. "You may want to do the same! You look like you have cancer."

We exchange wry smiles as she heads around the corner. _She'll be just fine…for now. And so will I...for now._

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

As fast as today has flown by, some sort of alarm continues to go off in my head, and I check my phone just to see if there is a small number 1 next to the conversation bubble icon, signaling a return text from Tris, about every five minutes. I don't know why I do it; my phone would definitely vibrate in my pocket if she texted. _I should call. Should I call? I was such a prick!_

She didn't mean what she said. Fuck! She didn't even know what she said. God, she looked wrecked when I, not at all poignantly, threw one of her personality defects in her face. Why couldn't I just have explained myself? But nope! The wall went up! In fact, it didn't even bother coming down until exactly 2:21, when I decided to text her back…five…hours…later.

Now it's 5:17 and I still haven't heard from her. _I should call. Should I call? I'm calling._ Pulling my phone out of my pocket, which now feels like a reflex, I swipe at the screen just as a text comes in from Zeke.

 **(5:18) Zeke:** Howz the ravaging?

"Idiot."

Then I see it—the last text that I sent…

 **(9:21) Tris:** I'm so sorry.

 **(9:22) Tris:** Now do you understand why I asked why you love me? LOL.

 **(2:21) Me:** Yes.

I stare at my phone in horror as my eyes are drawn to the response line, where my follow-up text still resides…unsent.

 **Me:** But, I already told you, it's because of your butt. My answer remains resolute. Maybe you could tell me why you love me, though? Because I'm TRULY at a loss. LOL.

"You asshole!" I whisper angrily to my phone as if it's at fault.

"Always so self-deprecating, my friend. I truly don't understand it." Amar is suddenly seating himself on the other side of my desk.

"Well, you would if you—"

"No time for your laughable rationalizations. We have an agenda, and I have a date with my… _husband._ "

"They aren't rationalizations, and I've already combed through the Bryant building prelims. Do you think Zoe is too new to—Wait, did you say… _husband_?"

"Indeed, my friend."

I do something entirely uncharacteristic and find myself standing and heading to Amar for a hard congratulatory handshake and manly embrace.

"Congratulations. I'm happy for you. Truly. That's amazing news." I slap him on the back and take in his beaming face. "You're a lucky man. George not so much."

He laughs affably at my jest and sits back down.

"Never thought I'd be saying this about a wedding, but—I need details."

I sit in the chair next to him and recline back ready for what I can only assume is an engaging story.

"Did someone say details? Cause I'm in!" Suddenly Matthew appears as quickly as Amar did and without missing a beat, seats himself…in my chair…behind my desk…putting his feet up…and crossing them…on my desk. "Hey, do you think Zoe needs some help on—What?... What did I do now?!"

* * *

Making sure everything is in order on my desk, I grab my coat and phone and head out the door. I can't believe it's 10:30. I didn't necessarily lose track of time because I had nowhere, in particular, to be. Tris is working and, honestly, it took just about everything in me to not show up and sit in the sex chair just to make sure she's taking it easy.

As I stand and wait for the elevators, I realize, at that moment, that I have no idea what time she even started work tonight. _Shit! What if it was 7:00?! We could have, at least, had dinner together!_ But, then again, I haven't heard from her all day, and I know she's mad. I've called twice this evening, and the call went straight to Voicemail, which leads me to believe she purposely has her phone turned off seeing as she plugs it in every night.

As the elevator door opens, I board and make the snap decision to text Will.

 **(10:36) Me:** Want to be creepy with me and stalk my girlfriend at work?

I close my eyes taking deep breaths, pretending to be walking through a meadow instead of on an elevator. _A meadow? A damned meadow?!_

 **(10:37) Will:** Chris went in to cover for her hours ago.

 **(10:37) Me:** Thx.

I smack the back of my head against the elevator wall.

 _I knew it was too fucking soon for her to start. She just got her damned…stitches…out…-FUCK! I forgot?! How do you forget these things? Oh, she's pissed. She's royally pissed. She can't be that mad. I called…twice! I re-sent that…text? Tell me I…  
_

I exit the elevator and pull up the text thread.

 _Still there! Unsent! How?! How?! Amar! Amar and marriage! Any other married people story and I would have been falling asleep! Gay marriage did this to me! I'll vote Republican next time! Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves..._

* * *

I have no clue how long it took me to walk home. I texted Tris continuously the whole time, so, easily 37 minutes. I exit onto my floor sending one last text.

 **(11:15) Me:** I'm the worst.

Then I receive an incoming message from Will.

 **(11:15) Will:** Tris came to see you at work today. She didn't look so good. She didn't want me to tell you she stopped by. But, I'm not TELLING you. I'm TEXTING you.

 **(11:15) Will:** I can be sneaky. Most people don't know that about me. So keep it between us, buddy.

"What the hell, Tris?" I ask my phone as if it were Tris.

I widen my stride down the hall, eager to find out what the hell happened today. But before I bust the door down, I collect myself. It's probably nothing. She doesn't like it when I freak or fuss or get overprotective…or even protective. _Do not jump to the worst case scenario. Which is what exactly?_ I wipe at my brow that suddenly broke out into a cold sweat as I enter the apartment.

The place is darker than usual. I always leave the light on above the stove, and I never close the blinds in the living room. I kick out of my shoes and hasten toward the bedroom, almost being smacked in the face by the door being closed. I end up opening it way faster and louder than I intended, but I see absolutely nothing because the blackout curtains are closed entirely, giving me an immediate sense of nausea. Making my way to the closet, I turn on the light and walk back out to see Tris curled up under the covers. Crouching down beside her I can see that she's awake, but she doesn't make any move to greet me. That's my cue.

"Babe, I'm sorry." I tuck her hand behind her ear so I can get a better look at her… _very swollen…_ eyes. _Did this affect her that badly?_ "I treated you like shit, and I have absolutely no excuse or even a good reason why." I kiss her forehead and feel that she's freezing so I rub up and down her arm to warm her. "I mean, I know what…set me off, but…that doesn't mean I have to take it out on you. You didn't know. We were talking about you, and you're right, you're not a…pill popper." That was an incredibly difficult word to verbalize.

She blinks her eyes several times as if she's just making the connection of what I'm talking about.

"Tris? Are you…drunk?"

"No," she says in an utterly low tone…almost a groan.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…assume. You just look… Um, Will said you left work early? How did it go with your stitches? Are you in pain?"

"Yes."

"Can I take a look?"

She makes no move to answer me, but my curiosity doesn't seem to give a shit, so I pull the covers down to her hip and lift her black tank top. The light is slightly obscured, but there's no bandage there, and the wound looks pretty damned good.

"Well, is your rib bothering you?" There is still a massive expanse of purple and yellow.

"No."

 _So, basically, this is all my fault._

"Fuck. Okay, what can I do? I mean, I know you and I say a lot of dumb shit to each other, so I was the ultimate hypocrite to call you out on it and then just check out for the rest of the morning…or day. I called you, though. Twice. Did you get my calls?"

"No."

"Where's your phone?"

"I don't know."

"Have you…tried to find it?" I ask, trying to be patient while she hands me nothing but passive commentary.

"No."

"Are you…? Can you _please_ talk to me? Shit. I know that's sort of unfair of me to say… Okay, no. That is _completely_ unfair of me to say. In fact, don't say anything. Just, wait right here."

Stalking over to the dresser, I grab a pair of sleep pants and proceed to the closet to change and strategize.

 _I need to just…lay it on the line. My life is such a bullshit cliché—rich kid with mommy (and daddy) issues. It's fuckin' embarrassing. Jesus, I can't even admit half of this shit to myself—my suspicions, my doubts, my obvious emotional intimacy issues and…many things I can't even put into words so how the FUCK am I supposed to tell her?!_

I savagely brush my teeth and splash cold water onto my face before going to the bathroom. _Well, that was totally out of order! What is this woman doing to me?!_ I find myself chuckling inappropriately at myself because I secretly love that I've loosened up my nearly OCD propensities.

I sneak over to the curtains to open them just a little, for my own sanity, and then I creep under the blankets honing in on her backside because it belongs attached to my frontside at the moment.

I pull her to me, but she surprisingly rolls toward me, burying her face in my chest. Something even more surprising—she throws her leg over mine, moving it toward her, thus tangling our limbs, and pulling me even closer to her by wrapping her arm around my waist.

"Hey," I chuckle at how cute it is. Until I feel the tears against my chest—nothing but tears, no sobbing. _She doesn't want to be asked why._

So I just hold her and decide this is my moment.

"I think...my mother committed suicide." I bite my lips because they feel numb—numbed by the words that just passed them. "I've never...said that out loud. When Marcus told me she was going to leave me to go with Carlos, _that_ was why I believed him so easily. I had...accepted...a long time ago that she didn't choose... _me._ Turns out, she didn't choose either of us." I feel Tris's warm uneven breath on my chest, and although the unevenness worries me, the closeness calms me. " And, um, the autopsy... I tracked down the report when I was 20. It said she had most likely taken...240 milligrams of Oxycodone,...eight milligrams of Alprazolam, and there was…basically, enough alcohol in her system to...fucking...uh...tranquilize a horse." I pause for a moment, not knowing if Tris made the connection. "Alprazolam is…um…Xanax."

A guttural moan suddenly comes out of Tris, and I have to admit it shocks me.

"I'm sorry I never told you. I haven't told anybody. I... Fuck...Hey, hey, hey… Please don't cry."

I feel her laugh under her breath and then she shifts and reaches her right hand up. She brushes her thumb along my cheek, catching the wetness I hadn't even realized was there, communicating to me without words that I should take my own damn advice.

"Fuck," I mutter in sheer frustration as I release her and roll onto my back wiping away the embarrassment from my eyes.

My mind suddenly clouds and my jaw just about locks up. I feel that subconscious wall, that I can no longer qualify as subconscious, raise up swiftly.

"Tobias," she whispers, not as a question, just stating my name.

I don't answer. But I feel her link her soft hand with mine. All I can do is bring it up to my mouth to kiss it, telling her I'm done for now. _Please, let me be done for now._

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Because I can't respond to guest reviews personally, I have to address this one as follows: Guest Reviewer: Kata – That makes it all worthwhile.**

 **This wasn't a particularly fun chapter to write. Thumbs down.**

 **I know I say this at the end of each chapter, but thank you very much for reading and for reviewing and supporting, etc.!**


	8. Limbo

**Chapter 8 – Limbo**

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:  
**

I'm twisting right and left in my chair, anxiously staring out the window. I'm rarely fidgety, but right now, I'm not pleased with what I have to do. I hate asking for help, and that's exactly what I'm doing. And I especially hate that I have to ask _this_ particular person for help.

I pick up my phone again—12:32. _And, of course, she's late._

I absentmindedly scan some of my texts.

 **(8:45) Me:** Having a good day?

 **(10:07) Tris:** Just went for a walk.

 **(10:15) Me:** I feel like I've barely seen you. Dinner tonight?

 **(10:56) Tris:** I work at 4:00.

 **(10:58) Me:** Til close again? I can bring you dinner.

 **(11:17) Tris:** That's okay. Thursdays are busy. No breaks.

 **(11:17) Me:** Can I come by the bar to stalk you? Check you out? Hit on you? I'll do better this time.

 **(11:22) Tris:** Better not.

 **(11:23) Me:** K. I love you.

 **(11:30) Tris:** You too.

I clear my throat to relieve it because it's suddenly quite dry, and stare out the window at the boats in the distance.

 _Maybe I should plan a day for just Tris and me. Maybe this is all because I pretty much have never planned, well, ANYTHING? We can rent a boat and just spend the day the two of us! Or with friends? Whatever she wants. She told me she loves boating. I could buy her a boat! Yes. I will…buy her a…boat? No, Tobias, you're not going to buy a boat. Terrible investment. The reason you actually have money is because you diversify…and a boat is a money pit. Don't kid yourself. You have money because you've never had anyone to spend it with, and you don't even spend much on yourself. Expensive alcohol and suits! Couple that shit with a super low-maintenance girlfriend who prefers you to pay for nothing. Fucking independent, stubborn, thoughtful person—_

My phone buzzes and I fumble with it until it falls out of my hands. But, I'm immediately disappointed.

 **(12:34) Christina:** Don't freak, I'm in the elevator. You better have sushi.

 **(12:35) Me:** U…R…late. Im busy. And ur lucky ur even getting lunch.

 _Am I not spelling the words on purpose? Yes!_

 **(12:36) Christina:** This is your idea. Not mine. I can bail.

 **(12:36) Me:** Please don't.

 **(12:37) Christina:** Aw. He DOES have manners!

"I have _excellent_ manners!" I toss my phone on my desk, resting my head in my hands, basically lying in wait to be tortured—

"You definitely do. In a don't-come-within-five-feet-of me, very removed, makes-me-want-to-bury-myself kind of way."

"Matthew," I acknowledge without lifting my head.

"I wanted you to take a look at this before I send it off to—"

"Leave it on the desk. Thank you."

"See, boss?! Excellent manners. In a curt, stern, straightforward, terminator—"

"Buenos días, Mateo!"

"Hola, Chriiiiistiiiiina! Uuuuup top!"

"Qué te pasa, Calabaza?"

"Fuck my life," I mumble to myself as the two of the most annoying people in my world join forces…with Latino accents.

"Nada, nada, Limonada! Ummm… Qué estás haciendas en mi cama, no…casa…no, damn…cuarto de—"

"This is definitely _not_ your cuarto," I add in disbelief that I'm even commenting.

"Aw, come on, Four! Join us! Vamos!" Christina chides, snidely.

"No."

"Why the frick not? Amar said you speak Spanish." _Who says "frick?" Oh, wait…MATTHEW does!_

"That _was_ Spanish, Matthew," I deadpan as I pretend to give a shit about the papers on my desk.

"Oh, yeah. I get it. Hey, Tris tells me you're Dominican," Matthew comments lingering for way too long. _This is NOT chit chat central and MUST her name pass your lips? And, I'm sorry, was that present tense?_

"And Puerto Rican. 100% Latina, mi amigo—"

"When did you see Tris?" I ask with controlled patience.

"Yesterday. Wow! A little Boricua on our hands, huh?"

 _There is no "our" hands, Matthew! Wait, what?!_

"Yesterday?" I probe now with semi-controlled patience.

"I was actually kinda pissed. I thought you were black. And I reeeaaaaally needed a black friend—gotta add it to my social _résumé_."

I don't know what's pissing me off more—his existence, the fact that he was with Tris unaccompanied by me, or because he pronounced resume with a French accent.

"Matthew, keep your inappropriate ethnic comments to yourself and…did you say ' _yesterday'_ —"

"It's cool," Christina interjects. "I get it all the time. I'm an ethnic mystery. Oh, my God! Listen to this…"

I glance up at Christina, waiting for her to finish whatever irrelevant thing she's about to say so that I can continue my nonchalant interrogation.

"I made Will guess," she laughs loudly as if she can't believe what she's about to say. "He said… _African_." _Oh, William…_

"Do NOT tell this story!" Will actually slides into the door to my office, catching himself before he falls, seemingly out of breath.

"Hi, baby! How did you know I was here?"

"The whole office…can…hear…you. And, what the hell?!" he whispers through a clenched jaw as he reigns her in for a tight hug. "I was nervous!" He shakes her shoulders as she exudes exaggerated giggles. "We had just met! You were beautiful—"

"Are," I add trying to give him some sort of leg-up in this lose-lose conversation for him.

"You _are_ beautiful and…Geez...you asked me to guess your _particular_ ethnic heritage?! Who does that?!"

"Me!"

"And, just so you two know, she made feel appropriately stupid by pointing out my geographical faux pau—"

"Yeah, dude, Africa is _definitely_ still a continent, with 54 countries to boot—"

"No," I interrupt relishing that I get to make Matthew look like an idiot for a minute.

"Yes."

"Negative."

"Positive."

"Actually, _Mateo_ , there are 54 fully recognized sovereign _states,_ nine territories and two de facto independent states with limited to no recognition—"

"Hey, Four? How's your coffee maker doing?" Christina asks mockingly.

Pursing my lips, I toss my glasses on my desk. "What did she tell you?" I demand, unappreciative of that fact that Tris is talking about one of my goals that is alluding me. _It's even in my A:LOG!_

"Ohhhhh…yeeeeaaaaah! She told me once that you can't even—"

"Matthew, get out," I punctuate forcefully.

"Sorry, boss. Hey, if it makes you feel better, I stuck up for you—"

"It probably doesn't," Will adds, grabbing Matthew by the shoulders and dragging him out. "Don't steal my pretty lady for too long, buddy."

"Only if you steal _him_ for eternity," I murmur as I lean back as far as my chair will go and growl into my hands.

"How did _I_ end up with the sweet one?!" Christina asks looking after Will. "Always thought Tris would end up with 'the nice guy.' Ah, well! Qué será, será! Hey, do you hate Matthew?"

"Sometimes," I breathe out as I stand and walk toward the table. "And, Tris _does_ think I'm a nice guy, no matter how many times I've proven otherwise," I mumble.

Her subsequent eye roll does not go unnoticed and to be honest; it may just bother me...only a little.

"Will says he's a good architect."

"No," I state. "He's an _excellent_ architect. Therefore, I tolerate his idiocy."

Christina beats me to the table and starts rummaging through the bags. "So, lay it on me, buddy. Why am I having lunch with my best friend's dark cloud when I could be having lunch with my own personal ray of sunshine?"

"First off, _Will_ is my buddy; you are not. Second of all, I'm…concerned."

"About?"

I hesitate, not knowing where to start because I feel that going behind Tris's back may be a poorly thought out plan and, well, because I just don't know where to start.

"Uuuuuugggghhhh…Foooouuuur… Let me know when you're done collecting your brain matter."

I'm, for once, or twice, grateful to Christina because I do need a minute. _Am I doing this for me? Or am I doing this for Tris? Both? For us? For her. This is for her. Yes, I'm going with that._

"She's not talking to me." _Apparently, this is only for me.  
_

"Join the club."

"I'm the damned, president," I sigh. "I don't know what I did. I mean, I thought we were good, but she woke up Tuesday morning, and we don't seem good, right now. Jesus! Stop, just stop!" I order in shock as she is practically tearing into the nicely placed Sushi trays.

"What?!"

"You're making a fucking mess!"

"Don't you have custodians?"

"Just…let _me_." I shoo her away as she huffs. "Sit." I begin to remedy her disaster and lay out the plastic containers, opening them and placing the proper pieces of maki and sashimi on the—

"I didn't order a plain tuna roll."

"No, shit. I did."

"No, I mean, I didn't _tell_ you to order that."

"Yes, _you_ did."

"No, I said a _spicy_ tuna roll. Who orders just a regular tuna roll?"

"People who prefer tuna rolls."

"May as well have sashimi! In fact—"

"Don't touch my—" My jaw is most likely no longer attached as she grabs _MY_ sashimi with her… _HANDS!_

"Ah ha, ha! I knew you wouldn't eat it after I touched it!"

"You could very well be the _least_ thoughtful person I know. Control your impulses! I'm fucking hungry too—"

"Uh, Mr. Eaton? Sorry…Four?"

I clear my throat and sit up straight as my newest hire peaks her head in the door. "Hi, Zoe. Come on in."

"I was just wondering if you could take a look at these changes before I submit them to the drafters. The client is on a pretty tight budget and I just want to make sure I don't blow it out of the water."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that, as do I. What is their budget?"

"$500,000 for the whole building."

I laugh lightly at that. We're a nearly multi-national firm; $500,000 is practically residential. "And they came to us?"

"Mr. Ghadi—"

"Amar," I correct.

"Yes, Amar, approved it. But, I thought the same thing—it's a small job. But, I'm grateful for the smaller project, to be honest."

I sit back in my chair and think about that comment for a moment. When I interviewed Zoe, her portfolio was quite impressive, her resume impeccable, her demeanor professional, and she exuded an understated confidence. But, as of late, she's been surprisingly timid. _Where is this coming from? Then I remember Nita's comments about my hiring a "girl." And Zoe is younger and attractive. Great...how do I approach this one?  
_

"Zoe," I clasp my hands and lean on the table trying to word this correctly. "I'm going out on a limb here, but did Nita say anything that would make you doubt your hiring?"

"That C U Next Tuesday belongs on a crotch rocket without a driver," Christina comments.

"Zoe, this is Will's choice, Christina."

"Yes, I am the chosen one," she adds while shoving sushi in her mouth. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

I observe Zoe shift her weight nervously, and I wonder if I shouldn't have said anything, especially, not in front of Christina. _Rookie mistake. Shit!_

"Um…Nita _may_ have made me feel like, I wasn't hired based on…my…abilities—"

"Ya know what?" Christina completely interrupts. "Take whatever that four-score whore told you with a grain of sugar—

"Salt."

"Shut up, Four."

"Seriously, Chloe—

"Zoe."

"Shut...up, Four! Zoe...you're super cute! But, crab ass over here only has eyes for one little sassy pants chickadee, in particular."

"Regardless, _Christina._..," I add controlling my flexing jaw. "I only hire employees based on qualifications."

"—aaaaand, if Amar wasn't gayer than a three-nutted billy goat, I would have said the same thing about Nita!"

I shut my eyes, wishing I could shut my ears instead.

"Did someone mention my spirit animal?" Of course, Amar appears at the door at the least opportune moment giving Zoe a reassuring shoulder grab.

"Me! Heard ya got hitched. When's the par-tay?"

"My darling, Christina. You'll be at the top of my notifications list, I assure you." Amar disappears chuckling as I let out a deep sigh.

"Thank you, Christina. Now, chew with your mouth closed, so we don't have to hear your voice."

I try to ignore Zoe's stifled laugh while I keep the conversation on track. "I wouldn't have hired you if I didn't think you could handle complex projects. Don't doubt your talent. Architecture, unfortunately, is part sales, and if you pitch without confidence, we lose accounts."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Luckily, I _have_ confidence in you. But, more importantly, you need it in yourself." I wave my hand in the direction of the plans she's holding. "I'm not going to look at those."

"Oh. Sorry, is this…beneath you?"

I laugh because were that phrase coming out of Matthew's mouth, it would be insulting. But Zoe is being genuine.

"That phrase isn't a part of my vocabulary."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not going to look at them because I trust you. You're good. Now go and be good."

She straightens up and smiles slightly. ""Okay. Um…thanks, Four."

"You're welcome."

She exits and I look back down at my now half-order of tuna sashimi and reach into the bag to violently grab at the edamame before the idiot does. Halfway through opening the container I sense an unfamiliar silence, so I look up at my unfortunate lunch date and see she is staring at me wide-eyed.

"What?"

"Now I get it," she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, _not_ eating the sushi she stole from me.

"Get what?"

"Well, Tris was saying how different you are when you're at work, and how people tell her you're, like, some genius and revered and sought after and you're a leader and blah, blah, blah, dee dah and how she feels, like, _not_ at your level and—"

"What?"

"—and I have to admit, for a minute there, _I_ didn't feel at your level. That was some motivational shit! That chick was looking at you like you're Zeus. Not in like the hot way so don't go all ego-crazy—Wait, was Zeus even hot? Ha! Only _you_ would know the answer to this."

I'm trying to comb through all the bullshit nothing she just said, but my mind is primarily stuck on the dumbest thing she uttered, in addition to her flagrant use of the word "like." _Tris doesn't feel at MY level?_

"Dude! Answer me!"

"I…don't even know where to start."

"Oh, God! Not from the beginning! I do not need a dissertation on Greek mythology!"

"Christina," I take a quick beat, knowing I need to contain my exasperation. "Are you willing to continue the discussion…regarding…Tris?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm assuming that's why I'm here."

"Quick on the uptake today." I have suddenly lost my appetite, so I push the edamame toward her. "Now, _why_ does she feel that way? Did she say that?"

I watch her take a whopping bite of the sushi roll she supposedly didn't want, and I'm grateful she decides to chew her food with her mouth closed before she speaks.

"Okay, buster. Here's the deal." She waves her chopsticks and narrows her eyes at me. "I will only be talking about things that are imperative to _her_ well-being as an individual, independent, bossy lady. I will _not_ be putting my two-cents into whatever issues go on between the two of you special, special, people."

"Fair enough."

"Movin' right along."

I glance at the ceiling, praying this goes well. "It's different…this time, how Tris is handling things."

Christina stops and taps her chopsticks on the plastic container. "Yes. How do you know? You weren't around last time."

"Because when I have admitted my shortcomings to her on this issue, referring to the fact that, I, indeed, was not there for the aftermath, she immediately shuts down. I think she feels like I'm calling her out on her behavior. But I'm not," I sigh. "She's shutting me out. But I can take it. I can handle it because I think it's part of her process for right now. However, I'm very fearful that she's… Fuck, I think she may be shutting her _self_ out."

"Hmm. That's insightful."

I look up at Christina, ready for a snide smile, but that comment was actually real. Her reaction allows me to garner some strength because although I may sound insightful, I still feel like I'm drawing at straws.

"Correct me if I'm wrong here, but I got the feeling through, well, what you've told me, that upon her arrival to Chicago, she _wanted_ to tell someone."

"Yeah. I mean, it took about a week, but I found her crying on her bed and, basically, all I had to do was say the word 'spill.' And boy did she! I think it had something to do with starting over. I had no preconceived notions of who she was, ya know, as a person, so…what did she have to lose?"

Trying to control my visceral reaction of standing up and pacing, instead, I find myself bouncing my heel relentlessly on the floor, so I lean my elbow on my thigh to control it.

"Do you… Do you…think she feels she's going to lose… _me_ or…you?" _But more importantly, me?_

"Me? Please. She knows I'm not goin' anywhere!"

"But she thinks I am?" I ask incredulously.

"Mmmmm... I think she regards you _highly,_ and I think she regards parts of herself _lowly_."

I decide to allow my knee to bounce because it's relieving my need to jog in circles.

"God, what do I have to do to make her…? Damn it, Christina.I love her…for _h_ e _r!"_

"Relax, relax! She knows all that shit. And she believes it, so take the cold sweat down a notch or twenty. Anyway, in my expert opinion, _that's_ probably part of her problem, TBH. Wait, not your cold sweat. Although, right now it _is_ hard for me to look at you."

"Why?"

"Because you're sweating."

"Jesus." I stand and march to the bathroom, loosening my tie and drying my face with a towel. "You know that's not what I meant!"

"Well, Four, think about it."

I lean on the sink and wait for her to finish.

"She's knows you love her… But, well, from what she has told me, I can only deduce that she just doesn't get why."

"I disagree."

I briefly turn the tides on myself wondering if _I_ even know why I love her. Do I _have_ to have a reason? _Jesus, if we have to have reasons why we love people, then—fuck, why the hell does she love me?!_

"These are only my observations! I'm not saying I'm right. But if I were right, I would say this is what she sees— a small-town, uneducated, bartender with minimal artistic talent and issues up the waa-zoo."

I shake my head in wonder at the girl who supposedly knows Tris so well. "Your uncanny ability for gross oversimplification is mind-numbing, Christina."

"Anyway," she continues as if I hadn't just spoken. "What makes her so awesome to _me_ is that she's _actually_ this incredibly strong lady. Girl power all the way! But, it's her thoughts that get in the way, ya know? She _thinks_ it's all an act. But, it's not. So…yeah, anyway, she's way off." She must see the no-shit look on my face because she moves on rather quickly. "Okay, you already knew that. But aside from her internal judginess—"

"Her…what?"

"Come on, Four! Look at this place! Look at _you_!" She flits her hands at me like she's trying to brush me away as I migrate back to my seat. "You're 25 and part owner of this, like, multi-national shit storm. Fuck, Will said she came barreling in here the other day, took a quick knee outside your door and bolted! What does that tell you?"

"Well, I can only go by what _she_ told me in _one_ of the two conversations we've had this week."

I think back to how great it felt to have her attention for five minutes on Wednesday morning, where she actually let me hug her…from behind…while she was making coffee. But she did stack her hands on mine and hold them there for a minute! So, that felt great… _There's that word again._

"Which waaaas…?"

"That she thought I was busy and didn't want to interrupt. And, I _was_ in a lunch meeting, so I can see why she felt that way. She was wrong. She definitely should have stopped in because I would have loved to have introduced her. But, anyway, we cleared it up!" _Didn't we?_ "Wait, you think Tris left because… I'm sorry, I'm just _not_ understanding. What the fuck did I miss?"

"Look, Will said she seemed… _really_ bothered."

"And I told her that. But she disagreed and said she was just stopping by to say hello."

"Just…stopping…by?"

"We…or _I_ …literally live down the street. So, yes, stopping by wouldn't be all that strange. And, fuck, she was just very aloof about it when I asked her, so I didn't even think…" And because I can't help it, I get up and walk to the other side of the room and back. And then I do it again. "God, Christina, she's been coming back to the apartment at 2:00 in the morning and takes the longest time _ever_ in the bathroom to get ready for bed. When she actually _does_ come to bed, I'm pretty sure she's hoping I'm sleeping. I get a quick kiss on the cheek and then she _pretends_ to fall asleep…not in my arms. And then she has nightmares but pretends she doesn't. But, she does! So, then I don't sleep because I'm worried, which is fine. But, what's not fine, is that I don't know if she's fucking fine!"

I stop and can only imagine that I look like a serious wack job. So, I refrain from speaking until Christina looks like she's about to say something intuitive.

"That girl takes ten-minute showers. What the hell is she _doing_ in there?" she insinuates waggling her eyebrows and her fingers. "You know you've thought about it." _So much for intuitive. And, of course, I've thought about it! I know what I do in that shower…_

"This is not funny, Chris. She's doing it on purpose!"

"I'll _bet_ she is," she laughs.

"Please, be serious. Tris _wants_ me to be asleep when she comes to bed."

"Have you tried to go in there?"

"She locks the door."

"What about the mornings?"

"She pretends to be sleeping when I leave."

"Dude, have you just straight up rolled her on her back, pinned her down and _asked_ —"

"Are you fuckin' serious, right now?! After what she's been through? Where are the antibiotics?!"

"For what?"

"Your hoof-in-mouth syndrome!"

"Okay, okay... Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha. Poor form."

"To say…the least," I groan as I walk away and rest my head on the window, closing my eyes. "And, of course, I've asked her. But you can only ask someone what's wrong so many times before it becomes…whatever it is now."

"So, this change occurred this week?"

"Yes."

"Elaborate."

I take a deep breath and lift my head from the window. I feel as if Christina and I, mainly I, have crossed a line enough as it is. But, this whole _talking_ to Christina has, in a weird way, brought some things to light I was unaware of. _Is it worth continuing? Or should I just take the information I have and work with that?_

"We had a…tense moment, the other morning." _Apparently, we will be continuing._ "She said something insensitive, and I shut down."

"Shocking," she mumbles. "For both of you."

"Are those comments at all helpful?"

"Mmmm…no."

"But then, that night, I explained myself…to the best of my ability and she was… She was…"

"Spit it out!"

"She was… _there_ for me…," I grit through a tight iron jaw, acutely aware of how much of a needy bitch that makes me sound.

"Why is that so hard for you to say? Geez… Poor Tris! Actually, no! You guys are perfect for each other! Oh, God…maybe not. Two people who don't like to admit they _need_ people. That's a recipe for disaster!" she elicits as if there's humor somewhere in her commentary.

"You couldn't be more wrong. Here's the deal with me, Christina." I lean on the table semi-in her face. "There are exactly four people in my life who have _ever_ seen me in a vulnerable state. She's on that list, and you aren't. Therefore, it proves difficult for me to utter sentiments like that in your presence. Is this a problem for you?"

"Nooooo." She sits back in her chair and shakes her head slowly.

"Tris is well aware that I need her, and I'm well aware that she needs me."

"Got it," she mutters.

Pushing myself away from the table, I back up and sit in my chair attempting to relax. "Something was off when I got home from work. I thought it was because of me, but…I don't anymore. Tris should have been _mad_ at me, but she was more just upset and almost confused. She didn't even know, nor care, where her phone was. It's like she was… How do I explain this?"

"Mmmm, living in her head?" Christina offers.

"I guess?"

" _You_ do that shit," she points out, literally pointing at me. "At least, Tris says you do. Like, when something is eating at you, or you just can't figure something out."

"Hmm." _Is that was Tris was doing? Doesn't sound like her…but none of this does._

"Tori said she started making mistakes at work—giving people the wrong orders, running credit cards twice, not on purpose this time. What else did Tori say?" She looks up as if she's talking to the air. "She said Tris was jittery, nervous, and sweaty. But..."

I wait, and lose minutes of my life, as Christina ponders her words while sucking loudly on edamame.

"She seemed fine when I got there, but it was more of a tag-you're-it. I think she was pissed that Tori sent her home because she vamoosed it out of there."

"How has she been at work since then?"

"I had to shadow designers. So, I haven't been to work since Monday. Hey, did she ever _find_ her antique phone? I've been texting her all week. I even broke down and called!"

"Um… Yeah, Evey called _my_ phone with it the next day. I guess a candy stripper just found it in an exam room and—"

Christina coughs as rice flies out of her mouth. _Clean up on aisle get-the-fuck-out-of-my-office!_ "Okay, you did _not_ just say candy _stripper_."

"That's what they're called."

"That is the _opposite_ of what they are called."

Putting all thoughts _Tris_ on hold, I run that scenario through my head. _I don't get it._ "What could _possibly_ be the opposite of a candy stripper?"

"Well, let's see—on one hand, you have Candy _THE_ _stripper_ , flashing her goods for cash. On the other hand, you have THE candy _striper_ , covering and cleaning up after other peoples' goods for free."

"Shit," I spit under my breath remembering the look on that poor girl's face at the hospital—a cross between humiliation and anger _. I called a high school girl a stripper!_

"Oh, my God. This is too good!" Christina exalts. "I can't _wait_ to tell Will—"

"Wait!" The cogs in my brain have been wound and are now functioning at a renewed pace.

"Okay, okay! I won't say anything… Well, at least, not yet! Ha ha ha—"

"The hospital."

"The...hospital?"

"Why would Tris see Evey, to get her stitches out? She's ICU."

"Stopping by for old times sake?" she grins and then laughs to herself.

I decide to waver for a moment before I address this total shit. "You think that's funny?" For once, Christina's eyes widen as a sudden memory must present itself in her rather dense skull. "Cause one…possibly two...of the worst moments of my life happened there. What about yours…Christina?"

"Yeah."

I give her a minute to feel like shit until I continue. "So, how did a candy…striper—"

"Good boy."

"—find Tris's phone in an exam room in the ICU? Why not out-patient?"

"I don't know! Who cares?... Oh, wait! You think something happened at the hospital?"

"Good girl," I retort sarcastically.

 _How did I not figure this out until now? This whole talking thing...even it was only to Christina, has helped immensely. Talking… Tris is not talking to me, right now. Therefore…_

"You need to find out what it is," I order.

"Me? Why not you?"

"She won't tell me."

"You don't know that."

"Christina…she's barely talking to me, now. And since we've been home from the hospital, she won't talk to me…at all…about anything to _do_ with the hospital, especially not about what landed her there."

I'm looking at her intently so when she suddenly averts her eyes; I know something is on her mind.

"Tris… Well… Fuck, she doesn't want to remind you, okay? She thinks her presence in your daily life and her physical _appearance_ is enough of a reminder. And that is some shit _you_ two need to work out so don't ask me any more questions about _that_!"

 _Is that why Tris is so self- conscious? She literally thinks she's a walking, talking reminder of…things I'd rather not think about. Fuck, it's because she is. When I see her bruises, I think about how they got there and it makes me actually WANT to puke. Sometimes it takes everything in me not to throw a chair across the room when I hear her inhale a breath of pain. God, how can she stand living with me? She sees the way I look at her. She sees it. She fucking sees it._

"So, you'll talk to her?" I blurt out, trying to interrupt my own thoughts.

"Mmmgghhh… I'll try. But I WILL not report back. I'll just advise full disclosure with you. But _you_ , sir, need to dig a little deeper with her. _Make_ her listen. _Make_ her tell you. Because if it is something…big, no matter what I tell her, she will _not_ be forthcoming with you."

"Okay," I agree with a deep hatred of the fact that Tris can't be honest with me. "Thank you."

"Yeah." She smacks her hands on the table and stands. "Well, this has been a gem of a lunch, but I'm out—"

"Why is this time different?" I interject in a last ditch effort to understand. "You know, now versus three years…ago."

Christina laughs under her breath and switches her weight onto one hip. "She needs to figure that out, not us. The girl needs therapy, and it's fuckin' time she gets it. Nows-ville." She points her finger directly at me. " _You_ need to tell her."

And I have my answer fully prepped. "No, nope. No, no, no and no. It can _not_ be me."

"Why? She cares the most about what _you_ think!"

"Because I'm not allowed."

"The... _fuck..._ does that mean?"

Each article I read flits through my head like old microfiche film. "I've done my research. Every article has stated—well, there are _some_ conflicting thoughts... I found six sources that disagreed, but the vast majority said…not blatantly, but they alluded to—"

"Four! Just say it!"

"I just need to be there! I need to encourage her. I do _not_ pressure her. _She_ is the decider. _I_ am the supporter. _That's_ my role."

"You can't even _fucking_ suggest it?" Christina asks, switching her weight to her other hip.

 _No, I can definitely suggest it! But, then she'll just throw it in my face, saying I need it too! But, I'm not going to admit that to you, CHRISTINA!_

"Whatever, fine, don't answer me," she sighs. "I'm going to try to track her down. Do you think she's at your place?"

I just shrug my shoulders because I have no damned clue.

"Great, bye."

"See ya." I sigh out a severely exaggerated exhale because I may have just royally fucked up. Then the thought crosses my mind about what may just be the cherry on top, so I stride to the door pulling my strategic mistake out of my suit pocket.

"Hey, wait."

"I reeeeaaaally want to see my boyfriend—"

"Here."

She looks down at the check I'm holding for Tris's half of the rent. "Gah! Normally, I would say, 'Hell no.' But I really need this." She yanks it out of my hand and shoves it in her pocket. "Are you gonna tell her? Because I'm not going to lie."

"Me neither." I shrug knowing I'll have to deal with the consequences. "She'll have to get over it—chocolate covered strawberries and tiger lilies, wash her hair, foot rubs."

"Yeah, have fun with that conversation."

"By the way," I add as Christina walks backward toward Will's office. "You did a pretty bad job of keeping it just about _her_. Thanks for that."

"No, I didn't. You two are…what's a good "Four" word? Mutually inclusive."

I laugh to myself. "I like that."

"Me too. Oh, yeah…and you know what I always say, 'A little foreplay, goes a long way!" she yells over her shoulder.

I freeze and look across the floor to see just about every employee unsuccessfully stifle laughs.

"I agree, my friend!" Amar shouts from across the room as he leans on one of the intern's desks. "Don't you agree?" he directs his attention at the kid.

"Definitely."

 _May as well join in the fun!_ "I'll try not to disappoint!" I say with my hands in the air as I back into my office. I actually got almost the whole floor to laugh as I go back into my office.

"Keep us posted with your progress, my friend!"

Grinning, I sit at my desk. For the first time this week, I feel lighter.

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

I head my aggravated tush right on into Dauntless and immediately spot the petite fireball to _whom_ I am fully stoked to give a piece of my mind. She's at the bags with Uriah, and I can see the look of semi-horror and frustration on his face as he supports her ribs while she punches.

"Easy, Tris. I'm not fuckin' around!"

"Uriah! I'm fine."

"Really?"

I suck in a breath between my teeth as he clenches his grip around her injury and she shrieks. He didn't do it hard enough to injure, just hard enough to prove his point.

"You are _not_ fine," he points out sternly. "This is _physical therapy._ Not, take-out-your-anger therapy. Now you will move…your upper…body…" He places her form in the proper position, speaking to her like a child. "...until your fist gently…makes contact with…the damned bag," he orders, getting in her face at the end.

"I can get a new physical therapist," she snarks.

"Be my guest, little one!" Uriah states, backing away.

"Is he _even_ a physical therapist?" I interject tapping my toe and crossing my arms because I mean business!

"They both turn and glare at me, for different reasons entirely."

"What are you doing here?" Tris gripes.

"And…I may not be a physical therapist, but I _am_ a sports trainer, so I deal with injuries on a daily basis. Plus, I'm doing this shit for free!... 'Cause I'm a good friend!... And a nice guy! And a—"

"Okay, we get it. Does Four know this is your choice of therapy?" I inquire knowing crazy boy-toy won't be happy with _this_ little arrangement.

Tris looks at her feet in guilt and kicks at the mat.

"WHAT?!" Uriah screeches. "Are you…? He _will_ hurt me. Does _anyone_ give a shit about that?! About me?!"

"I do," Tris sighs. "I'll handle him. And it's not like I'm _lying_. I just haven't had the chance to…talk to him and—"

I unintentionally laugh under my breath at her blatant fib.

" _What_ , Christina?"

"Nothin'," I remark and look away.

"I'm done until you tell him," Uriah backs away with his hands up.

"Uri, pleeeaaase—"

He walks backward, not giving Tris the opportunity to argue. "No…no…no…no…no…no…no!" Once he reaches the training room, he flops on the bench and starts squawking to Shauna, who just shakes her head and laughs.

"Thanks, a lot!" Tris smacks me in the arm and marches toward the locker room.

"Ow! Hey, I'm _not_ sorry," I retort following after her. "Why are you keeping things from Four?"

"Why do you _care_ about him all the sudden? Five days ago, you didn't like him!"

"Oh, I like him just fine. You're exaggerating. Anyway, you aren't returning my texts or my call, and now you're not telling your boyfriend…things. It's all adding up, and it equals the following—something is wrong!"

She seats herself on the bench facing the lockers, resting her head in her hands.

"Tris?... Please, babe?... Is it…? Are you in pain?"

"You sound like Tobias," she sighs. "Define pain."

"Uh…does it _hurt_? Why am I defining pain?" I land myself next to her on the bench wondering what the hell she's... _Oh!_ "Do you mean...a _different_ kind of pain? Is this about Eric?... Marcus?... Caleb?...Fuck, did _I_ do something? I didn't do anything, right?... Um…Four? Did he—"

"Stop, stop, stop. Just…stop." She practically giggles under her breath, which is…weird. "No… No, Tobias is probably the best thing ever. I can count on him. He's understanding. He knows something is wrong, and he's giving me space. He's doing everything he's supposed to do."

"Riiiiight. So…I don't get it."

"I am _not_ great. And he needs great. He deserves great… Which is funny, now that I say it aloud because he hates that word."

"Tris… What are you talking about? Why the sudden change—"

"Found out the cost of my medical bills," she states, staring at the lockers with wide crazy eyes.

"Shit. Is it bad?" _15,000? 20,000? No way..._

"Found out what my parents' house is worth."

"Well, that's…umm…good? Was it high? Or...bad? Oh, no. Is it bad? Damn! Fill me in here—"

"Got an offer on it too."

"That's definitely good! Right? That has to be good!"

I quirk my head to get a better vantage point of her face, and she suddenly straight up busts out in tears.

"Tris?"

She looks away as I throw my arm over her shoulder.

"Cry all you want, babe! I'm here for ya. Always." I notice she is 100% frigid all of a sudden. "God, you're freezing. Did you bring a sweatshirt—"

"The rape test was inconclusive!" she yells as she smacks both her hands onto the bench at her sides. I watch her fingers wrap around the edge of the wood and squeeze until her knuckles turn lighter than her skin tone.

"Oh, baby girl," I try to soothe, knowing I'm doing it all wrong, and she'll hate it. But I have no idea what the right thing to say is. _Inconclusive? How? What does that even mean?_ "So, you found out? Why didn't you take anyone with you—"

"Is that how they're defining inconclusive these days? Because I would say, that means I found out…nothing."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Work went by way too fast, tonight. Usually, I would say that's the best thing about Thursdays, along with the $427.00 in tips I have in my pocket. But tonight, going back to the apartment, I'm dreading. Going to bed, I'm dreading. The nightmares have gotten worse, as in, worse than before Tobias.

My need for him this week has just about taken over my entire body—mentally and physically. It's strange, but I think that was why it was so easy for me to push him away. I don't like needing anyone, and my reliance on him seems to infiltrate my being. I hate it. So, pushing him away became as instinctive as needing him. It began as me, avoiding the topic of the results of the rape test. _Inconclusive…_

The dizzying feeling comes back and forces me to stop in my tracks and brace myself on my knees. _Don't throw up in the street. Don't throw up in the street. You're in control. You're in control. You're in control._

Once my heart regulates, I continue my walk, grateful for the brief reprieve. _God, I can't even walk down the street without thinking about it._

 _Poor Tobias—having to deal with this shit. He shouldn't have to! Thank God I was smart enough to get the hell out of ALG on Monday. Never should have gone in the first place. It was instinctual but so stupid. I was such an idiot! I was practically a natural disaster, and I went into his office!_

 **Flashback:**

 _You're fine, you're fine, you're fine. You'll feel better in a couple minutes, just a couple more minutes. How am I going to explain this? Medical terms! Use medical terminology to sound detached. You'll just have to do it! He won't know what to say. He's going to try to say the right thing…which will be the wrong thing. But, he'll figure that out quickly and then just hold you. And that's okay. That's okay. Accept help. You're here, aren't you? Fuck, why am I here?! This is a horrific idea!_

I propel myself out of the elevator and make my way around the outskirts of the floor to avoid anyone who may recognize me. It's lunchtime, which is good. No Matthew. _Shit! Will!_ I duck my head just in time to avoid Will's office and wave to some random guy in a cubicle.

Relief runs through my veins as I spot Tobias's corner office. _It has a bedroom in it! Not great memories in that bedroom_ … I can feel the flesh memory of the pressure of holding his head to mine—telling him I'll never get close enough for him to hurt me again, not letting my forgiveness become foolishness. _And who ended up being the fool who couldn't see the pure devastation those words left in their wake? Me…_

I take exactly two breaths reminding myself to move past that shit and just be happy there is a bedroom because I feel like I'm going to pass out, and I could use a nap. _Is that weird? That would definitely be weird. I don't give a fuck!_

I do a quick duck and weave past any other offices until I find myself right by his door and—

"It's a valid design. Trevor?" I smile as I hear Tobias's deep, confident voice.

"I agree," this Trevor guy responds.

Then I hear nothing but silence, and I just about use that as my in until I remember a conversation with Tobias about how he sometimes uses silence as a motivator—prompting his staff to problem solve. _"Sometimes awkward silence is all you need and seeing as I prefer silence, it works perfectly."_

"Diana? You look deep in thought. How do you feel about the big picture, considering the location of the project?"

"It's pretty damned close to North Lake Shore. Shit, she wants copper. Like, a lot of it. Aaaand…I guarantee she will end up hating it."

"Are you concerned about the patina?" Tobias prods. I can tell by the tone in his voice; he already knows the answer.

"Yes. She says she wants it, but—"

"That'll be straight up green after one winter. Don't get me wrong, copper has come a long way, but still—this is Lake Michigan," Trevor interrupts, which Tobias hates. _Oooohhhh, man…_

"Trevor?... Shall we give Diana the opportunity to continue with her thought?" _Shut…DOWN! Way to go, baby!_

Tobias has made mention of the fact that the male architects often try to overshadow the female architects, and unfortunately the women often cow tie and back down. But, he says aside from Will and Matthew, almost every good idea comes from his "ladies." _He said that to piss me off. That asshole!_ But he redeemed himself when he told me one of his goals (he has them written on the inside of his personal A:LOG, which, I'm not even allowed to see!) is to motivate the women to be equally as bullish and empowered as the men…if not more so. _God, I love that man. He'd be such a good dad to daughterrrrssss... What the fuck, Tris?!_

"I would love to, Four," Diana sneers. I can imagine the she-lion look this Diana chick is giving Trevor, based alone on her long awkward pause. "She says she wants it, and she's adamant. So, I may suggest limiting the product. But, I'm not sold on alternatives. They just don't provide the right feel."

"I agree. Trevor?"

"Yes, and my apologies, Diana."

"Mmm hmm."

"There isn't really any _great_ alternative if she likes patina… But this will be straight up green! As in the-river-on-St.-Patrick's-Day. Ever seen it, Four?"

"Indeed." _He practically lives on the river, asshole. And no self-respecting local stays around for that infestation of tourist drunkards and yuppies._

"Yeah, my buddies come down every year! By the end of the night, everything is green. And I mean... _everything_. Ya know?"

Tobias does his required yet disingenuous laugh under his breath.

"So, Diana, what I'm hearing you say is that you'd like to research alternatives?"

I absolutely love how he's suggesting it, yet making it seem to her as if she's suggesting it.

"Yes."

"Excellent. I think it's a sound idea. Make sure you get enough information on each product—pros and cons. We don't want to anything inferior."

"Will do."

"Hey, Four. Can you take a look at these schematics? I'm not familiar with code in Lake County. Is this fire suppression system appropriate?"

"My suggestion would be to call the county and—"

I back away from the door. _What the fuck am I doing? I'm not going in there like this! What were you thinking, Tris?! Jesus Christ! This is… He's the owner! And I'm just going to march in and lay my problems on the table? Fuckin' blindside him? You're a total reject! In addition to many, many, other things he doesn't need to deal with! Abort! Abort!_

 **End Flashback**

I'm so happy and proud and just thrilled for him—listening to him coach his employees through their projects, making everything seem like their idea, even though it was totally his. Yet, he still gave them the credit even though he ultimately holds the trump card. _But, seriously, what was I thinking, going there?!_

That entire next day was nothing but me curled up into a ball on the couch, on the shower bench, leaning up against the cabinets on the floor of the kitchen, running the events of the attack over and over in my head. The whole thing is so fucking embarrassing. I don't even know why! Logically, I know it's not my fault that there wasn't enough evidence to classify it as rape. _But then did I…particip-? Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_

I enter the apartment building, wave briefly at the night desk guy and then board the elevator as it opens immediately. Thank God it's 2:45 in the morning. Tobias will definitely be asleep.

This whole week became a test of my will. _How much do I need him?_ It kind of worked out perfectly seeing as we have completely opposite schedules—my working doubles and him now a partner. But everywhere I went, everything I did, was a reminder. I would see some brickwork on a building and I'd immediately want to send him a pic asking him what it is because it would look great on the renovated boarding house home. Or, I found this fantastic bench, further up past North Beach where I imagine the sun sets just right and how we need to get some beers and watch the sunset. I even thought of something clever to text him _—"It's practically in Wisconsin! Lol." Okay, maybe it wasn't that funny…_

I'm exhausted as l lug myself to the door, I lean my head on it and insert the key, just about tumbling into the apartment. But I catch myself at the last minute and close the door quietly behind me, removing my shoes and placing them nicely in the closet.

 _Jesus, I'm so—_

"Hey."

"Shit!" I screech as I jump back.

I see Tobias sitting at the kitchen table looking wrecked from probably a mix of exhaustion and worry. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is a mess.

"Please, talk to me," he whispers.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

It's fucking 2:51 AM. The bar closes at 1:00 on Thursdays. _Or is it 2:00?_ I'm going out of my mind with worry, but I'm too much of a pussy, along with being far too stubborn, to text Tris. Plus, she's already making me feel overbearing enough as it is.

I rub my eyes trying to stay awake, knowing no matter what, sleep will evade me. But, my body is telling me otherwise. Then I hear the jingle of the lock and my heart picks up pace rather quickly as Tris almost trips over her own feet into the apartment. She, being purposefully quiet, slides her shoes into the closet and attempts to tiptoe toward the bedroom.

"Hey."

"Shit!" she squeaks jumping back.

"Please, talk to me," I all but beg.

It wasn't what I had planned to say, but with Tris, nothing ever goes as planned. I keep my eyes diverted from hers because I know I'll cave when she tries to argue with me—

I grunt loudly in surprise as I feel a dead weight land on my lap gracelessly and slump into me. My magnetic arms clasp each other holding the form solidly and relentlessly. I feel no sobbing, no letting go, no tears, just full on needed bodily contact. I take a very-much needed moment to breathe her in. Even through the leftover stench of whiskey, beer, and whatever scent is just "bar," I can still smell... _her._ She exhales deeply, and I feel her swallow from where her neck rests over my shoulder.

I notice the apartment is dark, apart from the stove light and the city that never dims. It's such an odd thing, living here. At night, I've never quite been at peace because the city barely rests. Growing up, I would look out my window and down the street, at least, as far as I could see considering our ridiculous front yard, and all the lights would be out. It was almost as if society was telling us, giving us permission, for slumber. But here, it's different. The lights don't go out, and the noises don't stop. It's a part of city life I'll never get used to.

I feel Tris lift her head off my shoulder, bringing her face within inches of mine. The light from outside makes her irises look electric, yet completely unreadable, expressionless. She blinks twice and then lays her head back down on my shoulder, her face resting in the crook of my neck. Seeing as verbal connection is obviously not the priority for either of us right now, I concentrate on our physical connection. I move her braid off her shoulder and gaze down at the juxtaposition of black and white in front of my eyes. Her skin and the black wide-necked shirt that is resting itself, almost balancing itself, perfectly on the edge of her shoulder. Then like a cat that can't help but push things off counters, my fingers find the edge of the shirt and nudge it slowly until it slides off her shoulder, where I then rest my lips on her cool skin and close my eyes.

* * *

The loll of my head jerks me awake, and the sun burns my eyes as it shines through the windows. Apparently, my hands are legitimately magnetic because I'm still clasping my wrists, holding Tris to me firmly as she sleeps quite soundly. Although, it probably has more to do with the fact that my subconscious is quite conscious of her.

It isn't until that moment that I realize how much pain I'm in, but Tris is sleeping too soundly for me to push her off—although physically, my body is screaming at me to do just that. Instead, I buck up and unglue my hands ( _ow, fuck_ ), sliding my right under her knees and keeping my left arm supporting her upper back. I hold my breath and stand…and it's nearly unbearable. Tris is light, but dead-lifting even a light person who has had their full weight on your lap, draining your lower body of circulation, would put a lesser determined person over the edge. _But, fuck that! I'm not that guy!_ So, even though, my arms feel like nails are being driven into my biceps, my legs feel like a herd of porcupines has decided to make them their breeding ground, and my feet feel like they're walking on hot thumb tacks, I make my way into my room limping and lurching like a starving zombie from The Walking Dead.

I get to the edge of the bed and sit, not carefully, as Tris finally decides it's time to wake up. She makes surprised eye contact and looks around confused before her lips turn down.

"Why does my whole body hurt?" she asks in her amusing morning voice as she continues to look around and rub her eyes. "Seriously, I think I'm being attacked by my own nerve endings." Then she goes right the fuck back to her original position. "What did you _do_ to me?" she groans.

"You're welcome," I state as I scoot us back and recline onto the pillows.

She decides now is the time to switch positions, so she moves to straddle me instead, resting her cheek next to mine as I hold her to me like a pillow. I feel her soft lips connect to my neck and it sends chills of warmth (apparently…that's possible) up my arms. Her braid slides off her back, and brushes my arm so I reach over and grab it, pulling the rubber band off the bottom.

"My medical bills are $54,000," she whispers. _JESUS CHRIST! WHAT THE HELL!_

"Okay," I comment equally as softly as I bring both of my hands up her back and start pulling apart the silky strands of her hair.

"My parents' house is worth $22,000." _Well, that's just...buttfucking, Kittridge, Wisconsin! Housing prices bullshit! What the...? How?! Did it get hit by lightning?! Is the fuckin' roof collapsing?!_

"Mmm hmm," I acknowledge as I move my hands up to the nape of her neck, still untangling the braid.

"Monroe Agriculture made an offer…for $54,000." _Those sonofabitches! They know her... They know her damned medical expenses! Of fucking course they do!_

"I turned it down." _Of fucking course you did!_

I clear my throat and pull at her hair fanning it out over her back. Her hair is slightly damp, so she took a shower before she went to work. The aroma of her shampoo hits me in full force, immediately putting me in check and relaxing me before I can toss her ass onto the floor and wire money from my SarSEP account.

"Are you going to say anything?" she murmurs, the nerves in her voice quite apparent.

"No," I reply evenly and quietly.

"I was going to keep the seven acres next door. It, it, it has my barn on it, along with all the farm equipment. But, now I have to sell...that...too." She sniffs and I can feel a tear pool in the bottom of my ear.

I bite my bottom lip to keep my own sadness for her at bay. "Okay," I answer securely.

It's sudden, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but, something shifts in her. _Her posture? Her mood? Her...aura?_

"In...con...clusive." I don't think I've ever heard her voice sound legitimately weak, until now.

"What is?" I ask as I brush her hair away and turn my face into her neck.

"The rape…test." If a voice can shiver, hers just did.

I close my eyes tight as the possibility sinks in that this could very well be the worst possible outcome for her. _The unknown._.. I kiss her neck softly and surely urging her to continue.

"I only know the...medical side of things. Ummm...no forensics or...anything else."

I nod my head in understanding and in almost thankfulness that we have only one aspect to tackle right now.

"There was... They found... _evidence_..." she trails off, and I don't think I've ever tried so hard in my life not to react to the word evidence.

And I feel awful for being relieved that she didn't use the exact descriptive word for what she's referring to.

"But not enough to _qualify_ it as...um...ra, rape. And, um..."

I bring my left hand up to cradle her head closer to mine hoping to stop her trembles and control my own.

"There with no signs of..." Her phrase is interrupted by a quiet sob, that she has absolutely no ability to hide. "...internal...coercion."

This time, I clench my eyes shut as I most often do with my jaw because that wording alone, along with the bravery it took for her to say that to me, is fucking overwhelming.

"Tobias, I was soooo fucking stupid. I waited too long. I... I should have...done the test...earlier. Um... But, the bruising... _helped..."_ she adds with an indescribable incredulity. "The official statement from the hospital was 'possible rape and probable sexual assault.'" She breathes heavily as if that statement took every ounce of energy out of her, and I feel as if I've absorbed it as my eyes widen at the words 'possible' and 'probable.'

 _Those words will TORTURE her!_

"So…here I am. In perpetual limbo," she whispers in torment.

I run my hands over her head and down her spine, clasping my hands at her lower back and brushing my lips everywhere they can reach, over and over, spreading the wealth of consistent tears over her neck and cheeks and shoulder.

"Are you going to say anything?" she asks.

"I love you...Tris." I say it with more intention than I've ever said in my life.

"Anything else?" she asks, begging for the answer to be 'no.'

"No."

"Thank you," she groans as her body fully relaxes into mine.

I hold her tightly, bound to me, until our bodies warm again, the shaking stops, and the tears dry up. And then there's nothing but her and I, teetering in our own briefly content version of limbo, a comfortable purgatory where none other is welcome apart from her and I.

* * *

 **AN:**

A lot of Tobias and Christina. They're just so much fun to write!

Something to keep in mind, as I've been combing through the questions I get on this story. Keep in mind that first person is always subject to opinion. Not one single character is right. We, as readers, aren't getting the full story...ever. For example, Christina. Is her assessment of how Tris feels about herself 100% accurate? Does Tris really not understand why Tobias loves her? Does Tris really look at herself and see "a small-town, uneducated, bartender, with a minimal artistic talent? It's the crux of a story consistently written without an all seeing eye. So, we get to pick through and piece together out best version of the story! Yay!

Also, I went through and blocked almost all people that were "following" the FB page. If you are truly interested, then "friend" the page or "like" the Fanpage. I'm blocking "followers" not because of the readers who are genuine, but for the creepers. These people can see all pics, posts, comments, do everything you all do, they just don't receive all of the notifications. It's like straight up voyeurism for creepy weirdos.

 **Thank you for the well thought out reviews! Wow, guys! I'm impressed by your insight more and more.**


	9. Pacify

**Chapter 9 –Pacify**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I wake up on my stomach, which feels undoubtedly strange because I almost always fall asleep on my side, or somehow tangled up with Tobias—except for this past week because I was avoiding his embrace. I think back to how many times I would have given anything just to hold his hand again. And now he's here, full bodied in the flesh, and I'm pushing him away because I'm stubborn and stupid. My nose tickles until suddenly it's gone and I feel a feather soft touch behind my ear. Dragging my eyes open to see what the hell it is, I lock my gaze with the penetrating stare of Tobias's deep, blue, quite soft, eyes.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Your crazy hairs were getting in the way of my view." His eyes move at a rapid pace between mine before they settle. "Morning, beautiful."

"Morning," I croak in detest of my morning voice.

He gets an amused look and then instantly furrows his eyebrows.

"What's wrong?" I inquire, bringing my hand up to rub my eyes.

"Um…nothing." He takes my hand before I can lay it back down, kisses my knuckles and cradles it into his chest.

I feel his heart beat against the back of my hand, and I swear it warms my soul.

"Why are you blushing?" he murmurs.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Well," I begin, knowing I'm about to say something embarrassing. "I like…to feel your heart beat. Sounds cornball, I know."

He grins, and I watch his pupils move all over my face as if he's mapping out every awful morning nuance that resides there. "If only I knew what cornball meant," he remarks, trying to sound serious. "Anyway..." He runs his thumb back and forth over my chin. "...I already knew that."

"Really?" I ask in slight disbelief seeing as we've never discussed it.

"You always rest your head, or, at the very least, your hand, right here. But, wait…"

I watch as he unthreads our fingers and lays my hand flat, right over his heart.

"…usually like this."

I feel the previously subtle beating of his heart pick up the pace marginally. I'm not sure if he even realizes how much I love that we seem to have that connection. No one makes me feel the way he does, and I don't think anyone ever could.

"I like to feel yours too, you know? Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" he chides softly.

I laugh lightly and move so I'm lying on my side, facing him. Then I take his hand and rest it over my heart. I feel the tips of his fingers brush over the hollow of my neck. And I don't know if he does it on purpose, but I feel his forearm brush over my breast and my nipples harden involuntarily. Him biting his bottom lip tells me he felt it, along with the slight acceleration of his heart. But before I can say anything, my eyes are drawn to the clock on his nightstand—9:17.

"Why aren't you at work?" I ask more sternly than I intended.

His quick change of expression tells me he's taken aback at my comment, or more likely my tone, but before I can explain myself, he speaks. "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

It's a legitimate reason, one that I would have most likely made myself, but…he shouldn't!

"I'm fine," I state, rolling on my back and shaking my head. "You should be at work."

"Well, I stayed up until 3:00 in the morning just to have five minutes with you, so forgive me for sleeping in."

I huff out a breath of frustration—not at him, at myself.

"You wouldn't _talk_ to me, Tris," he asserts with an edge to his voice.

I nod my head in agreement, even though, I can't possibly give him a _good_ reason why not. No matter what I would say, it will come out as some shitty cop out or excuse.

"I was…freaking out, a little. I had to just about _bury_ myself in work. Were you mad at me? _Are_ you mad at me? Or, do you just _not_ want to talk to… _me_ …about…it?"

Listening to his voice lose its edge at the end of his pleading sends a surge of guilt spilling through my veins. I, for the first time, am putting myself in his shoes. I was practically torturing him all week. I see him scrubbing at his face in irritation at himself, and it gets under my skin. _What the fuck are you doing, Tris?_

"That was a lot of questions. I'm sorry. You don't have to answer. I just, I, well, I should have gone to get your stitches out with you—"

"Um…Tobias," I interrupt before he can get out whatever crap he's concocted to somehow blame himself. "You weren't _seriously_ thinking about going to _Outpatient_ with me to watch a nurse go _snip, snip, snip_ , right?" I make a scissoring motion as simplistic as possible, which is totally inaccurate but necessary. "Not on your first day back at work in two damned weeks?"

"First, not foremost, but, first, I may not have been at the office, but I was, _indeed,_ working for the last two weeks. And honestly?... Well…no, going with you truly _didn't_ cross my mind, at the time," he mutters idiotically ashamed.

"Thank God," I sigh out.

I can't function knowing how much he worries about me. I'm allowed to worry about him because my brain is capable—he's Mr. One-track.

"But seeing as the outcome of that appointment was different, I wish I hadn't been such a selfish dick. Hey, and what's with the 'thank God'?"

"Well, first, also not foremost," I point out, mimicking his wording. "Because it didn't cross my mind to even ask you, so we're in the same boat. Also, I didn't…need you there, Tobias." _At least, not at first!_

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically.

"Fuck, I know you hate that. But, I don't think it's a bad thing— _not_ being 100% focused…on each other. You need a life…outside of this." I encircle my hands around the two of us, alluding to our dramatic relationship, as of late.

"I agree. But, I don't like that you never admit you just _may_ need me. I don't understand it. Why do you hate it that you're a priority to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because…just watching the _shit_ you went through for me…or for us to be…together. And I…" I trail off at a loss for words.

I want to tell him the amount of pressure I feel because of that. But I don't know what to attribute it to. _Why is that pressure?!_ I feel my bottom lip released from the confines of my teeth and then the salty taste left over from Tobias's fingertips where he had reached over blindly and pulled it free.

"For me. I did it for me. I know it may not seem like it, but the lengths I had to go to, in order to get the whole picture, the whole story—that wasn't a selfless thing. Tris, you would have, eventually, been _just fine_ without me—"

"That's total shit and you know it," I retort angrily.

"You don't need to live a life with Marcus in it, or Carlos or…many other things. Think about it! I never actually _got_ the full story. That showed up compliments of Kim Kang. Fuck, nothing is settled, yet, on that front. And, in full disclosure, I almost feel like my actions were selfish. I tried to figure everything out because I felt like _I_ couldn't…be without you."

We haven't spoken much about Marcus nor Carlos since the emails. Apparently, we're _way_ to focused on my bullshit. _Wait just a damned minute! Speaking of bullshit!_

"So, wait, what if Marcus comes marching through the door right now and threatens us with… _whatever._ You'd, you'd _TRY_ to break up with me _AGAIN?!"_ I ask with overstated emotion, the thought of him leaving again making my nauseous.

"Oh, fuck, no. You're completely stuck with me," he says lightly. "I truly _am_ too selfish."

I sigh in complete relief. But, a large part of me empathizes with his struggle. I've been questioning my own selflessness, or lack thereof, these days when it comes to him.

"But," he takes my hand and rolls onto his side to face me. "I'm worried that…if something else comes up, you won't…tell me. I know you're already holding back. I can see it in your eyes. You gave me the basics last night, and I know that was hard, but…"

I'm grateful for the brief pause as he tries to gather his thought, even though, there's no need—I already know where he's going with this.

"I mean, how do you _feel_ about the results?"

My mind starts humming with a thousand conflicting buzzwords—confused, at a loss, scared, dirty, weak, stupid, misunderstood, stuck in a glass box, chained to an Atom bomb, ridiculous, out of control, angry, lackluster—

"You mentioned… _limbo._ Can you…? Do you want to…elaborate?"

I prop myself on my elbow and look into his eyes that want nothing more than to understand me. But how do I explain something that I don't even understand?

"Do you—"

I lean in and slot my lips to his in the way that I know drives him crazy. It's our perfect fit, and I don't hold back as I demand immediate entrance into his mouth. The sudden stiff feeling of his lips and firm grip of his hand on my shoulder as he pushes me away does stifle my self-confidence, along with the hesitation on his face, but I need him in a way that goes beyond all emotion and thought, so I push him onto his back. He only stiffens for a moment before he lets me and I immediately crawl on top of him. I grab his hair by the roots and kiss him passionately, which he returns with equal passion as I feel my shirt pulled taught against my back from him gathering both sides with his fists, pulling me down onto him. Then he lets go and laughs lightly into my mouth, running his hands up and down my back softly.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Too rough." _Or, too damned soft!_

My hands are still tangled in his hair, so I rake my fingers through his scalp and beg entrance into his mouth again. He sighs from the feeling, and I do the same because I absolutely love kissing this man. I feel him pulse under me, so I grind on his shaft causing him to moan and then hold onto my hips tightly, stilling me.

"Tris, we should… Um…" I see his conflicted look, and I want to wipe it off his damned face.

But, instead, I use his pause as my in. And as much as it mentally pains me, I sit up and pull off my tank top making him immediately stop his attempt at words...and breathing. But I can only take so much of his penetrating stare before I lay myself flat on his chest. The feeling of his bare skin against mine puts me in a daze, and I can barely move as he swiftly wraps his arms around me and sucks in a breath, holding me close. My arms are caged at my sides, but I still have use of my lips, so they find his neck, kissing and tasting the skin they've missed so much.

I feel it in my bones, the sudden shift in his mood, followed by a groan from deep in his chest as he quickly but carefully flips us over and moves down taking one of my breasts in his mouth. I feel his rock hard erection rub up against my leg, and before I can change my mind, I'm sliding my hands under the waistline of his briefs and pulling them up over his hard on. He pulls back and looks at me briefly and questioningly as I kick them down his legs and wrap my right hand around him, stroking him fast. His helpless exhale and near whimper makes me feel much better as I relish in the fact that I still do have a little bit of power over him in this area. But then he groans again, and I start to get self-conscious because I think I heard some frustration. Until he urgently pulls my shorts and underwear down at the same time, kicking them off the same way I did his. I let go of his cock and grab the back of his neck, holding our relentless lips together while I lift my hips dying to make contact with him. Holy shit, he's hot and hard against me and the electricity I feel is almost unbearable.

"Fuck," he huffs as his hips snap up slightly. But then he jerks his neck back and looks at me softly. "I love you—"

"Love you too," I respond breathily while running my hands up his chest, threading my fingers around his neck, and pulling him down for more luscious kisses.

I open my legs for him as he hovers over me, kissing me way softer than I'm demanding, right now. I lift my hips trying to align us because all I really want at this moment is for him to be inside me. I can barely stand it! But he's somehow not getting the hint as he runs his hands up and down my side, slowly and carefully. Moving his head next to my ear, I can hear the deep hum of his voice as he speaks in soft tones, seemingly in total control. I feel soft lips on my neck, and cheeks and temple along with more mellow words that barely register.

"…haven't been like this for so long... Sorry, if I'm being a tease...but I kind of want to savor you."

I feel a warm wetness as he moves himself back and forth over me, and a sudden coolness between my legs _where…I'm…exposed…_

I look up into this distorted face in confusion. _Why is he being so nice to me?_

"But don't worry… We'll get there… At least, I know I will," he laughs. I look all around me as a flash akin to a camera startles me. _Why is he laughing when I'm lying here waiting for this to be over?_ I feel more confusing soft kisses down my neck as I squeeze my eyes shut. "I should take care of you, first. Okay?" I nod my head, not wanting to argue.

Then a probing pressure between my legs and I close my eyes like usual, trying to envision a more calming, romantic atmosphere. And then it stops.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

"Tris, we should… Um…" I don't know how to word this. She's is on top of me, and I can feel her warmth resting right on top of my dick. But, this was too fast. I know she's deflecting and… _her perfect tits are right there. Yep, just…there they are!_

But before I can even do anything with them she presses her glorious upper-half against me—skin on skin. It's as if my sexual impulses have been in the 'check' position and Tris just said 'check _mate_.' My cock took that metaphor quite literally and suddenly I'm on top of her, at the ready—having no interest in denying her anything…anymore…ever. I envelop her pink nipple fully into my mouth feeling the familiar shudder resonate through her body in reaction. I press myself closer to her, hoping to draw the same reaction out of her again. But, instead, she roughly urges my briefs off of me. I lift my hips because, well, I'm not going to… _stop…_ her but I really wanted to _revel_ in this— _Jesus, her hand…feels…so…mmmmmfucking…good._ Right at that moment I fully realize how wound up tight I've been for her—I could come right now if I'd let myself. _Well, that sure as shit isn't going to happen!_ Knowing I need to get to her as soon as possible, I pull her pajama shorts and panties off post haste, ready to bring her to orgasm literally by hand because, fuck, this will not last once I'm inside her. _Damn you, Tris Prior!_ Thank God, she lets go of me and kisses me frantically, instead. My need equal to hers, I try to meet her urgency, but I feel like I'm faltering. The softness of her center quickly meets the underside of my shaft as she lifts her hips.

"Fuck," I emit in frustration because the temptation is right there.

One thrust and I'd be homeward bound. I need to slow this down. I pull my neck back and look at her. I don't know if I'm making this up, but she looks, detached. _Does she need reassurance?_

"I love you—"

I don't even know if she responded nor if I actually got those words out because she is…making out with me like no tomorrow. And I'm all in! At least, I would be if I didn't feel her open her legs way too invitingly. I'm trying, with all of my might, to pretend she didn't because I really don't want this to be a quick fuck and then off to work I go. We have plenty of time for that in the future, but today will _not_ be that day, Tobias. _Concentrate on her. Talk to her!_

I withdraw my lips and move over to her ear, resting my forehead on the pillow. "I miss this, you know," I mutter hoping she understands me while I begin kissing her neck. "I probably should have mentioned that before. I just didn't know how." I don't expect her to answer because I have a feeling we've digressed in that area, but I'll be as patient as she wants.

Continuing my selfish pleasure of her soft skin against my lips, I suddenly feel the cool air hit the desire built up on the tip of my cock as I slide against her folds. _Is it just me or she usually more aroused? Am I imagining that? Jesus, get out of your head Tobias. Ha! No pun intended. Concentrate on her!_

She twitches a little, which makes me pause. _Was that good? Or bad?_

"Um, I feel like we haven't been like this for so long."

I sense her body deflate beneath me. _Not deflate, she relaxed. She just relaxed. Right?_

"Sorry, if I'm being a tease," I joke nervously. "But I kind of want to savor you."

 _And that's the God's honest truth!_ I hover over her, more fully ready to satisfy my oral explorations and hopefully satisfy _her_ in the process.

"But don't worry, we'll get there. At least, we know I will," I laugh. _"_ Sorry, I just have a feeling, for me, this'll be over before it begins."

 _You're babbling. You sound ridiculous! Overcompensating fool!_ I kiss down her neck, feeling like I'm doing everything wrong. But I look in her eyes and see her staring at me, almost curiously, as if she's anticipating my next move.

"Okay, well…um…" I press kisses onto her delectable neck and move my hand down her abdomen between her legs. "I should take care of you, first. Don't you think? Is that okay?"

She nods her head quickly, so my hand reaches for her equally as quickly. But…I stop my digits from entering her further. She isn't wet, her eyes are squeezed shut, and she's gripping the sheets.

"Tris?" I whisper as I immediately withdraw my fingers. "Babe?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just…" She sits up quickly and looks at me…in a way she has _never_ looked at me—scared and… _obedient?!_ "I'll… Next time, will be better."

I feel cold as ice as I sit back on my heels, nearly falling off the bed. Dizziness and blurriness combine as I steady myself and focus.

"Tr…" I can't even get her name out of my mouth as I turn and sit on the edge of the bed shaking my head to clear it. But all it does is make the ringing in my ears, that I didn't even know was there, become more like a gong.

I feel small arms cling to my shoulders and something that sounds like language or hysterics or something settling in my eardrums but then exploding like firecrackers. I jump up from the pain and land on my knees. The new excruciation is searing, but the ringing stops…so that's good. Silence pervades the room apart from the weeping noises to my left. I know it's Tris. I know she's crying. I know I should be comforting her.

"Did you think I was him?" A near robotic voice comes out of me.

I wait for an answer, but none comes.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

The familiar scent of Tobias and me that always seems to linger in the sheets snaps me back into reality. I watch his face, and he looks…stupefied. He scrambles backward as I grasp at straws. _What just happened? We were…together. I…_ My hand lands on my heart, and I can feel the racing that I've become to accustomed to—the result of fear. My greatest fear. _Oh, my God…._

"Tobias, Tobias, Tobias," I clamor over to the edge of the bed and wrap my arms around his strong shoulders as tightly as I can, pushing through the riddling ache in my side. "Please, please, please, don't…" I don't even know how to finish that sentence. "Please, look at me! Look at me! You didn't do anything wrong! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please—"

As if my presence is irrelevant he stands sharply, but his knees buckle before he can right himself, and he lands hard on the wood floor.

"Tobias…," I plead through weak tears and uncontrollable emotion that I don't deserve to be experiencing. I don't know what to do—sometimes he needs space, sometimes he doesn't. So all I can do is wait and _fuck_ I'm crying like a five-year-old!

"Did you think I was him?" His voice is trained, monotone and detached. It scares the shit out of me, and I don't know how to respond.

Did I think he was Eric? Not exactly. But, that _feeling,_ I had been running it through my mind the last couple days—the physical incarnation—

He stands and walks to the bathroom shutting the door behind him while I scramble after him, in a begging mess. "No, I didn't! I didn't, I didn't!" Then I slam into it, not expecting it to be locked. I stumble backward and hold in the stinging tears from the pain.

I hear the shower start, and it sets my nerves on edge, so I pound on the door with my fist throwing a near hysterical fit right outside the bathroom door.

"It wasn't him! You aren't him! Fuck! Tobias!...TOBIAS!"

A loud growl and an even louder crack and a crumble, and then another, makes me stagger backward, and a dizzying feeling overcomes me. _He's mad. He's so mad. He's really mad._

I run to the closet and dump my bag out, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and whatever shirt I can get my hands on. I see my running shoes are sitting right there so I pull them on, and bolt out the door before I can even register why. I make it down several flights of stairs before I have to stop because the sense of passing out that I'm quite familiar with is overtaking me. My heart is beating so fast that it hurts, so I push on it with the heel of my hands. It's some weird coping thing I do because, then, at least, the pressure makes sense seeing as _I'm_ the one physically inflicting it. _Jesus, I have control issues._

I continue to push on my heart as I jog down the stairs faster than I should. _Fuck, he's so mad. Was I scared? No. Yes. Am I scared of him? No. So why was I scared? I'm so fucked up!_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

The water blocks out Tris's frantic yelling. I feel a gut-wrenching, stabbing pain of guilt because _I'm_ putting her through this. But, I can't look at her right now—not without losing my mind, and that will help _neither_ of us.

 _I can't believe I didn't see it. How long was she feeling that way? How did I not know? The look on her face—I'll never forget it. Along with what she said—"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… next time will be better." Next time?! Next time…will be BETTER?_

I breathe through my nose to keep the vomit at bay as the myriad of reasons why she would ever feel the need to utter those sentiments accosts me. Deep down, I know it wasn't directed at me. It was at…him. She saw _him_ in me. She saw _him_ in me. No, Tobias. She doesn't feel that way. But her subconscious DOES? What the fuck?!

As if by instinct, my fist connects with the tile and I watch it crack and fall the floor. It felt amazing, so I do it again. Then I rest my head on the wall next to it, feeling the hot, stinging, effect of personal outrage seep from my eyes. I rub at them furiously, knowing very well that _I_ don't get to feel this way. She needs _me_ to be strong. _He_ was weak. I'm not going to be that for her.

Then I hear the blatant, loud, slam of something, and it scares the hell out of me. So I slide out of the shower leaving it on and run out into the apartment totally naked and not giving a shit.

"Tris?!" I storm from room to room and even scramble out to the balcony knowing I must be quite the sight to see right now.

Then I realize the slam must have been the door. _How hard did she slam it?!_ Running to the closet, I grab the closest pair of bottoms I can find along with a shirt, I slide on my running shoes and am out the door, bolting down the stairs.

 _Fuck, she couldn't have gone far. She's healing, but she's still injured. Why did she…? Well, could it be because you were punching tile walls, you fucking asshole?! I'm, yet again, questioning how wise it is for her to live with me! I can only imagine what kind of shit that brought to the surface. So, let's see Tobias… First, you may have very well reminded her of being sexually abused, and second, physically abused. You are a real class act!_

Before my thoughts can be further realized, I'm at the front desk.

"Did Tris come through here…uh…Steven?!"

"It's Stephen."

"Fan-fucking-TASTIC! Did Tris come through here?"

"Miss Prior?" he asks, like a dick. _Can Gertie hire anyone helpful?!_

"YES!"

"She did."

I can tell this guy is going to be a real challenge. The one-word answer type _. Fuck! He's me!_

"Which way did she go?"

"She took a rather perturbed left out the door, sir."

I make a break for the door, slamming into a tourist on my way out. I look left and squink my eyes. She couldn't have gone far, but I don't see her anywhere. So, I start a slow jog, my wet hair dripping down my face. Lake Street is jammed with traffic, so she probably didn't cross. _Fuck, she is NOWHERE!_ I take a left down the first alleyway I see and continue jogging. _This is pointless! Ridiculous, in fact. Yet, here I am jogging to nowhere because she could be ANYWHERE!_ I stop at the next street and look right and left at nothing…not a soul. But the one to the right looks inviting enough so take it until the next alleyway. It's dark, and the kind of alleyway people just don't— _What the hell?!_

I catch Tris running, yes, running, down the creepiest alley I've seen in this neighborhood.

"Tris!" I shout after her, even though, she makes not move to turn around. "Tris! Stop!"

I jog on toward her, but stopping still isn't at the top of her list. Although, strangely she's not speeding up.

"Tris! Jesus, stop!" _Fuck this!_

She's fast. But I'm REALLY fast.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 _My legs are burning. I need to work out again. You need to slow down! Nope. Can't. Where the hell are you going? The El. No Ventra card! You don't even have an apartment key! Maybe the front desk will help? Maybe you shouldn't go back!_

 _He's so mad. He punched a fucking hole in the tile! Twice? Three times? Does it matter? He is beyond angry. He should be angry! I'm angry! Why do I do this to him?! I've been so FUCKING worried about whether or not he still WANTS me that I've skirted around the whole issue!_

 _And… oh, God… I did exactly what I made him promise HE would never do again—I used him as a distraction! I'm such a hypocrite. I have problems. He doesn't need these problems._

 _He's punching holes in TILE! I never thought I'd influence someone enough to punch holes in porcelain!_

 _Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck—_

A rough pull from behind relieves all oxygen from my lungs, coupled by a tight grasp into someone's chest. This not being the first time I've been mugged, I freeze, knowing injuring him will only mean more danger for me.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" whispers the frustrated, gruff voice of…Tobias. I feel water droplets spill down my cheeks, and I slump in relief that it's him. But then I turn my head to look up into his red, livid face, and it immediately sets me off.

"GET OFF ME!"

He springs his arms open and steps back with his hands in the air, hopefully, knowing I will injure him if he doesn't back the fuck up.

I look around me seeing nothing but garbage cans and alley refuse _. I am…in an alley?_

"You don't grab a girl from behind in an alleyway, you bonehead!" I shriek, smacking him hard on the armed.

"Bonehead?! And…I've been…chasing you! Where are…you going? Didn't you…hear me? Fuck!" He hangs his head and balances his weight on his knees trying to catch his breath.

"No," I answer, suddenly feeling quite meek as I take in his swollen, red eyes, and hair that's still dripping wet from his shower.

"Do you even know where you are?" he asks as if he's at a loss.

"No, I just. I… I was in the stairwell, um…" I shake my head in disbelief that that is honestly the last memory I have of my whereabouts.

"You were just going to…leave? Just…fucking _LEAVE?!"_

"I didn't know…what to do. I don't know…what to… You were mad and…and…um…I'm pretty sure it's my fault. And you locked me out, and you were punching walls, and you like your space, so I was giving you space, and you were mad so I—"

"I'm not MAD AT YOU! STOP BLAMING YOURSELF! What the FUCK?!" he shouts as he walks several steps in the other direction.

"You're YELLING at me in an alley, TOBIAS! You are definitely MAD AT ME!" I scream back.

This seems to put him back on track as he joins me on this planet. "I'm… I shouldn't be yelling…at all." He turns and walks the few steps back toward me. "There is not an ounce of me that is… _mad_ at you. I'm frustrated that you left—"

"You were punching walls! Tile…walls," I add.

"Were you…? Did I scare you—"

"Of course, you scared me, you ass! Anyone in their right mind would be scared if they heard their boyfriend, who they know has a rather volatile temper, torturing himself behind a locked door!"

"I would never—"

"If you utter the words "I would never hurt you," then I will hurt YOU!" I push on his shoulder, which is ridiculous because he just brushes my hand away as if it were a fly. "Because I know you… _never_ … _ever_ …would! And I'm tired of the redundancy of that sentiment, so remove it from your very extensive vocabulary!" Now I realize I'm the one pacing in circles and yelling. It's actually very calming, and I now realize why he does it so often.

"Can you tell me what you were thinking?... Hey, stop." He grabs my wrist when I make round three and holds both of my shoulders evenly. "You looked at me…like I was… You've never… Even the first night we met, we made eye contact, and you didn't know who the hell I was, but, even then, you didn't look at me like _that._ " He stops and kicks his toe on the ground, still holding me by the shoulders. "But, just now, when I…um…stopped…you looked—"

"Dead."

He purses his lips, thinking about my description. "Well, I wouldn't say that, but—"

"Well, that's how he made me feel." I shrug not knowing how to explain it any better.

"And then… _I_ made you feel…" He doesn't finish the sentence, and I look up at him realizing he probably _can't._

"No, you didn't. It wasn't you. Tobias, you have to believe me…please. Nothing you did… Fuck! How do I explain this?"

I reach forward to rest my fingers on the side of his face. It's an interesting dynamic. He's holding me at arms' length tightly, refusing to look at me, and I'm straining to pull him closer so he'll see me.

"It was absolutely nothing you did! And I didn't even see _him,_ necessarily. I just…froze and please, please believe me. You have to! You…have to."

He clears his throat and giving me a fleeting glance, letting my shoulders go.

"Come on," he tilts he head back down the alley. "Let's go back. We look homeless."

I drag my eyes over what he's wearing—a worn hoodie sweatshirt, wrinkled dress pants, and running shoes. And then myself—sweats, and one of Tobias's T-shirts. And if my face looks anything like his…yeah, we should go back.

I grab his wrist and forearm as he goes to walk away. "Hey, are we okay?"

"Yeah."

"Don't…lie to me." I stop in my tracks, still gripping his forearm.

"We're good. We are. I just…" I observe him anxiously scratching the back of his head, looking over his shoulder at me, but not making eye contact. "Can you give me some time to process this? That's not a bad thing. It's not—"

"Sure," I mumble, dropping his hand.

He turns and sighs, taking my fingers and twisting them back and forth. "You may need some time, as well."

"I guess." I toe a piece of soaked newspaper back and forth thinking about how little processing I'm actually going to be doing.

"Soooo…," he pulls me walking backward. "I'm going to attempt to make you breakfast."

"What about work?"

"You should be checked in with your brother if you think I'm going into work today," he says as he pulls me closer to him, still walking backward.

"You can't do that," I respond as I do my best to stop his movement.

"Make brother jokes? You do it all the time."

I think about how that _was_ kind of a dick move and even more of a dick move that it didn't faze me. "Well, yes, technically you shouldn't do that either. But, I'm equally as insensitive as you, so, it's fine. But, no, you need to go to work."

I'm pulled off balance and wrapped tightly in Tobias's arm. I feel his mouth in my hair as he talks to me. "Do you know how much you hate it when I say what _you_ need to do?"

"Yes," I answer even though my mouth is muffled by his bicep.

"Just checking."

* * *

Tobias is being overly conscious and unreasonably quiet. It's like he's on high alert—he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, and it's fucking unnerving! I'm also still reeling from this morning—reeling from guilt and worry that Tobias won't move on. We need to talk about it. _I don't want to fucking talk about it!_ _Now concentrate!_

I have every plan of all six of the houses I'm working on laid out in front of me on the coffee table. But the postage stamp icon on my tablet representing my email account is distracting me beyond imagination. I've been stuck in waiting-mode since I emailed Dalilah. It's the first time I've tried contacting her since…the…hospital.

 _Maybe I shouldn't have emailed? Should I have called? If I don't hear from her by the end of the day, I'll call. Or I'll stop in on Monday? I was planning to see Caleb on Monday! I could double-up. Caleb and then Dalilah? Will he want to see me? I'll bust in if I have to! Or would that be a horrific idea? I'll call! Maybe he'll want to talk to me again? God, I hope so…_

I glance up at my ridiculously handsome boyfriend. He's wearing his glasses that make me ache for him. Despite the humiliating events of this morning, I still want this man. But this is the first time he's been at ease, and I'm not about to interrupt. Aside from his non-verbal hovering, today has been surprisingly really nice—both of us just _being._ _But, at the same time, he shouldn't be here at all, so, what the fuck?!_

I push that thought aside seeing as it's worthless to ponder it. Instead, I go back to my observations. Tobias is currently examining some sketch with penetrating eyes, going back and forth between the hard copy and his laptop. _What is that program? Auto Cat? Can? Shit, I should know this._ I've been memorizing how he works. When he's stuck or displeased, he runs his hands through his hair, vigorously erases whatever the hell he wrote and then zones in again. This process continues near-fanatically until, finally, he approves of his idea. Then he puts his mechanical pencil in his mouth and grabs his red fine-tipped marker from behind his ear, thus solidifying his decision. He sits back and crosses his arms, gets an unintentional shit-eating grin on his face, scowls and then moves on.

The swooshing of an email message catches my renewed attention, so I open it instantly. It's just Amar. _Damn!_

 _Tris,_

 _Care to have a rendezvous with me on Monday? A luncheon—12:00? I would like to review the progress you've been making on our rehabs. Matthew informed me you were at one of our job sites, inspecting our reclaimed goods. I can't tell you how much that pleases me that you would take such a vested interest. I would love to discuss some of your ideas for how to better our venture. I will, of course, be extending the invitation to my partner, as well. Unless you object to his presence._

 _Amar Ghadi_

 _Co-president and CEO, ALG Architects, Inc._

I laugh under my breath at his insinuation that I would object to Tobias coming to that meeting. I'm actually super pumped!

"Something funny?" Tobias murmurs without looking up from what he's doing.

"Your partner just asked my permission for you to attend a lunch meeting with him and me."

"Makes sense," he responds with seeming disinterest.

"Well, don't feel obligated."

"But I am a professional, it is partly my firm, so I am, in fact, obligated. He, literally, needs my stamp of approval when it's all said and done, so, it only _makes…sense_."

"Well, then, _literally,_ don't show up til the end." _Did I use the term "literally" in the most annoying tone possible to shove the most overused word of the millennial generation in his face just to piss him off? YES!_

"Prior, you have mistaken my tone. Please, hold your tongue, because I'm incapable of multi-tasking when I'm in work mode."

"This is how you talk at work?" _And it all comes together…_

"Mmm hmm."

"No wonder people think you're a dick," I laugh and look back down at the six sets of confusion I have in front of me.

"Babe, you are one of a kind. Now rest…your…vocal…chords."

"Those are your words, not mine. I find you quite lovable."

"And I, you, shocking as it is. Now, shh."

 _Ugh, fine…_ I sigh out a deep breath purposely trying to be a bit annoying as Tobias shakes his head. Then I look down at the English Style home I had started the other day. I find myself at a total and complete loss with this one. There was never a single home in Kittridge that was this style so I can only rely on a web search, seeing as I'm too apprehensive about asking for an actual tour. I really want to keep the inherent qualities of the homes. _Fuck, I'm in way too deep, aren't I? I know nothing about this shit! All I have are bullshit ideas—_

"So, the truth of the matter is," Tobias interrupts as he kisses me on the top of my head, but then moves to the Heffner chair. "I have intense interest in what you're doing, and frankly I'm a little jealous I'm not involved."

"Well, you _could_ be involved. I…never thought to ask. Amar—"

"Prefers me _not_ to be too entangled," he comments looking toward the balcony. "He doesn't think I'll be honest if your ideas suck ass."

"Well, my ideas _don't_ suck ass, so…no worries. Come to the meeting."

Furrowing his eyebrows, he turns the chair to look at me. "You know how you have your favorite version of me?"

"The one no one gets to see? Yes, I'm quite attached."

"Well, _confident_ Tris is my favorite version of you. So, thank you for letting her out of her caged existence."

I stare at him seeing as I have no interest in commenting.

"Proceed."

"Well, I want to check with _you,_ or apparently Amar, to see if I could get my hands on the reclaimed trim and molding from the Damen project for the Old Victorian and whatever brick can be salvaged from the fireplace they uncovered for the Boarding House. And…" I look down at my notes about the crappy barn house. "…I don't know how hard it would be to get, but maybe some barn wood for the interior of the Barn House. They fucked that place up so bad. I mean…"

I feel his penetrating stare, but I don't return it. I just stop, resting my head in my hands. "Damn it. I'm in over my head, aren't I?"

"Well, you dove in head first, so that is usually the outcome."

"I have six houses in front of me!" I exalt as the idiocy of my process rears its head.

"Cut that number in half or you'll be worthless," he responds, frankly.

"You think?"

"I… _know_."

 _Okay, English Style—out. 1960s retro—out. Craftsman—out. Or maybe I should scratch the Barn House—_

"Hey, how did you know about the reclaimed pieces from the Damen project?" _Oh…shit…_

"I…called…Matthew…," I say slowly.

I gather enough courage to look at him, and I see exactly what I had hoped to avoid. Hurt. Hurt he's trying to hide. "You…called…Matthew...and…not…me."

"Tobias, this is your first week back. You're busy," I explain.

"Never too busy for you."

"You're important. You don't need to be at a job site for an old rehab, just to help me look through reclaimed goods."

"I am no more important than anyone else."

"Keep tellin' yourself that." I add a nice eye roll in there as I cross my arms and lean back on the couch. "You're so damned modest. It's actually infuriating. I mean, Matthew told me how much he idolizes you and, well…anyway… You know, it's okay for you to, at least, let _me_ be proud of you—"

"I hate it."

I was expecting an interruption, but not… _that._ "Hate what?"

"I can only assume you don't know this, but…" He twists back and forth in his chair looking more out the window than at me. "…Matthew used to come into work and…well, he'd never say it to me, but, he would talk about you with the other employees."

He's stuck in thought for long enough for me to close my eyes and put myself in his torturous shoes.

"About things…that I didn't even know about you. Like, you used to work at Susan's parents' gas station. I know it's stupid and irrelevant, but I fucking _hated_ that he was getting to know a part of you that I never got the chance to. He was able to talk to you, have coffee with you, laugh with you. He called you his 'lady friend.'"

 _God, that is so Matthew._

"Which, when I look back on it now, it's a fairly ambiguous term, but at the time, it meant a hell of a lot more…to me."

"We didn't date," I huff out in explanation and just plain guilt.

"But…" He turns in his chair to look at me. "I _thought_ …you did. And it was brutal because I couldn't fathom being with anyone else, and here you were, or here I thought you were, with Matthew. So, whenever I think of you two spending time together, the agony smacks me in the face. It also doesn't help that he still has blatant affections for you."

"He doesn't," I say semi-sincerely.

"You're not an easy one to get over. He does."

"Well, there's nothing to get over because he was never…under."

"Poor wording."

"Yeah…" I recoil at my own verbiage. "Sorry. I just meant—"

"I actually thought you…did…much more than date."

I get the feeling he has something he needs to get off his chest so I don't bother responding to that.

"I called your landline."

I run the reasons he would do that through my mind, but nothing comes up.

"Fuck, I just, I just wanted to hear your voice," he stutters.

And now I understand it. The amount of times I laid awake, just waiting for a possible phone call or text—knowing it would end badly, but just wanted to savor the deep soothing tones of his voice.

"And he answered."

My mouth dries up as the exact moment he's referring to play in front of me on the big screen. I can actually taste the toothpaste in my mouth as I laughed at Matthew's phone antics. _I was…Tobias. Oh…no…_

I find myself on his lap, resting my head on his shoulder before I even make the decision to do it.

"I'm so sorry." I turn my head to kiss his neck and talk to him softly. "That was you?"

I feel him swallow and nod his head.

"Well…" I take his hand and link our fingers. "…that was also the morning I told him I was still in love with you, so—"

"And then you kissed him." _Oh, damn…_

"He told you that?"

"Why would you do that?" he mumbles as if he'd been running those words over and over in his head. It almost sounds like he's addressing an imaginary version of me. It reminds me of the amount of times I would talk and yell at an imaginary Tobias. "I have no reason to be angry. It's just selfishly frustrating."

"I…I wanted to make sure there was no spark."

"Was there?"

I smile slightly as one of my favorite moments ever comes forth—the first time I kissed Tobias.

"How did it feel when _we_ kissed for the first time?" I ask quietly as I have honest to goodness flashbacks—surprising currents of soft warmth traveling through my body, wandering hands, a semi-insatiable need and just pure…connection.

"You know," he deadpans, apparently sensing the replay in my head.

"I did _not_ feel that with him. At all. I actually cried after he left."

"Why?"

"Because I gave in. In my mind, that sealed the deal. _You_ were the only person I ever _wanted_ to have that…moment with. I knew I'd never have it with anyone else because I didn't want it enough. I only wanted it with you, that connection."

The word _connection_ sets off a particularly loud alarm in my head coupled with the very detailed memory of the shy smile on Tobias's face, him gripping another's hips and the slow movement of his mouth against someone else's. The fact that I got to witness that is maddening.

"Can we _not_ talk about making out with other people? Because, well, you put on a pretty convincing show…"

I see his mouth open and close twice before he actually speaks. "That morning was all an act—"

"But the night before wasn't. Am I right?"

I again, think of how he supposedly lured that girl up to this very apartment. I can practically see the two of them spilling through the door, ripping each other's clothes off.

"So, yeah, um…" I hop off his lap, and he sighs deeply.

"Tris, please—"

"Now, please come and take a look!" I say with completely false cheer, but trying so hard to change this heinous subject.

He runs his hands down his face and glances down at my notes before standing and strolling to the kitchen table. "Can't."

"Why?"

He seats himself and puts on his glasses, grabbing his red marker and pencil. "Well, to be candid…" he squinks at his computer screen. "…your chicken scratches cause me anxiety and I need to keep my cool for the sake of this project…in front of me…right now."

"You don't like my handwriting?" I ask appraising it from an outsider's perspective.

"Not when you write like a psychopath."

The myriad of hieroglyphics, curses, doodling, and rapid-fire script is…frightening.

* * *

Looking in the mirror of my locker in the back room, I line the inside of my eyes hoping to make them "pop," as Christina says. They are pretty damned swollen from crying on the walk here.

"What's up, buttercup?" Christina chirps as she skips behind me and plops down on the bench.

"Nothing."

"Lies, lies, lies. Always fibbin' these days, Trissy!"

I don't respond. Instead, I end up just about stabbing myself in the eye with the pencil as it slips past a tear.

"Fuck!"

I bend down to pick it up, but Christina beats me to it.

"Allow me," she offers as I nod my head knowing I would rather not look like a gothic teen tonight.

"Did you tell him?" she asks as she pulls a tissue out of thin air and dabs under my eyes. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a half-hour and some cucumbers."

"Yes. And I have no fuckin clue what that means."

"So, what did he say?" She dabs a bit of concealer that appeared as magically as the tissue under my eyes.

"He said he loved me."

She backs up and rolls her eyes. "That's it? That is so 'Four.' Ugh!"

"That's all I _needed_ ," I grunt defensively.

"Oh. Hmmph, well, fine then," she shrugs. "I was just expecting something more climactic."

We both pause and start laughing at her wording, and I'm thankful that she quickly pulls away before she gauges me with eyeliner.

"I, actually, didn't mean it that way! But, I wish I had. Damn! I'm losing my touch!"

I continue to laugh, as the memory of this morning comes back to me—again. The look on his face, the way his knees hit the floor, the cracking of the tile in his bathroom, chasing me down a fucking alley. _Jesus!_

"Here, crazy pants."

I feel a tissue being shoved into my hands and I realize I had been doing the classic laugh-cry of insanity. Christina seats herself on the bench and, for once, waits patiently for me to 'spill.'

"He tried to talk to me about it this morning." I sit next to her, defeated. "But, I…cut him off."

"Ah…the 'ole Prior deflection!"

"Yeah, as in the _ultimate_ deflection," I whine in shame.

"What's the ultimate deflect—Ohhhhhh!" It all seems to click in her mind—the classic woman's trump card. Sex. "Well…did it…work out in your favor? Or, well, ya know, guys have it easy, so…at least, in his favor—"

"Imagine the _least_ favorable outcome."

"You mean, besides the obvious blue balls? And, Lordy, I've heard that shit can be painful, I mean, as in, _real_ pain, for guys. For us, it's just plain sexual frustration! Like, God-how-did-you- _not-_ make-me-come frustration, ya know? But, for dudes, I don't know... Maybe I'm misinformed—"

"May I speak?"

"Haha! Yeah."

I can see we are on two completely opposite playing fields, and part of me is tempted to stay on hers. But, I really do miss using her as a sounding board, and I need to be able to explain this to someone!

"So, I've been…um, pretty obsessive this week," I begin. "Running that morning…um, the attack…Eric, over and over in my head—"

"Why? Why? No, no, no! What good is that going to do you, babe?" she asks wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

"Chris…" I shrug away her attempt at consolation. "I don't know…if I was raped or not! That feeling…is… _unbearable._ I can't even get a handle on it!" The beyond wide-eyed look I'm getting from her is surprisingly satisfying. "The unknown is…fucking _debilitating._ When I think about…what happened…or what may have happened, I feel like I can't breathe. The not knowing if he…if he…was…" I wipe away the heated tears from my face. "It's the…grossest feeling. If I _knew_ it happened…I think I could deal. I would have to deal with it! But, this? Not remembering… What if I…participated—"

"Tris, no way. Do not even think that for one second—"

"Or…went along with it! Did nothing?! You can't _possibly_ tell me that doesn't sound like something I would do! Ya know why? Because I've done it! But, Jesus Christ, at least, before…back in fucking Kittridge, I knew. I walked right on in! May as well have spread my legs right there! But this… I didn't walk in! He FUCKING walked in! I can't…"

I feel Christina grab my hands and hold them tightly, the skin on my arms burning from my incessant rubbing and scratching.

"And I'm bringing Tobias right down with me!"

"Tris, talk to him… Well, maybe leave the spread your legs part out. But—"

"No, no, no, no, no…no. _Especially_ not after this morning."

"Are you gonna fill me in on this morning?"

I let out a semi-maniacal laugh in remembrance of how stupid I was. "I froze, and he freaked."

"He was… _mad_ at you? Well, that's some real shit—"

"Not that kind of freak."

Something must click in her mind because a look overtakes her face, something like empathy. She gets it. She gets him.

"Well, did you tell him it wasn't…his…?"

"His fault? Of course, I did! But he doesn't hear it. He'll never hear it."

"Tris, you can't keep going on like this. And if you do, you're right. You _will_ bring him down with you. And you know damned well he'll go…readily."

"I don't know what to do."

She sighs and pulls her purse out of her locker. "You're gonna hate me for this. But tough shit! I've been waiting for the right moment, and you just gave me the jackpot of moments." She shoves a white business card at me. "A girl in my class gave me this guy's card."

"You were _talking_ about me to your damned classmates—"

"No! I would never do that to you! Now listen." She grabs my shoulders and turns me roughly to face her. "There was some guest speaker in her upper-level psych class. He handed his card out to everyone, saying he's looking for pro-bono work. Supposedly, he deals with people who have experienced abuse."

"Supposedly? Sounds great—"

"But you have to agree to be part of an anonymous case study."

I slump my shoulders and laugh at how fucking cliché and bullshit that is.

"Please, give it a try. It's not funny. Shit! Do it for Four. Fuck! And for me!"

"Isn't the rule, like, I'm supposed to be doing this for _me?_ " I drole skeptically.

"Shit! Is it?! Then, yes, definitely do it for you."

"Christina, Tris! Shall I send the damned customers to you?!" Tori shouts from the front.

"Okay, um. Fix your face," she gives me the "sheesh" look and scurries out front.

"Awesome," I sigh to myself looking down at the card before throwing it in my locker.

 _Fucking psych class free handouts?! Seriously?!_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Seeing as I have had a sufficient amount of time to think about this, I'm feeling so much…not at all better. I have been more or less pretending to be fine, burying myself in work, trying to show Tris as much love and affection as possible without making her uncomfortable while also not making me seem overbearing.

Overall, we had a good day—just the two of us, both working quietly. But, the nervous glances she kept giving me were igniting my anxiety about this whole issue. It was a day of ups and downs, one minute we were joking and everything was normal, the next we are both quiet and unsure of what to say.

I know what I _want_ to say. I want to talk about it! To find out what I did wrong! Or where I went wrong! I want to know what…or God forbid _who…_ she saw when she looked at me! I want specifics, so that I can rationalize them! _I want, I want, I want! Apparently, it's all about me!_

I sat on the bed and moped like a little bitch as she got ready for work. I really wanted her to stay home, but I knew she couldn't. It's a Friday night, and she can't leave Christina by herself. I was equally as unhappy with what she was wearing—tight, high-waisted white jeans with a sleeveless black turtleneck shirt thing that hugs her boobs perfectly. Too perfectly! I love that she doesn't wear padded bras, but it's a double-edged sword because what _I_ LOVE to admire and exploit…every other dude now gets to love and admire as well. Plus, the bottom of the shirt, lined up with the waistline of her pants perfectly. Again, too perfectly! That shirt's gonna ride up each time she…does anything!

Grumbling to myself, I shuffle to the kitchen grabbing beer number three out of the fridge. Then with my beverage in one hand, and the remote in the other, I lay myself out on the couch.

 _This sucks!_ _What the hell did I do on Friday nights before Tris? I would go out. Or, I would stay in. But, usually, I would go out. That's how I met Tris. Will wanted to cuddle up to a hot bartender…on a Friday night. I want to cuddle up to a hot bartender on a Friday night! I am going to cuddle up to a hot bartender on a Friday night!_

I pull my phone out of my pocket and text the only man who understands the agony of having a hot bartender for a girlfriend.

 **Me:** Voyeurism?

 **Will:** ½ hour.

 **Will:** 45 minutes. Gotta iron my jeans.

"Yes!" I whisper, pushing myself up off the couch heading straight to my closet where I pull out a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.

 _Or should I wear dress pants? Shit! I never know with this place. It's classy but not ridiculous. Ok. Jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket? Or jeans, a button down and a jacket? No jacket?_

My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

 **Will:** What are you wearing?

 **Me:** Can't decide.

 **Will:** Do these pants looks weird?

A picture comes through of Will trying to look casual standing in front of his mirror with a dark blue collared shirt and black pants. _Now, I'm not a fashion guru, but…_

 **Me:** Yes. They're pleated.

 **Will:** That's just how they iron them at the drycleaners.

 **Me:** It's a pleat. Donate them.

 **Will:** Are they Dad pants?

 **Will:** Have I been wearing Dad pants?!

 **Me:** What the fuck are you talking about?

 **Will:** Multiple pleats around the belt line. #suburbandad #livingthedream

 **Me:** Stop hashtagging.

"Fuckin' Dad pants bullshit," I mumble as I pull on my jeans and stare at my other options.

I decide to wear a black T-shirt and… _Damn it!_

 **Me:** Jacket or no jacket?

 **Will:** Send me a pic.

"Okay, so this shit's happening."

I grab a black suit coat and stand in my most flattering and least awkward pose in front of my mirror taking the picture and sending it to Will.

 **Will:** Mmmm.

 **Will:** I'm thinking.

 **Will:** Chris says black on black is "in." But, I'm not so sure. I'm not a risk-taker.

"Fuck. Am I a risk taker?" I ask myself

 **Me:** Wait! I have an idea.

I pull a black more casual coat out of my closet and replace the jacket with it. This time, I take a picture with a more confident face before I send it.

 **Will:** Much better. Still black on black, but not black black, ya know?

 **Me:** Not too casual?

 **Will:** You look perfect.

 **Me:** Thx.

* * *

I'm four beers and a protein bar deep, so driving didn't seem awesome, the bus would take ages, and I refuse to pay for a cab. I'm only five blocks away! Although, walking home is not advisable after the hours of a certain amount of hours. But, I'll have Tris as my escort. Or she'll have me as _her_ escort. She's tough. We can tag-team any assfucks who get in our way.

"William!" I yell as I cross the street catching sight of him.

"Tobias!" he yells back and then busts up laughing like that shit is okay with me. "I've wanted to say that for weeks! How'd I do, pal?"

"Terrible." I arrive giving him a side hug.

"Yeah, it _sounded_ terrible. Your name does not roll well off my tongue."

"And I am fine with that."

"You ready for this? Kickin' some ass and takin' some names?!" he suggests, bouncing around like a boxer.

"Are you drunk?"

"Three beers and a Luna Bar."

"Aren't those for women?"

"They're delicious, okay? Christina buys them."

"Did she buy the…ones in your pantry?"

"No."

I have to hold back a laugh as we enter and Will mutters something unimportant under his breath. Until my face slams into something soft and doughy and I spring back just about taking Will with me. I shake my slightly dizzy head and look up into the feigning toughness expression of Al. But before I can react his eyes turn instantly wide.

"Oh, uh, yeah, Four. Uh… Uh… Uh…"

We stand there while Al…says…nothing.

"May we enter?" I ask patiently.

"On a Friday?"

"It would seem so, yes."

"Well, just remember. I'm here!" he announces puffing out his chest. "I can do my _own_ job."

"I have no doubt. Will, no kickin' asses and no takin' names," I say sternly and sarcastically, knowing Al will pick up on neither.

"Yes, sir."

Al points his fat finger right at Will. "I'm serious."

"I can see that."

We get the token chest puff and arms cross before we are 'allowed' entrance. "Okay, you can go."

"Thanks, Albert," I respond slapping him on the back in passing.

"Hey, how'd you know that's my name?"

"Lucky guess!" I yell over my shoulder.

"He totally looks like an Albert," Will agrees.

"Absolutely."

Before we even have the chance to laugh at how funny we are, we are halted by an insanely packed bar. I swear every shithead in Chicago is here. I see a flash of blond hair move swiftly from one end of the bar to the next and I weave my head and stand on my toes to get a glimpse of her again.

"Oh, God. Oh, no," Will groans as he covers his ears.

"What?"

"That song! I can't fucking take it!"

I strain my ears to hear it, but every jackass in the bar is making punching motions and swaying their hands...both hands! And singing. But… _not…_ singing. They basically look like their having mild seizures…like, purposeful mild seizures.

"Come on, ya pussy." I drag Will with me through the noxious crowd of yelling fools. _What are they saying? Whip? Nae…nae? I've never been one to give a shit about lyrics, but that just can't be right._

I look behind me to see Will as he just about trips over someone moving their leg as if it had a mind of its own. This person is literally talking to their leg!

"Fuck you and your stanky leg!" He grits as he hops on one foot.

"How drunk are you? What the fuck is a stanky leg?!"

"It's the lyrics."

"Okay, dumbass. Let's just get to the bar."

I shake my head wishing I were as drunk as Will as I pull him along. It isn't until I realize we're holding hands that I stop and pull him by his collar toward two guys who are about to get their asses kicked out of bar stools.

Before we get too close Christina leans in to address them. "Told ya I could get her to dance!"

"And we appreciate it!" the guy on the right lifts his drinks in cheers.

"Now where's my money?!" Christina asks putting her palm up.

"Ya gonna give her half?" The other guy joins in the jerkshow as he cranes his neck looking at… _Tris._

"Are you kidding? This is our little secret. Anyway, she doesn't dance for money. This isn't that kind of place."

I sense Will shift uneasily next to me as I bite the fuck out of inner cheeks. Tris is facing away from us and pouring about 10 shots. I'm momentarily mesmerized as her upper half doesn't move one bit but her lower half is doing some weird knees in and out thing. _Something about breaking legs? I just don't get it—_

"With an ass like that, she _could_ dance for money."

"Yep! My girl does have an excellent tush—"

"Talk about my girlfriend's ass like that again and I'll _break_ … _your_ fucking legs," I growl in between the two assholes as I give Christina a thoroughly murderous glare.

"Sorry, man. We were just…"

"You're in our seats," I growl not breaking my Mexican stand-off with Christina the terrible, horrible, good-for-nothing friend.

"Drinks on me, guys," she offers as a parting gift, moving her eyes away from me while providing a very flirty smile to the assholes.

"Thanks! Christina was it?" one of the deadbeats asks snidely.

"Yeah," she squeaks as she seems to have _just_ noticed Will's presence.

I look at Will, who is shooting her an even more murderous glare than me, as we move into the bar stools. Christina turns and grabs two rocks glasses, filling them generously with Jack and adding a bit of Coke.

"I'm sorry. Drinks on me?" she repeats in the same tone she used with the previous occupants, trying to make light of her being a fucking dumbass.

"Your damned right," I respond.

She walks away and taps Tris on the shoulder tilting her head in our direction. I watch my girlfriend's face momentarily light up, but then it fades, and she looks down at her drink. But then I'm reassured as she turns her head again, (like a rebound! I love it!) and smiles at me—the smile that reaches her eyes.

"I don't know why Chris does that shit," Will interrupts my moment. "I'm sorry—"

"That's how they make their money," I state as I knock back a goof portion of my drink.

"So, you're not mad—"

"No, I'm mad."

"Okay."

I observe Tris intently as she passes the drinks to the two girls, nods her head and runs their card. I can't help but check out her ass because those pants _… Oh, those pants…_

"Yeah, I told her capris are sooo out…But ya know, bruises and all."

I turn my head slowly to see Christina the worst leaning casually on the bar, addressing…me.

"Anyway, I suppose with those heels it's okay. Plus they're high-waisted and make her look curvy. Anyway, she won't listen to me… WHY are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I'm in disbelief."

"What?! I said, 'I'm sorry!'"

"Number one, let's, for arguments sake, say you are truly sorry for accepting money from customers so they can check out your friend, and even more unbelievable, that I forgive you. Number two, you just made a snide comment about a girl's fashion sense and made light of the toll a brutal attack has taken on her body. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Okay, Four, she gets it."

I watch Christina take a glance at Will and I don't know what kind of look he gives her—I can only assume it's one of shame because she looks away and moves on to the next customer. I catch a side view of her wiping under her eyes.

"You made my girlfriend cry."

"Sorry," I respond, although, I'm not.

"Well, it's nothing I wouldn't have said to her in private. Should I have…like…defended her?"

"I don't know."

"I'm sure I'll find out later."

"Hi," Tris appears in front of us looking so Tris.

"Hi, beautiful." I lean in for a kiss and she hesitates at first but then shrugs her shoulders and props herself up on her palms.

I'm fully aware she can't meet me half-way unless she climbs up onto the counter top. Part of me wishes she would. She has before! But then her sweet lips meet mine, and I suddenly have no problem with the 70% I have to lean in. It's not even really a kiss. It's more of a meeting of our mouths until she smiles and moves her lips in greeting, sliding them slowly against mine.

"What are you doing here?" she asks so damned cutely. I can hear the smile in her voice, even though, we're kissing and my eyes are closed because I'm imagining my hands are on her ass.

"I missed you," I respond honestly, leaving a sweet kiss on her cheek and sitting back down.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Seeing Tobias suddenly at the bar, warmed me to the core, but then an instant flash of this morning quenched my body temperature. Still, I'm happy to see him. And, that not-long-enough, teasing kiss made me blush, and I don't think it's gone away. It's been two hours since he and Will got here and he hasn't had a heart attack, yet; Even when I was getting limes thrown at my back from a group of guys trying to get my attention. I just shook my head at him with a glare before he even had time to push his barstool away. It was also great to see him relax with Will. The two of them have definitely found each other to be rather entertaining tonight. Some of the shit they say…I need to get it on video.

"Beatrice! Ey-oh!"

I turn and gawk at Will with eyes bugging out of my head. "Don't…call me that! Ever! Yuck!" I grab a handful of ice and throw it at my drunk boyfriend. "What the hell…TOBIAS!"

"I did not tell him!"

"I did!" Christina cheers.

"Beatrice and Tobias!" Will doubles over in laughter. "I love it!"

"It sounds stupid when you say it," Tobias adds.

"Yes, it was made clear to me that the name…To-bi-as…does not roll of my tongue…at all. And Tris, yours is just…awful."

"Will gets real honest when he drinks, Tris," Christina comments popping a cherry in her mouth seductively. "Plus, only my name should roll off your tongue…along with other things…"

Tobias and I glance at each other, and I know memories of this morning come back for both of us. He blames himself. _How do I get him to believe that I'm fine and that none of this reflects him? He's not Eric! How do I make him see that? He has to hate this so much. And the whole blue balls of pain thing…_

I glance at him and see him staring at me with questioning eyes. I take a moment and focus on them before looking down the bar. It has gotten surprisingly quiet in the last half-hour—hopefully, not the calm before the storm, but, either way.

"Chris, can you handle things for about ten, possibly but not probably fifteen?"

"Sure. You alright?"

I lean over the bar to Tobias, who meets me half-way. "Can I talk to you in back?"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Her eyes look almost nervous. I didn't mean to make her feel bad. I was, for a moment, feeling horrendously jealous that Christina and Will can have unlimited sexy-time talk, and I can't even utter the words cock n' balls to her. Not that I would do that anyway. _Would I? I'll have to try it._ She backs away and nods her head to the back lounge. I get up and follow with immediate rapt attention because I don't know this look. _What's happening? Shit! Have I been too much of a jerk? I only told one guy to fuck off, and another guy to eat a dick—Oh, and fuck! Did she hear me talking about her—Oh, no! I totally told Will she had great tits! But, only because he admitted to me that he saw them! I mean, I wanted to punch him, but can I blame him? My girlfriend is hot, and her nipples are at attention, like always…just ready for me._

I lean in to guide her to the back room by her butt, but she speeds up and I just about trip trying to catch up.

"Hey, are you…? Okay? I'm sorry for whatever I did—Mghhh…"

Her lips are glued to mine as my back hits something hard. It's at that moment, that I realize, we're in a bathroom. _Wow, this is…awesome._ I'm instantly beyond responsive seeing as she's been torturing me all night with her sexy hip sways and I swear no one opens a beer bottle like her.

Her kisses are slow and very, very, very, very purposeful and so are my hands as they slide right over her perfectly round ass, holding her to me tightly. I can't help by roll my hips into her and she, a little surprisingly, seems okay with it. I have no desire to remove my mouth from hers. But I know this won't last because she's at work, so I may as well stop before I lose all control— _Control? You have no control over this scenario!_

I suck in a breath of surprise as she palms me with intention over my jeans and moves her hand up and down…and up…and down…and up…and down… _Fuck…_

I'm on sensory overload. Between her hand, her smell, her hair bunched up in my fist, her tongue attacking my mouth…I don't know what the fuck to do! _Go with it, man!_ My hand squeezes her breast, and I move my leg between her thighs, pushing her against it, and moving her back and forth over my flexed muscle as she groans. _Yes! I love that groan!_

She quickly pulls away and looks up at me, I think. Honestly, I'm a little dizzy. But the jingle of my belt and unzipping of my pants brings me back to reality quickly.

"Don't you have to—God…" I groan as I feel the warm skin of her hand grip my dick sending a jolt of electricity right through me. "Um…"

I'm being pulled forward by my belt loops _and_ my cock, and she works me, thoroughly, debilitatingly, and amazingly. A quick turn, I think or something, and my jeans are at my ankles, my shaft is free of its confines, and I'm being shoved onto the toilet seat. I can barely function, let alone, form coherent sentences as the warm toasty feeling of the inside of Tris's mouth overtakes me. I know it's only my…cock…but…it feels like…my whole body.

"What are…you…?... What are…we…?... Oh…my…God." I force my eyes open as she gets me off with one of her hands and drags her plush lips slowly up and down at the same time. "Jesus…baby. Wh…?" I'm so confused as to why this is happening, but I'm so fucking happy it is.

She twirls her tongue around the tip of me and back and forth. I'm mesmerized by how fast she can do that. _She's so…fucking…good…at this._ Suddenly my hand hits the wall hard and my hips jerk up as every nerve ending in my nut sack has officially been lit on fire in the best way. The perfect amount of pressure and just…love. _She is showing my balls so much love. Godddd….._

I notice that my fingers are tangled in her hair as I guide her, so I quickly pull away, but she grabs my hand, threading her fingers in mine and re-tangles my hand. When she pulls away, some strands of her hair fall out and land on my thighs, enhancing the unbelievable pleasure.

"Mmmm… Why is this…happening…to me?"

I feel…yes, feel…her stifle a laugh as she starts working me harder.

"Holy fuck don't laugh at me."

She hums and then picks up the pace. And I'm gone. All brain function lost as she sucks long and hard—her slow and deep, measured strokes leaving me writhing for her. My hitting the back of her throat once, twice, three times—

"Tris, I'm, I'm..."

My climax hits me hard, hot and fast with no warning as I spill into her mouth. I can't help but guiltily watch as she takes me all in because I love that _so_ much. Watching her finish me off makes me feel like I could come twice…impossible, but one can dream. My hips shudder as she gives me one final pull with her mouth and then releases me. All I can do is stare with wide eyes as she braces herself on my knees and pushes herself up to standing, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek.

"What…was _that_ …for?" I ask in an almost drugged state. "Thank you…so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, much it was incredible and fucking awesome you're amazing… But—"

"Because I love you," she states simply.

"Well, then it's a good thing…for you…that I love you too," I say roughly as I grab her hips and move my fingers over the outside of her pants. She lets out a shaky breath, and her knees buckle. But, I'm a little drunk, so she just about slips through my hands as she catches herself.

She laughs and moves out of my grip before I can grab her and goes to the mirror, shaking her hair out of the now-loose ponytail. So I quickly stand and pull my briefs and pants up, moving toward her from behind. I kiss her neck slowly and glance at the mirror as she looks at herself seemingly unaffected.

"Hey," I run my thumbs over her nipples as she lifts her arms securing her hair in place. I get the desired response of hardened buds through her shirt as I cup and massage them. "Your turn?"

"I need to get back."

"I can be…very, very fast—"

"It's okay."

"Hey," I narrow my eyes at her trying to figure this shit out.

"I just wanted to do that for you. Now, I love you. Let's go."

She opens the bathroom door and exits, but I take her arm before she can get too far.

"Can't you just be happy that you have a girlfriend who gives you bathroom head?" she asks as if this was just a regular daily activity.

"That makes me beyond ecstatic, but…"

She shakes her head and starts across the room.

"Wait! I've barely talked to you tonight, and suddenly the idea presents itself to go to town on me in the bathroom?"

"Not exactly, but—"

"Then what?"

"Aren't we being a little ungrateful?" _Am I? No. Am I? No._

"More like curious."

"Well…Because I want you to be…satisfied, okay? And I know you haven't been. So just be happy—"

"Tris, wait, you did that because…you think I _needed_ it?" _Well, this is just…not okay with me…anymore._

"Yes."

"Is that how I make you feel?"

"Not on purpose."

My mind goes blank for a moment, but I could swear she said, "Not on purpose."

"I mean, after this morning, and well, the other day… I just wanted to do something for you. Something to make you…"

And I feel like I just got cold-cocked by my girlfriend's sexual advances.

"To pacify me? You just gave me a pacifier!"

She starts laughing at me…she is _laughing_ at me.

"Stop laughing at me! You just gave me avoidance head! Bathroom avoidance pacifier head!"

"Tobias, I wanted to! Now just say thank you and let's go back out front." She grabs my hand, but I yank back what's mine.

"Or how about 'NO, thank you!' Never ever! This is a terrible feeling. You are just…not nice."

"You're seriously not okay with this?"

"Tris…for the second time in one day…you used me to distractify myself. Or, yourself or us. You used me as a distraction! Did you think that would satiate me? Hold me off? Is that how little you think of me? How did I not see through that? We've barely been…physical…with each other and…fuck…we can barely talk about it! You thought _this_ was the answer?! And I fuckin' let you! Do you know how much of an asshole I feel like, right now?"

"Please, don't feel that way—"

"It fuckin' hurts that you think I need that, to be with you. You're more than that. We're more than that."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I peek around the corner and walk nonchalantly out to the bar, browsing the customers. But, everyone seems to be taken care of. However, before I can walk further I feel eyes on me, so I turn and look back at the annoyed stare of Christina. And watch as Will wipes the front of his shirt down.

"What?"

"Bathroom pacifier avoidance head?!" she snarks with her little head swirl.

Tobias's no-holds-barred roar that I apparently have grown quite immune to comes back to me—not that it ever really left me.

"Um." I glance at Will and back at Christina. "I don't really know what to say here."

"Well, let me just make Will another drink, seeing as he spit it out upon hearing those mighty words, and I'll do the talking. What the hell were you thinking?" she just about shrieks as she puts ice in a glass. "Do you not remember this morning?"

"Should I go—"

"Yes," I answer Will before he finishes his sentence.

"No. Let's ask Will. William, how would it make you feel if I went down on you just because I thought you needed it?"

"I'm not sure what the right answer here is—"

"Look, babe… We all know you wouldn't turn me down. But how would you feel after?"

Will is still looking everywhere but at me. "Like physically?"

"Will!"

"Guilty, I would feel…very, very, guilty."

"Ugh…" I throw one of the bar rags at Will, and it lands on his head. "You're only saying that because she's prompting you!"

"Nope," Christina interjects. "He's saying that because he's a good… _man_. And good… _men_ don't do that shit! And Four is a good… _man_!"

"So you like him today, babe?"

"No one asked you, Will."

My phone buzzes as I roll my eyes at Christina for being rude to Will.

 **Tobias:** Heading home.

 **Me:** How? And Why? Please come back.

 **Tobias:** Walking. Because I need to think. And no.

* * *

I enter the apartment and get an immediate sense of unease. The door was unlocked, the lights are on in the kitchen, and Tobias's shoes are kicked off in the hall. My heart jumps, and I make for the bedroom to see him propped up, leaning back on the headboard, passed out—a glass of liquor resting in his lap.

"Babe," I whisper in sadness.

I walk over to him and pull the glass out of his hand, setting it on the nightstand. He still doesn't stir. So I pull his socks off and unbutton his jeans, which startles him awake.

"Not…this again…," he groans as I yank on his arm to pull him forward.

He gets the hint a little as he bows his upper torso toward me but doesn't quite make it and ends up on his side. Which, actually, works in my favor because I can slide his jeans off him now. But, as in the past, they fit him perfectly, and I struggle to get them off. I decide to switch tactics and move to his ankles where I yank as hard as I can several times until they slide down to his knees, and I fall back on my ass.

"Ow, shit."

I stand, rubbing my tailbone, but then I have to hold back a serious laugh as I see Tobias's butt hanging out of the back of his briefs that had almost been pulled down all the way with his jeans. I stand and pull his jeans off the rest of the way and crawl up next to him, urging his underwear back up.

"No," he swats my hand away as I laugh. "No, more a' that."

"I'm trying to help you," I say as sweetly and softly as possible.

"You're laughing at me…so, so, so much…tonight," he responds like a five-year-old who is truly, honestly upset.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I kiss him behind his ear, but my stifled chuckling is apparent.

"S'not funny… Nothins' funny, 'bout this."

"Do you want to sleep with your shirt on?" I sigh out.

"Fuck, no."

"Then…sit…" I pull on him to sit upright so I can help. "…up. Come on."

He grumbles, but then he thankfully does help me get his shirt off.

"You looked very handsome tonight," I remark as I toss his black T-shirt aside. _He did look fucking hot. All night. Just, hot._

"Hmmph. 'Zat why you sucked me off in a bathroom?"

"Thank you for making it sound dirty," I respond as my cheeks warm from embarrassment.

I pull the comforter down and push him to the side where he topples quite easily.

"It felt…dirty. Afterward…'least to me. Not _during_ … _during_ was…I really like _during_. The _during_ part was…ezceptional…ecsteptional…exponential."

"Exponential, huh?"

"What?!" he asks as if my response was the dumbest thing he ever heard. "Makes no sense…"

I pull the comforter down all the way and then heave the blanket and sheet from under him, ignoring the ache in my side. Then I take a deep breath and give one last ditch effort to get him vertical by pulling him roughly on his arm.

"Tobias…pillows…up…here."

"I _know_ ," he moans as he flops up onto the pillows. "S'my apartment, not yours. You make that very, very, very, very, clear. And it's mean. Bothers me. You're mean."

"Okay."

I pull the sheet and blanket up under his legs, without any assistance from him, and lay them over his body, up to his chin. I gaze at him for a second, and he must sense it because he tries to open his eyes, unsuccessfully. So I kiss him on the forehead and head into the kitchen en route for several glasses of water and Ibuprofen, feeling good that I get to take care of him every once in a while—even it is only headache medicine.

* * *

The apartment is dark, well, as dark as Tobias prefers it. The blackout curtains, I've come to find out bring on his claustrophobia. So, we compromise and close them halfway. The city is so odd to me, at least, in this part. It's like a constant state of unrest. You can see people working late or staying up late in the apartments and businesses across the way. It's one of the things I miss about Kittridge, the darkness. It's like God telling us, go the fuck to sleep. Probably not his words. _Oh, if my father could hear me now!_ I laugh lightly to myself, knowing he'll be in my dreams so I can just tell him then.

I flip the card Christina gave me over and over in my pruned hand. An unintentional 45-minute shower will do that to you. I've found, this past week, that a good silent cry brings on a sense of sedation and exhaustion similar to Ambien. So, it's been fitting into my schedule nicely. Although, tonight I was crying for a different reason. _Tobias…_

I look to the right to see him lying on his back with his arm above his head. His brow furrows on and off so I know he's not sleeping soundly. I wonder if he gets stuck in his nightmares like I do. I know I'm in them along with his mother because he talks in his sleep. Even from the bits and pieces I get, it doesn't take much to put that particular puzzle together. But, they haven't been violent, lately, so, I wonder if he even knows that I know. I'm sure he knows I have nightmares, although, I deny it, which is ridiculous.

I take one last look at the business card before setting it on the nightstand and turning off the light. Even though he may not want me to, I maneuver my body so I'm lying in the crook of his shoulder. I tangle my feet in his and put my hand over his heart. It's probably just me, but I swear I can feel an extra beat or two in there before it normalizes. I'm probably full of shit.

The day replays itself in my head, from the good to the bad and then back to the steady. This time of day is the only time that seems to be steady—when I'm in Tobias's arms. But that's not enough, being truly happy for only several moments between sleep and awake, in the safety of non-confrontation and physical need. It's not enough…for either of us. And I know it.

* * *

 **Much appreciation to all of the readers. As always! Sincerely!**


	10. Strategy

**Chapter 10 – Strategy**

* * *

I continue my jog north up the Lake Front Trail trying to clear my mind, but, at the same time, trying to find a way to apologize for being evasive with Tris all day yesterday. It's completely counterproductive and ridiculous, I'm aware.

Although Tris _did_ deserve some of that evasiveness, it doesn't mean I have to provide it. I'm fairly certain I drove her out of the apartment yesterday because of my attitude toward her, random grumbling and altogether foul mood. She actually found solace in the company of Gertie, whom she spent a good two-and-a-half hours with. That was a wake-up call. Along with Tris going into work at 3:00, when she didn't have to be there until 4:00. She would have rather tended bar than be in my presence—equally as sobering.

So, I went to the office hoping for a distraction, knowing I wouldn't be welcomed at Hangars. Then, upon losing myself reviewing the ideas for the possible expansion Amar and I were talking about and, basically, getting way too much done, I then fell asleep, my exhausted mind taking over almost instantly upon hitting the sheets.

It wasn't until 4:00 that I woke to Tris crying in her sleep. So I fit my body to the back of hers, and she let me. How shitty is it that I was, for once, thankful for her harrowing nightmares? I draped my right arm over her and held her tightly as she gripped my hand as if she'd lose it were she to let go. "Tobias?" was all she said. She was asking if it was me…versus someone else. That's the only sickening thing I could attribute her tone to. So, I nodded my head and held her until she cried herself to sleep.

I thought about waking Tris to see if she'd want to join me this morning—something we could do together, that's, actually, fun and productive. Sometimes I feel delusional, thinking about the two of us doing normal things—going on early morning Sunday runs, grabbing a quick bite to eat and then relaxing in our apartment, or going to a festival, movie at the park or anything that makes us happy. That dream feels so far away, right now—almost unattainable. But, it's not. I know it's not. It can't be. I can see it behind her very guarded façade, as well. She wants that too. But something is…off between us.

For a while, it was a lack of communication that seemed to be holding us back. But, I can say with a degree of confidence, communication isn't our issue—it's trust. She doesn't trust me enough to let me in completely. I can't say I blame her. My past behavior hasn't exactly proven me to be rational when it comes to her, nor the constant in her life she needs. I don't know what to do about it. I just want to _help_ her. But, surprisingly the worse realization I've come to is that there something in me that doesn't trust _her_ , or maybe, doesn't trust _us_. Nothing feels…permanent, which is beyond odd because I'm confident I would follow her to the ends of the Earth. _And why do I need that feeling, anyway? Why can't I just enjoy…us?_

I seat myself on a bench looking out over the lake. The great thing about running in the summer is that you can't tell if your skin is on fire from a sudden bought of emotion or from physical exhaustion. I have officially decided to go with physical exhaustion, knowing it's total crap.

I fucking love the lake. It's huge, and someday I'd like to explore it more north, up to the state where it garners its name. I've heard Michigan is beautiful. Well, maybe take Detroit out of the equation. Although, people say the same thing about parts of Chicago, and I can't say I blame them. _Do I picture myself living anywhere but Chicago? Hmm. Only if, for some reason, I would need a new start. We, WE would need a new start._

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I smirk when I see Tris's face come up on the screen. Well, it's actually not Tris. It's both of us in a selfie ( _or usie?_ ) I took while she was sleeping. But, of course, my eyes pretty much see nothing but her relaxed, gorgeous face.

I select the message and am… _very, very, very…pleasantly, pleasantly, pleasantly…_ what-the-hell-this-is-awesome-but-so-not-cool surprised to see a picture of her legs, just her scrumptious bare legs, looking out over the city from my bed.

 **Tris:** Least favorite things on my list of least favorite things—waking up alone on a Sunday morning.

* * *

I show up to my apartment door, a sweaty near-comical mess.

 _Well, at least, I've come to one conclusion—I could be a contender for the Olympic 10K._

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Sending Tobias a semi- _sexy_ picture wasn't, exactly, a calculated move. I was honestly, truly, entirely disappointed to find him gone when I woke up, even though, he left a note and made weak coffee (pretty sure he used the teaspoon), which was thoughtful.

I shrugged it off as I made my way back into the bedroom, but, the second I propped myself up on a pillow, reclining horizontally with a steaming mug of coffee resting on my stomach, the sadness came without delay. I shed a damned tear! It's not like I haven't seen this view for what feels like 100 times. Maybe it's just the part of me that craves normalcy—thrives on the idea of having, at least, something in my life be a constant. Apparently, waking up and having lazy Sundays with Tobias currently being at the top of that list.

I shake my head at how stupid that is as I stare at my toes while taking a break from leg walks, making sure to only do resistance walks on my right. ( _You're welcome, Uriah! Dick_ …) _Sunday mornings? Seriously? That's at the top of your list?_ I laugh at myself because I could have picked anything—normal dinners together, maybe a guaranteed day of the week lunch date, or Taco Tuesdays? _Oh, my God, Prior. Get a life!_

"Well, that could be the hottest thing I've seen in…well, since Friday night…or morning."

I cover my near-bare ass as I slowly lower my legs and turn a ridiculous shade of crimson.

"'Round 1:00 AMish? I was intoxicated and being taken advantage of, but still very, very hot."

"I, I, I, didn't hear you come in," I sputter while he chuckles. "And, are we at the point where we can joke about that now?" I ask not being able to look at him, yet, because I'm still dying on the inside from the ass shot I just gave him.

"Only me. You are, yet, undeserving."

"Tobias, I'm—"

"Don't say a word, okay?" he asks hastily as he heads into the closet.

"What did I do now?!"

"Those are words. Stay right where you are, and say…nothing!" he states as he undresses and walks out of the closet… _naked_ , and straight into the bathroom closing the door behind him.

Of course, when I do actually get the gumption to look at him, I get a nude side shot and a sexy-butt follow-up. I groan, deep in my throat, but it came out so much louder than I thought. I unnecessarily cover my mouth as if that'll help.

"Was that a word?! I didn't quite hear it?!" Tobias yells from the bathroom as I cover my face and laugh, incredibly embarrassed. "No, seriously. Can you do that again?!"

"No!" I yell back, still laughing.

This swift change of behavior is leaving me a bit dizzy, because last time I checked, he was only going through the motions with me. Now he's joking about the issue that has caused contention between the two of us _. I don't get it!_

My questioning is immediately halted by the sound of the shower water splashing off Tobias's body, and in its place, an ache in my gut that only _he_ has ever been able to summon. My hips jerk up as I had, beyond my comprehension, run my finger over my sensitive cleft. _Great! Now I'm touching myself without even thinking about it!_ Unfortunately, I'm painfully aware there will be no satisfying my need for him seeing as he won't lay a finger on me. _God, his fingers…_ I experimentally run my own over the outside of my panties again, feeling the dampness—the image of Tobias licking his fingers after they were inside me running through my mind. I don't know why I found that so arousing. Maybe because he didn't even try to hide it? Like he wanted me to know how good I taste to him? My cheeks flush at the memory, and I feel a twinge in my abdomen. I add just a little more pressure and squeeze my legs together. I know I can't take it further, seeing as he's right there in the bathroom and I would totally get caught. God, if only I were brave enough to ask him for a little assistance. _Hey, Tobias? Can I just use your hands? No strings attached. I promise not to try to have sex with you seeing as I made you feel like an abuser the other morning. And I won't return the favor seeing as you seem to hate that too. So, basically just…get me off and we'll part ways! Happy Sunday!_

I bite my bottom lip hard envisioning him watching his fingers disappear in and out of me, almost curiously, as if his strong, purposeful digits had a mind of their own and he had no control over them. I tuck my hips under just a little as I suck in a breath trying to hide, even from myself, the effect the mere thought of him has on me.

 _Is it a bad thing? A little me time? Christina has always said it's healthy, but why do it if I have a Tobias at my disposal? But he's not at my disposal! And it's nothing but a shitty substitute! I wonder how often he does? Can't be that often right? I mean, like once a week maybe if the mood hits him right? Because if he was that wound up…and really, really wanted me…it would be really hard to control himself, right?_ _Well, unless, of course, I stopped him._ _I know Friday morning was a big step backward, but if he were that frustrated, he would definitely tell me. Unless…fuck, what if getting himself off ISN'T a shitty substitute? Well, that would be…beyond disappointing and fucking embarrassing!_

The bathroom door opens, and I quickly move my hand from where it had been situated securely between my legs. I train my eyes on the ceiling because I'm confident that one look at Tobias with a towel around his hips, exposing his lower abdomen, would make me come undone, and I was already half there, so, yeah…

"You, uh, really haven't moved. Wow."

"Mmm hmm. Just, doing as I was told," I say lightly.

"Ha, yeah. Okay. Well, good."

"Yep," I reply popping the P while he seems to linger for a moment. "So, can I move, yet?"

"Huh?"

"Can I move…yet?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, you can move just…um, so…stay…right there on the bed. Looking…very…yes. And I'll just…get dressed."

"Tobias," I begin as I scoot myself up to lean against the headboard. "What am I waiting for, here?" I hear him grumble something he obviously doesn't want me to hear, which is so fucking aggravating! "I can hear you!"

I hear him chuckle deeply. "Really? Then…what was I saying?" he asks as he peaks his head around the corner.

"Something absurd, I'm sure," I reply sounding as unfazed as possible considering his messy wet hair and cute expression are giving me heart palpitations.

"Maybe, maybe not… Anyway, just…sit tight. Really tight."

"Will do."

I grab the remote and turn on the TV, browsing the channels, even though, nothing is registering. I need to talk to him. He was awful yesterday—an awful, yet, conscientious person.

 **Flashback:**

Tobias wakes with a start and sits up quickly—the effects of passing out drunk playing out on his face in full view. I've been up just watching him sleep for the last twenty minutes, wishing he slept more soundly. Groaning loudly, he lays his head in his hands.

"Here," I sit up and crawl over him grabbing one of the three glasses of water and four Ibuprofen. I hand them to him and sit back down situating myself between his legs, so he can't escape.

"Thanks," he murmurs as he takes the water down in three gulps and leans back on the headboard closing his eyes.

"So, um, did you come right home last night? Or go somewhere else—"

"I stopped at a bar."

"By…yourself?" I prod, hoping he met up with Zeke or someone. I hate the thought of him drinking alone.

"Yep." He opens his eyes and looks at me as if he's waiting for me to accuse him of something.

"That's fine. I just… I don't know, drinking alone and all…"

He laughs under his breath sarcastically and shakes his head crossing his arms. I'm not really sure how to read that reaction.

"Hey, can we talk? I know you're mad."

"I'm upset," he deadpans staring me down.

"So, can I explain myself?"

"Is it going to be anything along the lines of—it was your way of communicating to me that it's _all good_ , and _nothing_ is my fault? And how you feel _guilty_ because of my _perceived_ lack of sexual gratification?"

My shoulders slump because, although, that was the _Why Tris Gave Her Boyfriend Head for Dummies_ version, it was painfully accurate.

"Hit the nail on the head, did I? No need to explain yourself, further."

"Well, it's not exactly a _perceived_ lack of gratification. You can't tell me that you're not—"

"You have, yet again, underestimated my affections for you. And it's fucking _baffling_ , Tris."

He huffs and gets up off the bed as if I wasn't just sitting between his legs, and heads into the bathroom. Angrily, I wipe a tear as it slides down my cheek. I hate that I made him feel this way. It was the opposite of my intention. _Was it stupid? Yes. Am I fully willing to admit that? Yes. Do I understand why I do half the shit I do these days?_ _No! Do I plan to try to figure it out? Yes!_

I look out the window, still sitting exactly where I was, as he comes out of the bathroom. I can sense his hesitation before he goes to his dresser. I can only assume he's going for a run or to the gym because all he keeps in those drawers are pajamas and workout clothes…all stupidly, flawlessly folded. _He probably has someone do that for him too!_

I decide this whole sitting here moping thing is doing me no good, so I swing my legs off the side of the bed and make my way to the bathroom. I feel his eyes on me as I close the door to get myself ready for the day. This whole closing the bathroom door on each other when we get ready is a new development, and I don't like it one bit. But, it suits me for now as I take my time washing my face and brushing my teeth, hoping he'll be gone by the time I'm done.

"Do you…do you need anything?" he asks through the door. I can just see him clenching his jaw as he speaks.

"No, I'm fine."

Hearing him grunt something as he walks out of the room, I begin to count to thirty in my head, hoping that by the time I'm done, he'll have grabbed a protein bar and left.

 _I understand why he's upset, but, MAD? Is he seriously mad about it? What kind of self-respecting man gets upset after a spontaneous blowjob? The kind of man who respects his girlfriend… Ugh!_

Deciding there is no noise to be heard in the apartment, I exit the bathroom and go through my bag to get dressed for the day.

"Well…" I jump about ten feet as Tobias appears behind me in the closet. "…I left you some water and… Do you want coffee? Or something…for breakfast? Or…here, I'll just make the bed before I—"

"I can make the bed, and I'll probably go out to get coffee," I interrupt his nearly incoherent mumbling.

I feel him pause, yet again, as I dump out my bag in frustration. _Why don't I just use the drawer he gave me? I don't know._

"Okay, bye."

"Bye," I respond near-simultaneously.

He wavers, as I pull on my jean shorts and grab a random t-shirt in a huff. Then, the last thing I hear is the door close behind him. I allow one more tear to fall, and I wipe it away before it even gets an inch down my face.

 _How sad is it that I would rather be in Gertie's company than his?_

 **End Flashback**

He would barely talk to me and basically avoided me most of the day, while still making his presence known at every opportunity by silently doting on me all day—bringing me water, trying to make lunch, giving me my tablet unnecessarily, handing me a cup of coffee when I hadn't asked for one, but brushing me off rudely whenever I offered to help. I would pretend I didn't see him as he would transparently check on me—using his bathroom, even though, the hall bath is significantly closer to where he was working at the kitchen table. Or when he went on his run, he made sure I had every possible thing I needed before he left and then just about slammed through the sliding door to make sure I was still here when he got back.

The apartment fills with a smell I can only assume is burnt toast followed by a lot a huffing and frustrated noises brings me out of my stupid remembrances.

"Son of a bitch! Aw, come ON!"

I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh, but it still comes out fairly loudly.

"Yep! Keep laughing at my expense!" Tobias yells from the kitchen.

"Well, you kind of deserve it right now," I mutter to myself as I keep switching channels, finally just putting it on mute.

I run through the myriad of things I want to say to him—running the gamut from apologizing for my _behavior_ all the way to demanding an apology for _his._

"I would imagine you were just mumbling something along the lines of 'you deserve it?'," he asks as he sneaks in on his tip toes with a perfectly placed, incredibly thoughtful, tray of breakfast looking all cute and innocent. _What a fucker._

I have to bite my lips between my teeth harder than I've ever had to in my life to prevent the smile that is taking over every inch of my face. And the smug albeit cute grin on his face means he notices it. _Damn it._

"You were, weren't you? Well, you'd be right."

"Tobias—"

"Shh. Just, wait."

I watch him closely, as I move into a cross-legged seated position. He sets the tray in front of me; although, said tray is actually the magazine and remote carrier from the living room seeing as he has no clue that the serving trays are above the fridge. Then he continues to unfold a napkin, laying it nicely on my lap, before taking a piece of toast and looking at me sheepishly. I glance down and see that it's been scraped, poorly, in an attempt to free it of burnt remnants.

"So," he looks up at me through a slightly reddened face. "Thank God for Nutella! Um…as you can see, it's a necessity. May I?" he gestures to the jar of hazelnut deliciousness.

"Please."

"Yes!" he hisses out way-to-excitedly as he slathers on a very decent amount of the spread. "Okay, here."

I flinch away, disregarding the pouty frown it evokes from him. I don't like to be fed, and also, I see he made himself no breakfast. "What about you?"

"You first. And I don't give a shit that you don't like to be fed. Indulge me, please."

"Fine." I lean in and take a significant bite of the mauled toast. "Mmmm… Thank you," I state through a full mouth. "Nutella makes everything better." I recline back sighing out a deep breath, suddenly noticing his token I'm-so-awesome-I'm-hi-fiving-myself-in-my-head look.

"Did it work?" he asks now waggling is eyebrows.

"The toast is greatly improved, yes."

"Yeah… I don't give a shit about the toast."

"Wait. What the fuck, Tobias! Is this apology Nutella?!" I ask with serious annoyance, even though, I lean in for another bite; his smug grin not going unnoticed.

"Only if it works?... Otherwise, it's just…chocolate on burnt toast."

"Tobias."

"Hey! Come on now! Pacifier head and apology Nutella. Are we two peas in a pod or what?!"

"You!" I throw the napkin at him. "Stop being cute! You were…unpleasant doesn't even describe it. You were…a…"

"Come on," he prompts as he lays his head in my lap. "Make up something good. Really good. Need help?"

"No!" I retort, pissed off that we would even suggest that. "I'll think of something. Hmm… You were a total…peckerwood." _Good one, me._

"Meh," he shrugs. "I would have said peckerwanker or peckerwad."

"Peckerwanker?"

"Indeed."

"That's amazing," I respond in awe as I file that one away.

"Hey, let's talk about you now. What words are we calling…" He reaches up and wipes what I can only assume is Nutella off the corner of my mouth, in turn, licking it off his thumb. "…Uh, you… What are we…um…calling you?"

Seeing as, for whatever reason, he's sputtering; I had time to think. "Peckerwrangler?"

He lifts his eyebrows and sits up as we both start laughing.

"That is…frighteningly…accurate." He leans in, looking at me as if he's asking for my permission to kiss me.

So, I smile and eagerly lean in.

He kisses me—the kind that teeters on the edge of passionate and sweet and always leaves me wanting more. "And a possible new term of endearment," he whispers millimeters away from my mouth, before leaving me with one chaste kiss and sitting back up. "I really am sorry about yesterday. I was…the whole thing just kind of made me... Well, I was, clearly, angry. I don't even know if it was at _you_ or myself. Sometimes, I feel like I have to prove to you how much I want to be with you—how much I want you in my life. I've lost trust in that area—"

"No, you haven't."

We make brief eye contact, but I can tell he doesn't believe me because all I get in return is a simple head nod.

"So, being intoxicated along with already having that insecurity…and then the thought of you finding me _that_ shallow—"

"I _don't_ ," I state adamantly.

"Well, that was my perception at the time," he responds unapologetically. "Anyway, I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Knowing that I need to take some responsibility, as well, seeing as I happen to be dating a _good…_ man ( _Thank you, Christina! Bitch…),_ who isn't comfortable with tie-over blow jobs, I decide to return the sentiment. _"_ Well, I'm sorry too. And seeing as you seem to already know the _reasons_ I forced myself on you—"

"You do _not_ have to say it like that. It…uh…it didn't take much coercion," he laughs slightly and shakes his head.

"It took no coercion."

Letting out a deep breath, he lays his torso back onto the bed while he scrubs at his face. "You're incredibly adept in that area, so…yeah…"

I smile to myself at the compliment. He's mentioned it many times before, but I never tire of hearing it seeing as he has had prior experiences. But, I still need him to know one thing, and it may just kill me to say it.

"So, uh…" I clear my throat as I lay on my side next to him, leaning on my elbow. "I didn't think, for a _second_ that you would feel guilty. I really hate that you did. Because…" I watch him lift his eyebrows in expectation of me to continue. "I wanted to. I… _like…_ to."

"Yeah?" he whispers as he bites his bottom lip.

"Well, I especially like…how much…you…like…it?" _Why am I wording that as a question?_ "It, yeah, it, it…makes me feel…good."

"Babe—"

"Yeah?" I interject just wanting him to say whatever he's going to say quickly.

"You look like your head's going to explode."

I feel the backs of his knuckles against my cheeks, measuring the heat radiating off of them as I catch on that my eyes are closed. _Why can't I talk about this anymore? I know I was never great at it, but…I was capable!_

"Sorry, I don't know why I—"

"So, can we talk about you?"

I pick up on the fact that he is graciously changing the subject, but I'm not sure I'm going to like where it's going. "I guess."

"So…what was that the other morning? I mean, I think I know, but…"

I laugh at his attempt at understanding me because it's futile. " _I_ don't even know. I just…all the sudden it just didn't feel like _me_ …or _you…_ I…I don't know what triggered it—"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he butts in, tugging on the bottom of my hair.

I try to prompt him to continue with my stare because now I really don't get it.

"We haven't… We haven't _been_ together since, well, before things…and… Tris, did you want it to be like _that_? Rushed, and I don't know… Did it feel _right_ to you?"

"Well—"

"You were using it as a diversion, Tris. Afterward, apart from how it ended, I felt very… I don't know…"

"What? Tell me."

"What the fuck?!" he exalts, laughing. "I can't believe what I'm about to say."

"Just…" I grab his chin and turn his face toward me. "…say it!"

"I felt…used." He rolls his eyes at himself and sits up. "Apart from the fact that _that_ is a line most men never utter, I shouldn't even be saying it because my feelings are definitely the secondary issue here."

"And I'm fucking sick of it."

"But, why would you want it to be like that?" he asks incredulously, completely ignoring my last comment.

"I don't."

"Then why did you—"

"Because I could control it!" I snap, not even knowing where this is coming from. "I think...I just knew it would work. I knew it would get you to stop asking me questions I don't want to answer! I feel… Nothing feels, right!" I glance at him as he looks at the sheets, twisting them in his fingers. "Please don't take that wrong," I beg sitting up on my knees, facing him. "I just mean, everything I'm feeling is _different_ this time, and I don't know why! I shouldn't feel different! This isn't the first time this _shit_ has happened—"

"Yes, it is," he says surely.

"What do you mean? Um…trust me—"

"The other times…" he shakes his head slowly and reaches for the hem of my shirt, rubbing it between the pad of his thumb and index finger. "They weren't like this. This was an invasion…more so than before if that's even possible. Tris, you weren't even cognizant. This…was…different."

I'm suddenly feeling uncomfortable with him hitting the nail on the head. Most likely because I know he senses it, and that means more talking about it.

"Just a bit ago, you were saying how it felt, you know…when you froze up…with, with me." _And there it is!_ He runs his hands through his hair and exhales harshly. "Can you…finish that thought?"

I take note of his nervous tone and how he seems to be bracing for impact, and my mind goes blank. I can't, literally _can't_ , put into words what I was thinking or how I was feeling. _Why can't I? I should be able to talk to him about this! Above anyone else! It should be him!_

"It's okay," he whispers, backing up a little to get off the bed.

"So now what?" I mumble. "Are you even going to…come near me? Or are all things physical just off the table?"

He seems surprised at my blatant mention of that, as am I. "I don't know…what…to do… What if you…? What if it happens again?"

"Then we'll stop?" I suggest with a pitiful pleading look.

"Tris," he huffs and stands, walking toward the window and back again. "It was among the top five worst feelings I've ever had in my life, making you _endure_ that! Honestly, I don't even know if I'd be able to… _finish._ "

And the stab of shame resonates…everywhere. "Okay."

"No, no, no, Tris. Not okay!" He's suddenly crouching in front of me, grabbing my limp hands. "Fuck, that came out wrong. Um… It wouldn't be because of you—"

"It would be exactly because of me," I reply as I stand, twisting my hands free. I feel suddenly quite numb to this now pointless conversation. So, I walk to the nightstand and take a rather large, shaky drink of water.

"Don't you want to explore the mentality behind it?"

Right as he finishes that sentence, my eyes are drawn to the business card still sitting by the clock. So, I pick it up and toss it at him Frisbee-style. It lands on the bed right in front of his face, and he picks it up immediately.

"I made an appointment yesterday. I'm going tomorrow afternoon…to explore the… _mentality_ ," I reply flatly like a smartass.

The look of relief on his face is pretty damned infuriating. _What?! Was this what he's been waiting for?!_

"But, I guess, in the meantime…" I lean over and grab the knife dipping it generously in the chocolate hazelnut amazingness. "Nutella will be as close to an orgasm as I can get, Huh?!" _I can't believe I just said that._

"That's all it takes?"

 _I'm glad he thinks it's fuckin' funny._

* * *

I rub my eyes, looking back and forth between my sketches, my tablet, and my notes.

 _Okay, I'm calling it. It's official! The boarding house will be a duplex. It only makes sense, right? The plumbing is already run for several smaller residences. I would venture to guess there may be asbestos problems, but seeing as ¾ of the pipes will have to be ripped out, and it all needs to be brought to code, that would be an issue either way._

I feel a smile creep across my face as I look closer at the stairs on the Old Victorian home. They are stunning and ornate, but some asshole decided to paint over mahogany wood, and the subsequent owners jumped on the train adding extra coats as the years went on. So, they need major restoration work, but when they're done, they'll be the perfect match with the Damen reclaimed molding _. Hells yeah! God, I love this house. Damn…_

 _This friggin' Barn House! I'm thinking rustic industrial retro? That makes no sense. Where the hell did I come up with that? I'm thinking…old school retro appliances, farmhouse sink, concrete countertops? The floors are beaten to hell, but they're kind of charming like that. I mean, they are legit barn wood floors. A little sanding, oil, and some polyurethane or sealer or some shit would make them awesome. They definitely closed off the hayloft. I bet if we knocked down that drywall and put a railing in, you could look down into the great room. Ya know, like, return it to its natural state, but making it a home. Impossible. This place is fucked._

 _Back to the Old Victorian—_

"Mmm!" I jerk my head back as a spoon is being held in front of my mouth. It's overflowing with Nutella.

"I'm interrupting you with apology Nutella," Tobias states looking more serious than his actions imply.

"Clearly." I yank the spoon away from him before he can retreat, and put the whole thing in my mouth pulling it out slowly, per my Nutella routine, to make sure I get almost every bit. Then, inspecting the spoon for leftover remnants, I do a final swipe with my tongue. _Fuckin' love Nutella!_

Being entranced by my hazelnut BFF, I had almost forgotten Tobias's presence. _Now that's sayin' something! Nutella has magical powers._ I look up into his blatant stare. _What did I do wrong now?_

"Tobias?"

"Um... I'm just…"

"You're just…staring."

"Oh, yeah… Sorry," he murmurs.

I set the spoon down and turn myself in my chair to face him seeing as he… _still…_ has not officially spoken. (I've decided not to qualify his muttering as words, anymore.)

He clears his throat and slides in the stool next to me. "Um, so, whilst running this fine morning, all I thought about was how much I wished I had asked you to come."

I rest my hands on his thighs and nod my head feeling relieved we shared the same thoughts.

"And when you texted, I was so fuckin' excited. But, then I remembered I was an ass. So, I bought apology Nutella really hoping you would forgive me and then we could do something fun today. And this…right here…" he circles his hands around my disaster area.  
…isn't what I had in mind. So…what do you say?"

"I…well…," I say slowly and sadly because not five minutes ago, I came to the conclusion that seeing Caleb tomorrow won't work because of meeting with Amar. "I was thinking about seeing Caleb today."

"Can I come?" he asks lightly, reaching over and taking a sip of my weak coffee and slumping his shoulders, realizing he fucked it up again.

"Um…he's supposedly not doing well. I don't know if now would be a good time for introductions."

"Well…" He tugs on my shirt, summoning me to his lap which I happily oblige. "You won't have to do that because we've already met."

"What?" I breathe out not sure if he heard it, which would be fine because I'm pretty sure I didn't hear _him_ correctly.

"Yeah, uh… Cara kind of roped me into it," he reasons running his right hand up and down my back. "Apparently, Caleb was quite perturbed I hadn't shown my face like a man. You, uh, hadn't told him we broke up, so…"

"You went to see him…even though we weren't together?" I ask tilting my head so he'll look at me.

"Yeah. It was, actually, the day I, um, came to talk to you at the bar? But, you were on a… _date._ " _So, eye contact will not be happening…_

"Oh." I have no idea what to say beyond that heinous response. I'm being pummeled by a million questions and emotions.

"Yeah."

"Um… I can't believe you…did that. Tobias, I… What did he want?"

"To be treated like a man. And to make sure…I take care of you. And I promised him that I would. It was the easiest promise I've ever had to make in my life."

All I can do is gaze at the man who won't make an ounce of eye contact with me. I think I may be the only person in the world who understands and finds that endearing. Whenever he talks about doing anything selfless, he doesn't meet people's eyes. He doesn't want the praise. _How did I get so lucky?_

"Tobias?" I say weakly because right now I feel like I could melt.

"What?"

"You're more than I could ever ask for," I choke out as I place my hands on his face, making him look at me. "The way I treated you that night was…Jesus, it's fucking unforgivable."

He takes my hands from his face and slumps back in the barstool, shaking his head. "You said some things that…scarred me for life. I don't think I'll ever be able to get…past them."

"I know. I mean, I think I know. I was… I'd never been so drunk in my life. But, that's not an excuse. I—"

"The worst was when… Fuck, I can't even say it out loud," he sighs. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Shit. What the fuck did I say?"

"Do we have to re-hash this? Geez, it was really painful!"

I take his hands again and squeeze them. "Sorry. I don't want to torture… _you._ It would be more because I feel like _I_ should have to live with the shit I said—"

"You said I probably couldn't parallel park a tractor-trailer." He looks over my shoulder as if making eye contact would bring on nothing but sorrow and heartbreak, and pulls his lips between his teeth. "And that hurts me…" He takes me hand and lays it lightly on his chest. "…right here…in my heart."

I try to hide a laugh, but an idiotic snort comes out instead which he matches, thank God.

"Right here? This heart in here?" I ask as I kiss his heart lightly over his T-shirt.

"The one and only."

"I can't believe I said that!" I whine pulling away and wrapping my arms around his neck.

" _That…_ along with other things I have now stored away in my arsenal. I don't like being underestimated, Prior. I will someday PROVE to you that I can, in fact, achieve the mighty feat of parallel tractor-trailer parkage."

"So, it was your pride that I injured, not your heart?" I ask in jest as I lean over and grab the spoon and Nutella.

He laughs lightly but then trails off. I make the immediate connection that he is probably remembering some of the legitimately hurtful things I said. _Fuck… Subject change!_

"Well," I interject dragging the spoon through the chocolate. "This is now apology _accepted_ Nutella." I watch his lip twitch up into a cute smirk as he leans in for the bite. "For both of us?" I suggest as I pull the spoon back slightly.

"For both of us. And, for the record…I don't hate puppies, either."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Tris's hesitation upon my joining her to visit Caleb was apparent. Although, now it's not hesitation, it's full-on nauseating nerves. She's bouncing her right knee incessantly, and I'm trying so hard to ignore it, but it feels like she's trying to light a campfire with our legs. I can now see her use her bottom lip as a meal, and I can't take it anymore.

"Okay, that's enough," I say roughly as I land my hand on her left leg stilling it forcefully, while at the same time gently turning her face towards mine. I run my thumb over where he lip is supposed to be as she frees it from its confines and I catch it on my way back.

"Your unrelenting bouncing is putting the L to shame."

"Sorry. Um, did you _not_ want to take the L?" she asks as if this hell storm on a rail was what I was talking about.

I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her closer to me. "Why are you nervous?"

"I haven't seen him in weeks," she shrugs leaning into me. "And the last time I did, he looked… "

I wait for her to finish, and when she doesn't, I decide to take a risk. "Like a zombie," I whisper, leaving a soft kiss on her head to make up for my faux pas if she is, indeed, offended.

"That's a terrible thing to say," she remarks, seeming to zone out for a moment.

"Yes."

"I love you," she adds as she swings her legs over mine and leans on my chest.

"I love you too." _Phew!_ "But, apart from his appearance, what's up?"

"I can't stop thinking about what you said earlier," she responds tracing the letters on my T-shirt. "How he made you promise him that you would take care of me."

"Probably should have said, 'no,' huh?" I state flatly, hoping she knows I'm an asshole and completely joking.

"Probably," she quickly retorts with equal sarcasm. _Phew, again!_ "I'm a bit of an emotional sewage drain hole."

"That's quite the visual," I add lightly, even though, it frustrates me that she views herself that way.

"You know, there's a reason he asked you to do that—to take care of me."

I've thought about that many times, but, for some reason, I didn't want to admit to myself that his rationale for making sure Tris still had a family, was because he didn't desire to be a part of it anymore—he was making sure she wouldn't be alone. I guarantee you there's some inherent psychological bullshit reason behind my non-admittance, but that's for another day.

"Sometimes…well, a few times, I prayed that he would succeed." She shakes her head as if she's ashamed. "I can only imagine what my Dad would think—suicide victims supposedly don't make it to heaven, and all that. Good 'ole First Corinthians 6:19-20. Dad always equated suicide to murder."

I feel my throat constrict, but I try my best to hide it. But, quickly enough, Tris wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me close.

"I don't believe that, though." She lifts her head, and I glance her way, trying to push aside every image of my mother. "And you shouldn't either. Okay?"

"Hmm." It's the only response I'm capable of at the moment as far as that topic goes. But my curiosity has been peaked about another. "Hey, um, you've never mentioned faith, God, religion…anything, and you grew up a Pastor's daughter."

She swings her legs off of mine and rests her elbows on her knees, facing forward. "The way my Dad led his sermons, it was like…he wanted us all to be afraid of God. As if, every decision we made was so we wouldn't piss off the Lord Almighty. It's what I grew up with, so I never questioned it."

She smiles, but I'm not quite sure why.

"But, then, coming here, or fuck, just watching cable, you hear so many people interpret it differently. It's like my brain battles with the fear-God side versus the walk-with-God side. So, I just don't think about it anymore and move on."

"Hmm. Well, I get it. But, there is one aspect I don't understand."

"What?"

"You didn't…have…cable…television." _That is…beyond…messed up._

"Nope," she laughs. "And, we had to go to the library for dial-up internet."

"Wow," I comment in disbelief at their caveman ways.

The L sways as it rounds a corner past Damen, causing Tris to lean into me a little. But she ends up putting her elbow on my thigh for balance while I instinctively bring my hand up to rub her back. I smile at how natural things seem to come with us...sometimes. But then I catch myself and put my regular face back on. _Why does the dumbest shit make me smile these days?_

"What about you? Did you go to church?" she asks tentatively.

"St. Pat's. Christmas and Easter." _Please don't ask me about holidays. Please don't ask me about holidays. Please don't ask me about holidays._

I sense her slight sigh and possibly a shake of her head at my silence, but hopefully, I'm imagining it.

"My dad would never let the church spend any money on decorations."

She pauses, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to acknowledge it or not. But her subsequent eye roll made me feel like I should have.

"So, my mom suggested the schools be in charge. Every year, Kindergarten through Seniors, we would hand-make decorations out of like pinecones and evergreen branches or whatever we could get our hands on. And this one year, Susan and I dried out a ton of cranberries—we were going to string them to wrap around some of the garland. Anyway, we were sitting in the pews in awe of our cranberry awesomeness when Caleb approaches."

I see her smile out of the corner of her mouth even though she's staring straight ahead.

"He dared me to put a cranberry in Dad's Bible. And, of course, I did it because, well, it was a _dare_ , so I had to. And it was a frickin' dried cranberry; so who cares? But, Caleb, my dickface of a brother, knew the acidic properties of cranberries would eat through the papyrus-thin paper."

I find myself smiling at her memories, and I continue to rub her back hoping she'll continue.

"So, on Christmas Eve, Dad got up on that pulpit for the year's sermon, he opened up his Bible…to _no verses_. At least, not the ones he was planning to use. It wasn't a huge deal because Andrew Prior could recite the whole Bible by heart, but…he knew it was us, and in there lied the problem."

"What'd he do?" I ask quietly. She sounds like she's telling a semi-funny story, but I can only imagine the consequences for her and Caleb.

"He made Caleb and I stand up and recite the verses by memory. Oh, my God, my mind went completely blank, but Caleb…just spilled them out. It was almost like a battle!" she laughs and sits back crossing her arms and smiling fondly. "Dad would throw out a verse and Caleb would recite it. The whole parish was laughing…even Dad by the end…"

"So…that's it? Or, did you get punished? Sorry, I'm just…"

"Yes, definitely. Well, Caleb worse than me."

I purse my lips because I can't even fathom how Marcus would react to any kind of antics I tried to pull on him.

"I had to wash dishes after the church luncheons for a month. Ugh… But, Caleb wouldn't apologize. He said it was all part of his strategy—his strategy of making it the best Christmas service ever. So, my Dad being a patient and thoughtful man, also strategic, agreed with Caleb."

"And…," I prod, knowing this couldn't possibly end well.

"He made Caleb stay in each Friday _and_ Saturday night…for three months, and play Chess with him. You know, to work on his 'strategizing,'" she relays with air quotes.

"Wow," I whisper in awe.

"Yep. Caleb bitched about it, but after the three months were up…they kept going. They didn't even talk about it. It was just some unspoken thing. The last Saturday came and went. And that next Friday, Dad had the board all set up, they both entered the room and sat down…as equals."

"That's..."

I can't begin to tell her how envious, yet, happy I am that she has memories like that. For her parents' many shortcomings, Tris still has those—lessons learned, happy times, things worth remembering.

"He would have liked you."

I jerk my head to see Tris gazing at me with soft eyes. "Well, at first, he would have hated you," she jokes poking me in the side. "But, you would have won him over. My mom would have _loved_ you."

"Really?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"You're disgustingly charming when you want to be." _Well, okay, maybe._

"My dad hated Eric. My mom pretended to like him—inviting him over for dinner, having lunch with his Mom. She was always better at hiding things than my Dad."

I feel her eyes on me, but I look out the window over her head, wanting this conversation to end…now.

* * *

We walk up to the front doors of Kerrington hand-in-hand, thank God. For a while there, I was convinced she was upset with me for my lack of participation in that conversation. But she seems okay, right now. Unless, I'm reading her wrong which I feel I've been doing a lot of, lately.

We both stop short at the doors going into the facility. _Too many fucking options!_

"Circle doors," she states confidently. "Seems about right, yeah?"

"I will follow you into the mouth of a cannon," I respond, squeezing her hand as she pulls me with her. "Unless you're pissed at me, 'cause then you'd probably lite it."

"This is kind of a proverbial cannon, so… Spot on, Eaton."

Rather than the customary wait-for-you-own-damn-turn of the revolving door, I follow right behind, pulling her to me as she squeaks in surprise. I hold her tightly when it comes time to exit, not ready to release her just yet, making our way around the circle again. The exit comes around again, but I still don't let her go because I'm enjoying the brief respite of laughter and bodily contact.

"I'll take any excuse I can get to be close to you, especially when we're trapped," I whisper as we make round three. "Like in the backs of vehicles…" I look down to see the reaction I provoked, and I'm quite pleased. "You're grinning. Okay, we're here," I quip as I shove her out the door into the lobby.

"You're an ass!" she shrieks as she takes an extra two steps to get her balance.

"Mmm hmm."

But, quickly enough, we both seem to put our serious faces on as we approach the front desk. I immediately lock very challenging eyes with the man whose name I do not recollect in the slightest but have met, nonetheless.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Vague," he mentions snidely as he looks over whatever the fuck he's doing. "And you would be…?"

"Mrs. Vague," she responds, picking up on his rude demeanor. _Wait, did she say "Mrs.?"_

"And you are here to see…?"

"Do you _ever_ actually _finish_ your questions?"

"Yes."

I watch Tris have a stand-off similar to the one he and I had. It's worthless because he really _does_ hold all the cards.

"Caleb Prior," she finally grits out.

"One…moment… Yes, Caleb Prior has a closed visitor's list apart from his—"

"Medical proxy, that would be me."

"Well, in that case, I only have a Beatrice Prior listed…not a Mrs. Vague. Would that be you?"

"You caught me," she deadpans.

"May I see some identification?"

Without tearing her evil eyes away, she reaches into her small purse, pulls out her wallet and slides her I.D. over to him.

"Hmm…" He holds the I.D. away from him as if he's far-sighted. "Are you sure this is you? This doesn't look like you…at all."

I clear my throat loudly, which seems to get his attention as I glare at him. However, I can't help but peek at her picture. It turns out, he's right.

"I'm…sure." She rips the card out of his hand and slides it into her wallet as expertly as she took it out. "Now which wing of this minefield shithouse is my brother in these days?"

"The hospital wing," he answers smugly.

"What?!... Why?!... WHERE?!"

"That way," the rude dumbass jerks his head in some random direction behind him.

Tris goes storm-trooper style down the hall and I attempt to follow but am met, somehow, with the surprisingly forceful push of nameless asshole.

"You're not on the list."

"Get…your hands OFF me," I growl grabbing the collar of his jacket.

"Tobias! Are you coming?!"

"I'm _not_ …on the _list_!" I yell back roughly pushing him several feet away just as Tris reappears.

"Add him to the list… _now!_ "

"I'll need you to fill out the proper paperwork, Mr. Vague."

"Good Christ, Tobias, just punch him in the face!"

I look into the guy's eyes and take two steps forward, just to be a dick—I have no intention of hitting a man over unfiled paperwork no matter how much of a peckerwad he is. To my pleasure, he instantly backs up, tripping over a cart.

"Tris, I'm not going to punch a man in the face. I'll fill out the paperwork. You go."

"Well, _I'd_ punch him," she snarks as she heads back down the hall.

"I have no doubt," I comment under my breath as I turn my attention to no-namer. "The paperwork, please."

He straightens himself up behind the desk trying to regain his composure from my non-punch in the face. I remember the last time he 'chuckled' at me when I threatened him, so I honor him with an equally as annoying rebound chuckle while he passes me the papers.

"Your real name would be appreciated, Mr. Vague."

He is apparently the type of man who needs to have the last word and, at this point, I will graciously give it to him, so he'll shut the fuck up.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I sit in one of the chairs, still not understanding the whole "my pleasure" thing and begin filling out the necessary information, my mind drifting a bit. _First name? Tobias. Middle Initial? Skip it. Last Name? Eaton. Wait, what?_ My eyes flit back and I notice that I wrote my name as _Tobias._ I haven't done that in years. It's not as if I had legally changed it or anything, so it's not that strange, right? The whole making people call me 'Four' thing was just the angsty, dramatic, teen in me who wanted to reinvent himself. Did I really reinvent myself or did I just push down the pieces of myself that were less-desired? Everything seems to always come to the surface in the end, though. Everything, eventually, all comes out.

Tris has, in some way, shape, or form, dragged everything out of me—she's made me lose my mind in both the best and the worst ways, made me feel happier than I ever have in my life, along with stupider, and sadder. She's made me close myself off but then opened me right back up again. She's—

"Four?"

I look up, not appreciating the disturbance to my thoughts, to the face of Cara.

"Yes?"

"Um… What are you…doing here?" she asks nervously as she turns and looks over her shoulder.

"I'm here…" I finish up the last line with my signature. "…in support of my girlfriend, who is visiting her brother as we speak." I get up and smack the clipboard down hard on the raised desk, scaring the piss out of nameless fucker before turning back to Cara. "Where's his room? I'm not going to attempt to navigate this place again—"

"She already went to see him?!"

"Yeah, why?"

"Christian, are we staffed enough in the hospital wing?"

"No less than normal—two nurses and three—"

"YOU!"

I don't even get to turn my head fast enough to see where the lion's roar came from. All my eyes catch is Cara pushed into a wall, held there by her shoulders by Tris.

"You just…LET HIM! How could you do that?! How could…YOU?! He's _STARVING_!"

"We don't…force…our patients to eat! This isn't an institution!"

"That is such fucking _shit_! He's trying to kill himself!" she screams through tears as I pull her back from Cara, very aware of the location of my balls and shins.

"Tris—"

"Shut-up, Tobias," she snaps. "And where was my phone call...CARA?! I should sue your ass for malpractice and… _rudeness_! I'll sue the whole damned facility! And you too, assface!" she yells over her shoulder at the desk dipwad. "Well, DR. Reynolds…say something! Oh, wait…That's because…you CAN'T! You _knew._ You were fully _aware,_ but you looked the other way! Do you even know what you're DOING to me?! He's…it!" she points toward the direction she came from with such force I can't believe the wall is still standing. " _That_ man…in _there_ …is ALL I have left you stupid, selfish, bitch! I HAVE NO ONE! NO ONE! If I have kids…they'll have no grandparents, no uncles or aunts, or cousins or… No one!" she clutches her chest and hyperventilates as I look on helplessly, hoping my proximity is all that's needed right now. "I have…to go," she mutters as she stumbles toward the doors.

I take one last look at Cara's blank face before I follow after Tris, who this times chooses the quickest exit—straight through the push doors. I fully expect her to take off, but she stops in her tracks not 20 feet outside the hospital door. I slow up and stand behind her, close enough for her to feel my presence, but not close enough where we're touching. I'm torn between the two worlds I constantly battle with—the need for space versus the need for…not space.

I can just about feel the stinging on my cheek, a remnant of a memory—

…..

 _"Why would you want me to sleep in the same bed as you? And that fucking hurt!"_

 _"Good! Because it hurt when I woke up and you…weren't…there!" She points to the bedroom enunciating the last words._

 _"I was giving you…I don't know...space!"_

 _"You think I want space from you? What makes you think that I ever want space from you?!"_

 _….._

I remember the look of seriously-can-you-be-more-ridiculous on her face upon my rationale. So, I slide my fingers into her belt loops and rub small circles up under her shirt on her lower back, just in case I'm wrong and she does need some space. But, she immediately leans back into me, so I switch loops to the front ones and continue my comforting circles on her abdomen.

"I like it when you do that," she whispers as she wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"I know."

"You should have seen him. He looked…emaciated. His…stomach…was…" She shakes her head as if she's trying to rid her mind of negative images.

"Did you talk to him?" I ask leaning my forehead on the back of her head.

"Ha! I tried… He wouldn't even respond until I got closer."

She turns around, and just then I notice that the hair around her face, her shoulders, and the top half of her shirt are wet.

I note that her bottom lip is starting to quiver as she tries to get words out. "He threw…water in my face."

All I can do it sigh and pull her in for a very tight hug. It's not one where any reciprocation is expected or even desired. To be honest, I _want_ to be in control…for her—something to lean on. It's okay for her to lose her balance and her posture because I'm right there to catch her. And I do just that, as she just about slides down my body. My instinct is to sweep her up and carry her to…wherever she wants to go, but I don't think she'd be okay with that in this situation. So, I just help her right herself and walk her over to the nearest bench and sit.

I reflect back on the scene that played out not five minutes ago. But, this time, her words sting. I decided, earlier, to not mention Caleb's exact words because I didn't want to push her over the edge she was already teetering on.

….

 _"You be…her family…" he whispers in my ear. "You swear to me… SWEAR to me! You'll be…her family."_

 _…._

"Hey…Caleb isn't all you have left. You know that, right?"

A slight nod of the head is all I get before she leans in and I hold her to me. I feel like a few moments of silence are high on both of our lists, right now. At least, mine…

I just now realize that Tris and I, inherently, have two different ideas of what family is, or what family feels like—not that one is right, and one is wrong. I've never felt that I had a family. The closest feeling I've come to it is with the Pedrads, and even then, there's always seemed to be something missing. I met Tris and finally admitted to myself that I was in love with her, and when she admitted the same, it was like something clicked. I realize that's such a common phrase, " _it clicked."_ But, that's how it felt to me. I became more whole; She, her presence felt like home to me.

But, Tris's rant to Cara—that was unadulterated emotion, not calculated, thought out comments. I know she's told me before that she's my family, but it has always been in response to something I've said. I feel a mix of sadness that we may not feel the same about each other, but also, happiness that, maybe someday, if I'm lucky enough, I may be the guy to fill that void for her. _Kids scare the shit out of me, and I'm still not sold on the idea of even having them, but…I don't know. I guess for her… Why am I thinking about this now? It's not like we're in the best place relationship-wise. We're having a tough time. At least, I am. Fuck, what if—_

"That is some look on your face."

I quickly look to my right to see that Tris, who not even a minute ago was in my embrace, crying into my chest, is now staring at me quizzically. I hadn't even felt her pull away.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Tell me what's on your mind," she implores, taking my hand in hers.

"I think _your_ mind is the one we should be concentrating on." _Cue the eye roll…_

"Please…no…" _And there it is!_ "We do so much of that already. I can use a distraction from the heinous existence that is my family."

"It's not heinous. He's still here. He—"

"He's trying to kill himself, Tobias. And there's nothing I can do. Cara's right, this isn't an institution. He has rights. They aren't going to shove a feeding tube down his throat, and I wouldn't want them to. If he doesn't want to live…if he's in that much pain…"

I cup her face with both of my hands and swipe at her cheeks with my thumbs so she'll stop wiping her tears on her damned shirt sleeve.

"I just can't imagine him…not existing, anymore. Just, fuck, it's hitting home, and I don't…" Unable to finish, she rests her head in her hands.

"Come on… Let's walk," I suggest, pulling her up to standing by both of her hands.

"Okay."

Leading her to my right side, I link our fingers leaving a kiss on her knuckles before heading toward Uptown. The look on her face leaves me guessing, so I can only put myself in her shoes and do the best I can.

"It hurts," I begin. "Not in the no-shit-dumbass way, but…it's more like a mix of loss and guilt. Loss because of obvious reasons, but…guilt is the one that sticks with you. Because you're thinking that what he's doing is selfish."

"It's really, really, _FUCKING_ selfish…even though…" She looks at the ground unable to finish her sentence.

"Even though, you know you aren't _supposed_ to feel that way. And that's where the guilt comes in."

"Tobias." She stops and takes my hands looking up at me sadly. "For a minute there, I forgot about your mom and how you may just understand this a little. Fuck, Caleb is still living, and here I am, blubbering as if he's already six-feet under. So, um, thank you…for making some sense of that for me…or, at least, making me feel like it's okay to _not_ have to make sense of it," she laughs lightly at her nonsensical reasoning that makes perfect sense to us. "How many years did it take you to figure that out?"

This, honest to God, makes my brain pause because—

"Hang on." I pull my phone out of my pocket looking at the time and calculating the math quickly in my head. "16 years, 10 months, 28 days, 7 hours, 27 minutes and 36 seconds," I remark in slight awe and slight embarrassment that it took that much time for me to come to that conclusion.

"Talking helps, huh?" Tris notes nudging me with her elbow as we start walking again.

"Yeah, well, you've been the one doing the most talking today, not me. So, I guess I can thank _you_ for my epiphany."

"Yeah, but still—"

"So," I interrupt because I want no more discussion. "Do you want to do something fun? Different? Movie in the park? I looked it up. They have them every Sunday at Pulaski—"

"I have to work."

"You're working seven nights a week? Tris, that's asinine!" I exalt because I'm fucking frustrated.

"So are my medical bills."

"Let…me…help…you—"

"No."

"You need a break," I point out, literally, with my finger. "Don't you want a break? A day off?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because taking breaks equals a wandering mind and right now, a _not_ -wandering mind is what I need the most," she replies matter-of-factly.

"Well, I can—"

"Be my distraction?" she suggests as if that's laughable.

"Yes!" I kick a loose piece of sidewalk hard as we pass it.

"I don't want you to be my distraction."

I let out a heaving breath of controlled aggravation. "I'm just trying to—"

"Do the right thing. I know."

"I…wasn't going to say that. I just…want to…" _Wait, was I going to say that?_

"Come on," she orders, grabbing my hand. "There's a Red line station up here."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I should be watching a movie in Pulaski Park with Tobias. I even looked up what was playing— _Ferris Bueller's Day Off._ Does it get any better? I shouldn't be sitting out here on the balcony, where I know he won't venture. I can tell myself a thousand times, what I _should_ do. I could hear it a thousand times from a thousand different people, what I _should_ do— _communicate_ with him, _open up_ to him. _Should I be doing those things? Definitely._

 _Should I be telling him how I feel like I have no control over my life—that it seems to be run by other people and their decisions? Definitely. Should I tell him that my life is just one big fallout, a casualty? Definitely. Should I tell him the fact that my brother is going as far as starvation to escape this life, despite my presence makes me feel more alone than I ever have in my life? Definitely. Should I tell him I love him, and I know he's my family? That I want him to be my family? That he feels like my family? Definitely. Should I tell him that, even though, Caleb is leaving me, you…Tobias…make me feel like a whole person? Definitely… Hold up…_

 _Tobias…makes me feel like a whole person? So, then what am I without him? Broken?_

I'm reminded of something Christina said, "Maybe you need _him_ in order to heal." At the time, I agreed with her.

 _Need….him? In order to heal…myself? What the hell?_ I can see how that sounds great in an inscription at the end of a novel as if the author went back and thought, "What can bring this shit full circle and make me sound poetic?" Like some saying that will live through the ages, even though, it's total BS and only made up to make a book sound more profound than it really is. It's not reality. Other people don't heal you. _Even I know that shit and I'm not even in therapy!_

 _Therapy… Therapy will be good… Therapy. Therapy._

"Therapy," I say aloud to no one.

"Therapy, huh?"

I whip around to see Tobias, nervously leaning up against the side of the building.

"Hard word to say aloud?"

I don't need to answer him because he already knows it is.

"Are you nervous?" he inquires softly, pulling a chair up next to me and seating himself.

"I'm trying not to think about it. But, it sneaks up on me."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "I'm really proud of you, making the decision to do this."

"You could do it too," I respond, hopefully.

"Um…" He starts to bounce his knee, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the back of his head. "I feel like I'm such a straightforward case. You know, 'Child of a mother who most likely committed suicide, and a father who is a narcissistic, nepotistic, near-psychopath, wife-beater.' The effects being—introvert, lack of communication skills, jealous tendencies with a tad bit of control issues in there…"

I narrow my eyes at him trying to figure out if he is serious or not. _Does he really see himself as that black and white? Because that was the oversimplified understatement of the century!_

"Hmm. And you don't think a therapist…could… _help_?"

"I… I mean I feel like I've gotten better at…things and… Well, you've…helped more than you know. I don't know, do I qualify anymore?"

"Do you… _qualify_?"

"I mean, they would pretty much just make me talk, right? And I already am doing that with you…because of you. And…"

I can only imagine I'm giving him the most wide-eyed cartoon character face…ever.

"What? You don't think that's enough?"

"Uh… I didn't say that. But…I suppose if you think it's enough, then…"

I leave my sentence off right there with plenty of room for him to fill in the obvious blanks.

"I do."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Three sandwiches, Two pickles and a chocolate chip cookie later, I stroll into the bar tossing a sandwich to Al as I pass him.

"I know how much you love #5s."

I get a very satisfying wide-eyed expression from him. Hopefully, the memory resonates with him of the time he ate the sandwich…FROM ME…intended for TRIS. I smile to myself at how near-devastated I was at the thought of Tris losing interest in me when we first started dating. _Can we just go back to that night? Without the Al trying to kiss her part? But, ugh, that first night…I told her about my tattoos, my real name…I got to give my beautiful girl her first orgasm. That was so awesome. I was awesome. She thought I was awesome. Up top, Tobias!_

Sunday and Monday evenings are the two slowest nights of the week, so I readily sneak up behind Tris and seat myself on a stool. She seems to be staring at…nothing.

"Tris, babe?" one of the customers yells from a table.

I watch her face through the mirror as she clenches her jaw at the use of the word "babe" while I do the same.

"Yeah?" she croaks without turning around.

"Can we get a refill?"

"Sure!" she yells trying to sound chipper.

It isn't until she stops staring and looks up that I see how blood shot her eyes look. I smile at her, and she returns it weakly, waving hello, but still not turning around. Then I see her shoulders start to shake, and I immediately find myself behind the bar, grasping her shoulders.

"You okay?" I ask looking behind me to see if anyone notices us.

"No."

"What can I do?"

"I'll make the drinks, but you can deliver them? I don't want anyone to see my face."

"Sure."

I stand patiently and worriedly while she concocts a Dewars and water and a Beam and Coke, keeping her head down the whole time.

"Thank you," she mouths as she slides them over to me.

"No problem."

I kiss the back of her head quickly as we part ways, her exiting toward the back room. Bringing the drinks to the table, I look around for Lynn or Molly—no cocktail waitresses on Sundays, apparently.

"Here." I unceremoniously put the glasses in front of the customers.

"Wow, Tris. Those testosterone pills kick in fast."

That idiotic comment deserves no response out of me, so I head right back behind the bar, to where Tris has quickly returned, looking no more composed than before.

"I was fine until I saw you," she mutters.

"You were _not_ fine, and I'm sorry?"

"It's only because I don't have to hold back with you, as much."

"Or…at all?"

"So, when I see you, it makes me want to get the hell out of here, and I still have six hours left."

"Well, then I'll stay and help—"

"Tori wouldn't be too happy with that."

"Fuck her. You're… _upset._ And—"

"That's my existence lately," she quips, pouring herself and me a shot of Jack. "I'll be fine, really. I just…I can't stop thinking about Caleb and how his fucking organs are probably shutting down as we speak. It makes me sick. Cheers," she adds meekly as we both throw back our shots.

"Fuck… I wish it were busier. You should probably go, that pity look alone is making me ill again."

I take inventory of my face, which I never do. _Was I giving her a pitying look? Shit!_ "I didn't mean to…do that. I don't pity you, I—"

"It's fine. Thank you for the sandwich. I mean it. And…fuck, the pity thing is just me being overly sensitive."

I take in her trying-to-be-strong demeanor, and a feeling of nothing but respect fills me. _She's the coolest chick ever._ Walking past her, I grab her hand and pull her to the hallway quickly, leaning her up against the wall. I tuck a strand of hair behind her right and her left ear and cup her face softly.

"Well, when you get off work tonight, you can be sensitive, okay?"

Suddenly, her bottom lip starts shaking and her cheeks redden again, coupled with tears out of both eyes.

"Damn…it," she moans as she sprints toward the bathroom.

* * *

 **Caleb's POV:**

Nothing hurts anymore. I've been confused and stupid for so long now that the feeling of nothing is nothing short of amazing. Nothing, nothing, nothing…short of amazing.

I'm so close. All I have to do is wait for the intended effects. The waiting game. The waiting game. Games. Death has been a game for me. It always seems to beat me. Or maybe I beat death? Either way, I would love to win for once…or lose… Whatever.

 _What is it called? What is FUCKING called?!_

"Agh!" I look at my hand as it tries to smack me in the head. "What is it?!"

"What is what?" a man's voice asks.

I can't see him. I can barely see anything. But, he must be here. "You can hear me?"

"Yes."

"Uh… Um… Third world countries. Starvation... The disease. What...is it? You're…not…gonna know—"

"Marasmus."

"No." I laugh at this guy's stupidity. If there even _is_ a guy here. "Does it look...like I have...edema?" I point to my not-at-all distended abdomen. "You're a...fucking idiot. _Who_ …are you?"

"You don't know me?"

"No. Now…get out."

"Kwashiorkor."

I sigh in relief. I feel like a ton of idiot bricks just got lifted off me. "Couldn't…think of that…damned word. I hate that. How do…you know—"

"Not getting enough protein, also characterized by fatigue, decreased muscle mass, and I'm afraid you're mistaken, your abdomen is quite distended. Do you also have body dysmorphic disorder?"

I shrug my shoulders at the probability. "Don't even know…what I…look like, so…"

* * *

 _More people. People again. They're just blobs. They look like fuckin' protozoa or amoebas._

"Ow... You stupid...fucking bitch." _Caleb…why? Caleb…why?_

"Caleb, if you'd stop ripping your IV out, I won't have to keep fixing it." I try to smile at Cara's voice, but only on the inside. She can't know me. She thinks she does, but she can't.

"I don't want it. Leave me...the...fuck alone." _I'm sorry…_

"Do you always talk that way to women?" _That damned voice again?!_

"What the…hell? Who are you?"

"I would venture to guess, that you didn't. It's disrespectful. You may _think_ you're special because you're in here. But, you're not. Your move."

"My…what?"

"Your move. We're playing a game. It's your move."

"I…can't—"

"You're right. You can't. That means I'll win. I like winning, and, to honest, I've never lost, so…"

"Leave me alone."

"Gladly."

A dragging noise and a loud smack bust through my eardrums. _Fuck!_

"Sorry. I took your move for you. Isn't that what you want? Someone else to take control?"

"No. Who the... _fuck..._ wants that?"

"People who try to starve themselves."

I try to lift my arms to rub my eyes, but I can't. _Who is this guy?_

"That's...me taking control...you asshole."

"Mmmmm, no. That's called giving up—not putting any effort into something…the ultimate form of a loss of control."

"Whatever."

"Can you see?"

I shake my head, no. _Why am I answering this guy?_

"That's because your body is using up all extra hydration."

"I'm aware. I'm…smart."

"Me too. Your turn."

"I can't even... What the hell do you...want me to do?"

"Play," he says like it's the most apparent thing…ever. "Do you want an eye drop?"

"Fine."

"Take a drink of water and I'll get you eye drops."

"Fuck...you."

"My turn?" he asks as if I'm supposed to know.

The scraping and forcing of pieces…across something is _murdering_ my will.

"You know you're going to lose, right?"

"I'm…used…to it." I try to swallow, but the dryness makes my throat feel like sandpaper.

"You think you've lost everything?"

"Officially…everything."

"Hmm. You okay with that?"

"No, I'm not…okay…with _that_ … Jesus Christ…"

"If only your father could hear you now."

I feel, I can actually feel, my head turn. There's a man there. I can see him now, or I see a part of him. He's…sitting, so… "You…you know…my father?"

"No."

"Then…how—"

"Your turn, although, you don't seem to be able to do anything for yourself, so—"

"Where's… Where's… Where's the water?"

"Right here. Open your mouth."

I feel cool liquid running down my throat. I didn't even have to make an effort. The human body is amazing, how it just knows what to do for survival. _This is heaven. This is not heaven. There is a dude…feeding me water…through a straw. This is hell._

"Nurse? Can you bring us some eye drops, please?"

"This is…such…bullshit," I whine feeling happy that I sound like myself. _Happy… That's hilarious!_

"That's enough water unless you want to vomit. Now, hold still."

 _Where the fuck does he think I'm going?_

"Agh... Dude…" Painful lubricant relief enters my right eye.

"Again."

"Damn..." A matching glorious pain in my left. _This is fantastic._

My eyes blink on their own accord, the body's natural reaction to stimuli. It only takes 1/10th of a second. _How can I remember such bullshit…shit…but I can't even remember my own damned—_

"Your move."

1/10th of a second, the same amount of time it takes me to realize there's a chessboard in front of me.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you, everyone, for reading, for reviewing and for supporting! Love you all!**

 **Ta!**


	11. Behavior

**Chapter 11 –Behavior**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I've been hammering carefully and scraping away at the grout and the leftover remnants of the gray subway tile in the shower, switching hands when my right rib cage starts to throb. This is the hard part, but I'm just about done. I really hope to have the tile in by the time Tobias comes back to the apartment. It won't be entirely finished, but finished enough where it's too late for him to try to stop me! _Ha ha!_ I haven't decided if I'm going to tell him the ridiculous lengths I went to in order to get the necessary materials, but it's kept me busy, and I'm loving the massive distraction.

I've been up since 5:45 and I've been going strong since then! Gettin' shit done! Concentrating on things I like! Not thinking about how disconnected I feel from my body, seeing as I have no clue if I was violated or not. It's, basically, a ginormous hole in my conscious that just floats around in my head never being filled, always there. A subject, not worth conquering, because, well, how do you get over, or move on from, something that may or may not have happened? Oh, yeah, and my brother may be dead, so there's that too. _Son of a bitch! Is there no ESCAPING this shit?!_

I chuckle at my stupid escapism technique and quickly glance at my phone, noticing I had received a text from Christina. My hands are full of grout and schmutz, so I lean over to see if I can, at least, read some of the message from the locked screen.

 **Christina:** Sorry about my blowjob bitch-out. Lemme know if you want to talk!

"Apologizing via text. Classic, Christina," I sigh. She has nothing to apologize for, anyway—she was right. "And, no, I don't want to talk! I'm sick of talking!"

I didn't even feel like talking to _Tobias_ when I got home from work last night. It was 2:00 AM, I was exhausted, and mentally unable to form words, let alone, sentiments. I have a feeling he was relieved, not that he would ever tell me that. The sigh of relief he tried to hide when I slid under the covers, curled up next to him, and said I didn't want to rehash anything, was very telling.

Exhaling a way-too-exaggerated horse-like noise, I pick up the plastic container of mortar and my scraper, moving on to step two of my mini-restoration with Christina's text still present in my mind.

I miss talking about the dumb shit—the mundane, everyday crap! And with Tobias and I, I don't know if it's because our schedules prevent it, or if it's just the strange place our relationship is in, but we don't ever talk about the little things—idiotic anecdotes from the bar, which project he's working on, what we had for lunch—all the stuff we talked about when we were first dating. Lately, casual conversation rarely gets beyond the "How was your day? How was your night?" before some deep issue rears its awful head.

We could talk for what seems like forever about the bigger issues that plague us both. It would take some serious muscle for me to yank it out of him, but I could do it. It's fuckin' exhausting, but, he's worth the effort. _Me,_ on the other hand, am _I_ worth the effort? _Deep breaths. Deep breaths. That's why you're going to therapy—to make yourself worth the effort he's putting in._

Seeing as the mortar is smooth enough, I press the first piece of subway tile, followed by the one underneath it, to the shower wall, making sure they are lined up with the consecutive tiles. I do a quick, silent prayer that the new tiles don't fall out onto the floor, and then back away slowly. _10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Whoop! Whoop!_

"Not bad, Prior," I remark to myself about my perfectly-fitted, secured, tiles.

I exit the shower and make my way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, eying my perfectly organized folder sitting nicely on the counter. It contains all sketches and plans for the three houses, along with a proposal I put together at the last minute—something I wasn't prepared for until I received the brand new information of what these houses will be used for.

 **Flashback:**

Sitting at the breakfast bar, I glance up from my sketches and notes (or ISIS attack plans, as Tobias now calls them) and lose my train of thought as my vagina just about explodes from seeing Tobias first thing in the morning with his suit on.

I, routinely, have been trying my best to ignore his _physical_ presence in the mornings as he gets ready. I stay in bed and pretend he's not naked, and that he's not running his hands all over his body in the shower, and that he's not shaking out his hair and rubbing the back of his head with a towel as he exits, and that said towel is not hanging on his slim hips while he shaves…I could go on… But, seeing as sleeping was at the bottom of my list _last_ night, I got up earlier than him _this_ morning.

His brief cocky ( _Really, Prior?)_ smirk as he walks around the counter to me makes it known that I was caught. He gives me a sweet kiss on the head along with a sexy "Good morning" whisper in my ear. My sense of smell decides it's party-time as I inhale his aftershave and his morning-Tobias-goodness.

The knowing look on his face as he walks back into the kitchen is both infuriating and sexy-as-hell. Tobias is fully aware of the effect he has on people when it comes to his physical appearance, but he doesn't seem to give a shit unless _I'm_ the one paying him attention. _Unless I'm reading that wrong, I've been doing a lot of that lately. Hmm. I wonder if he ever stares at me like I stare at him. Hmm…_

"… … … … these houses are for charity, you know. You're working your ass off and—"

"What the hell did you just say?" I realize I only caught the ass end ( _Really, Prior?_ ) of that statement, but I could have sworn I he said, "these houses are for charity."

"I said, 'I…love…you?'" he responds in an attempt to pacify me.

"These…houses…are…for… _charity_?!"

"Yes…?"

I slap my hands on the counter and stare down at the quartzite rock design, running a previous conversation through my head. I know Amar had mentioned something about this being philanthropic, but I just assumed he was going to sell the houses and donate the money or something.

"Tobias," I breath out still concentrating on the countertop. "I've been knocking down walls, proposing huge additions, enlarging garages, moving closets, adding en suites, digging around, literally DIGGING, for reclaimed materials, researching high-end appliances and possible improvements in efficiency, and providing overall outrageous design suggestions…for CHARITY?"

"Since when are you against helping people?" he asks, taken aback by my comments as he walks around to stand by my stool.

"I'm not, I'm not… I… That's not what I'm saying," I backtrack, realizing I sound like a total snooty bitch. "What I mean is, I thought these were going to be ALG houses. You know, reflections of a nationally ranked and respected company. If I had known these houses were going to be for, whatever they are going to be for, I would have been more budget driven so we could do more fucking houses, TOBIAS! You know, help _more_ people!" _Why am I yelling?_

"I like the 'we,'" he adds cheekily as if he heard nothing I just said.

"I'm serious. I would have been more financially intuned—"

"You should come work for me," he suggests sarcastically.

"Ha! _That_ would be a disaster," I respond with equal sarcasm.

He comes up behind me, and I get, for the second time, a torturous whiff of his aftershave mixed with his fresh shower smell as he rests his chin on my shoulder so we are cheek to cheek. He's obviously trying to kill me.

"Hey, your work isn't going to waste," he assures running his palms up and down my arms. "So, maybe you'll have to change some of the material and higher-end products. So what? It's part of the process, trust me. You still did great—above and beyond what he asked you to do. Be proud of that. And grow some thicker skin, by the way."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? I'm dating _you_ , so my skin is, already, quite thick."

I feel his Adam's Apple brush against my shoulder as he swallows and clears his throat, which he only does if he doesn't like what he hears, yet, has no response.

"You okay?" I ask as I move my cheek closer to his, hoping he'll be truthful, but knowing he won't.

"Yeah, so, Amar is nothing if not honest…brutally honest, in fact. So…just keep that in mind. You may need some calloused skin," he chuckles.

"Is that why you two get along so well?" I chide, moving on from whatever it was he didn't want to share with me.

"Probably," he responds as he lands his lips on my neck for a quick kiss and then turns my stool to face him.

He smirks and then leans in, kissing me slowly, which is soooo my favorite. Especially when he runs his hands softly down my head, smoothing my hair down and tucking it behind my ears. But he pulls away, as expected, just as I started to lean in more.

"Bye. I love you."

"Love you too," I respond with a sigh and a shrug…as expected.

 **End Flashback**

I know I may be pushing the limits of my task at hand but I am doing this for free, _and_ have spent an additional two hours on them this morning—always seeming to spend more time on one home in particular. So, why _not_ throw my opinion out there about what they should do, specifically, with these houses?

A quick bought of nerves hits me, as the side of myself that I try so hard to bury, screams, "This crap isn't good enough!" But I shake my head to rid myself of those poisonous thoughts and, instead, pour myself a cup of coffee and take a bite of the protein bar Tobias left half-open for me claiming he made me "breakfast." Then, deciding to roll with the whole normal, keeping-things-lite thing, I slide my phone out of my back pocket to send him a quick "I hope you're having a good day" text. But my phone dings before I have a chance.

I smile, seeing that it's from Tobias, knowing he probably had the same idea as me at the same time—I love that we have that connection. Or…the more likely reason—plain coincidence.

 **Tobias:** Don't be mad.

"Uhhhh…"

 **Me:** Don't MAKE me mad.

 **Tobias:** This might make you mad.

 **Me:** Lay it on me.

"Among other things…"

 **Tobias:** I talked to the nurses at Kerrington.

I set the phone down flat and hard on the countertop and walk in an unnecessary circle, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hands. _Why did he do that?! What the hell, Tobias?! Fuck, what if Caleb is dead? Or almost dead? Or…_

 **Me:** AND?!

 **Tobias:** He drank water and is keeping his IV in.

The wave of relief that runs through me makes me sink down on the floor, and two immediate tears run in synch down my cheeks.

 **Tobias:** I'm texting you this information, rather than calling, because I'm a pussy.

I still don't have the capacity for proper thumb movement to respond, so I just stare at the phone, even as his third consecutive text comes in.

 **Tobias:** I overstepped.

I think about my knee-jerk reaction when I found out—" _What the hell, Tobias?!"_

 **Me:** Yes.

 **Tobias:** I'm not sorry.

I have no other response than what I'm capable of at the moment.

 **Me:** Thank you.

"…for doing what I couldn't because I'm fucking _weak_ and apparently unable to face reality and pick up the phone myself!" I yell through a clenched jaw.

Fuck, I love that Tobias is strong and steps up when I need him, but it also kills me that I didn't do it myself! And, I don't seem to _ever_ be able to do the same for him—to step up when _he_ needs _me. No, wait… I did bring him Ibuprofen the other day. Oh, and I tried to make things right by taking his cock in my mouth in a bathroom._ I laugh out loud, and without abandon, at how pathetic I am.

Suddenly I hear a loud knock and then a key in the lock. Before I can even react, the door is swinging open, and a middle-aged woman comes tromping in like she owns this fucking place.

"Who are you?" she asks in a very brash Eastern European accent.

"Ex _cuse_ me? Who the hell are you?" I retort trying to match her as I stand unsteadily from where I was on the floor.

"I clean this apartment!"

I decide to pull a Christina and cross my arms putting my weight on my right hip. "Well, you're no longer needed. Thank you, good-bye." _I can clean this damn apartment myself! It's one of the minute ways I can contribute right now! And this crazy broad isn't taking it away from me—_

"Where Mr. Four? _He_ tell me! Not you. And today I do _deep_ clean!" she shouts with her finger pointed in the air in triumph. Then she walks right past me to the small storage area at the end of the hall with the washer and dryer, pulling out all necessities as if my presence is meaningless.

I slump my shoulders in defeat. _Damn it! I can't fire his cleaning lady. And she would need notice anyway. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Okaaaay, well, I guess—"

"You go." She pushes past me with a bucket full of cleaning crap.

"I have to leave?!"

"Yes, you go. No stay!"

"Um…okay." I think of the meeting with Amar and…ugh… _therapy_. _I have some time to kill between now and then. Maybe I'll stop by Dalilah's. She's not returning my calls—_

"I have three hour and lot of work. Shoo! No girls!" she flits her hands at me as if I'm some random nobody.

"I'm his girl _friend_!" I state angrily as I sidestep her now poking and prodding.

She stops and looks me up and down doubtfully, which makes me do the same. I'm wearing short cut-off gray sweatpants, an oversized T-shirt, and who knows what my face looks like—probably not good. _I know exactly what this lady is thinking—"There's no way she's HIS girlfriend."_

"Now, shoo, shoo, shoo! Out, out, out! Now, now, now!"

"Okay, okay, fine!" I grab my proposal-portfolio-whatever-you-want-to-call-it, along with my bag and exit the premises. Although, I'm just about physically pushed out the door as it slams behind me.

For a moment, I stand there blatantly guffawing at what I just allowed to happen. I never let people talk to me that way…well, anymore, let alone do what they ask! I huff out an annoyed breath, apparently, allowing myself to accept defeat as I wander toward the elevator with a hunched back. _It's not my apartment. So what was I supposed to do?_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I've been staring at my phone, sporadically, for the last ten minutes, at Tris's final text.

 **Tris:** Thank you.

I could take that curt reply many, many, ways. So, I didn't respond because, as I had previously stated, I'm a pussy, and she's probably furious. But, I know this girl—deep down she's grateful for the help.

I just want to make things 'okay' for her, and it makes me crazy that she won't ask for my help. I have to, basically, force it on her—interject myself in between her and her hurtles and hope she won't punch me, or kick me in the nuts…or the shin, or my hamstring. _Fuck, that hurt—_

"My friend, comrade and partner." Amar is seated in the chair in front of me, and I just about jump out of my skin at his appearance. "My sincerest apologies. Did I startle you?"

"Yes, that tends to be one's natural reaction to the ghostly manifestation of a seemingly normal individual. How the hell do you _do_ that?"

"You were quite lost in thought, and my husband is a yogi." He shrugs and puts his feet up on my desk crossing them at his ankles. _What the…hell…?_ "Move with serenity," frequently leaves my husband's mouth.

"You say the word 'husband' quite often lately." I smile leaning back in my chair swaying back and forth. Amar's face turns a humorous shade of red at my comment.

"Jesus, how often?" he breathes out leaning his head back in his chair.

"Well, put it this way, I would have thought George's name had been changed to 'Husband.'"

"Damn," he says under his breath. "Well, my friend, you may laugh now, but just wait until you marry the love of your life. My how the tables may turn!" he retorts, it being his turn to laugh while I sit there having no idea why I'm not responding. "Tobias, my boy?"

"Mmm hmm?" I reply pulling my glasses off and rubbing my eyes. _Do I need a new prescription? Maybe they're just dirty. Yep, definitely—_

"Are things not well with you and Miss Prior?"

"Call her 'Tris.' She hates it when you refer to her formally."

"I'm quite aware. My former question still stands."

"No, um…" I stare past Amar knowing there is no way any of this will make sense. "We're great. I… She… We talk. We definitely…talk. I love her. She loves me. We…are…great."

"You're great," he states seeing right through my bullshit.

It registers that I'm still staring past him. Normally I'm an exceptional liar. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"I mean. Great, yeah… Well… Fuck, I hate that word." I feel the heat radiate off my face onto palms of my hands as I rest my head on them.

"Whatever you say to me will be in the utmost of confidence."

"I know," I pause trying to collect myself, knowing I need to be vague, but not knowing how vague. "Look," I lift my head and decide out-with-it will be the best course of action. "I respect her too much to divulge personal information about her. But, I will say she received some _disconcerting_ news, and it is…affecting her. Actually, she received _additional_ disconcerting news yesterday. It's like…geez, Amar, it's like she can't get a damned break! Shit just rains down on her! And, she can't deal, and I can't deal. Well, I'm trying…probably failing…but trying. And she talks to me, tells me about… _things_ , but then shuts down once other _things_ are brought up. I want to help her. I think about it…about her…constantly. It fucking plagues me! And she's frustrated with _aspects_ of our relationship, and I'm frustrated with the same _aspects_. And she's dealing with those _aspects_ in an unhealthy manner, and I, being sufficiently aware of my more _visceral_ reactions to her, am confident I will be taking advantage of those unhealthy _aspects_ in the near future. So, steering clear, or, at least, making wide turns…is the only thing I know how to do."

I find that I'm now definitely talking to the ceiling, so I turn my attention back to Amar, who has a pondering look on his face.

"So, encryption not being my forte, I'm going to try to do my best here," he begins. "She is trying to deal with… _something_. You are trying to help. You feel, you are both failing. It is consuming you. And I can only assume, without stepping into the territory of it being none of my fucking business, no pun intended, that you are talking about your sex life and your fear of your physical impulses trumping a healthy progression in that area, so you are keeping your distance…literally."

Amar knows me well enough to know that I will not be responding to any of that perfectly summed up response.

"And you? Are _you_ talking?" he asks.

"Yes…," I answer warily.

"Forgive me, but, this all must bring up some rather bothersome memories. Are you sharing?"

"Occasionally," I reply semi-defensively. "When I feel it's necessary."

"Hmmm… So, basically, when you feel like you… _have_ to?"

…..

 _"I did a lot of 'math'…," she begins, using air quotes. "…last night and I came to the conclusion that you only ever told me things in response to my admissions…as if you felt you owed me that much—"_

 _"No, that's—"_

 _"I told you…well, started to tell you, about Eric…" She swallows at the mention of his name, and I do the same. "…early on. And then about Caleb and my parents…at the pier, remember?"_

 _I nod my head at the memory of her emotionless tears about her brother and how moved I was that she was telling me that. I never deserved that._

 _"The relief I felt…being able to tell someone that…to not try to hide it… Shit! But you only ever gave me small pieces. Don't get me wrong, I cherished those small pieces—those one-shots into your life—"_

 _"They weren't just one-shots—"_

 _"Tell me about where you grew up," she challenges._

 _"You know where I grew up."_

 _"Tell me about it!" she yells as my eyes flit to the window._

 _"Tris…"_

 _"Ha! Yeah… No need. There's not going to be an even trade of information because you sure as hell know I'm not going to let you in anymore!"_

 _….._

The sting of those words and the seeming finality of that day causes my heart to race, along with Amar's words as other conversations come forth—when Jack died, the aftermath of Tris's words to me in the shower, Caleb's suicide. Each time, I let her in because I _had_ to—something prompted it. _Well…so what?!_

"Why would I talk about things that don't pertain to… _her_? Or, don't pertain to the present?"

"To make her feel less alone?" he offers. "She doesn't seem like the type of person who appreciates all attention on her. Maybe a little focus on you would help?"

I roll my eyes at what he's suggesting, and I can only imagine how a conversation like that would go. "So, I should just bring this shit up out of the blue? Unprovoked? And what would I say, Amar? 'Hey, babe, thanks for making coffee, by the way, the smell of gardenias makes me want to vomit because those were my mom's favorite flowers. Just sayin'." I shrug for effect and prop my feet on my desk in mock relaxation when, in all honesty, I don't want anyone's damned shoes on my desk.

"I would think not, my friend," he chuckles while narrowing his eyes at me. "Tobias, you are what I would call…a pure soul, regardless of your façade. You used the word 'plague' and I used the word 'consume' to describe your feelings toward her. Those are strong words, and you didn't so much as blink an eye. It's your selflessness, my friend—you wanting nothing more than for someone else's life to be brighter." He stops and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on them. "But, do you think there's more to it than that?"

"No." And the only reason I say that is because I have no idea what he's talking about.

 _Me being…a pure soul? Is he serious? If only he knew my deepest thoughts… And, so what that I use strong words to describe my affections! Does there have to be a reason for that?_

"Okay," he replies simply as he stands.

I exhale a breath, realizing I'm beginning to sound more frustrated than I need to be.

"Anyway," I backpedal. "I'm hoping some this will be a moot point because she's seeing a therapist today. Fuck… I'm not sure if she'd want me to tell you that. I don't know what she'd want me to tell people these days."

"Well, I will be discreet. And, that's excellent news—very brave, indeed."

"That's exactly what I told her." I shake my head, thinking about how nervous she looked out on the balcony when I found her repeating the word _I_ can barely say— _therapy._

"Well, I must away. I have a rather beautiful lady coming to have lunch with me, and I'm eager to see what she has in store."

"You will be very impressed," I respond proudly and with slight disbelief that Tris has embraced this project.

He nods his head once and exits.

"Oh, and one more thing!" he yells as he weaves his way through the cubicles. "I've often thought of you as brave, too!"

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I see Gertie's alley in sight, and I chuckle a sigh of relief that my appearance has gone unnoticed. Although, I'm fully prepared for the ration of shit she's going to hand me when she sees what I'm wearing.

My phone rings and I take a deep breath, preparing myself for a conversation with Tobias, seeing as I haven't gotten a text back after my very curt _Thank you_ reply. But, it's not Tobias. I see "Dalilah's" come up on the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answer nervously.

"Where have you been?" asks the very stern voice of Dalilah.

"I've been…sick and um, well, I can explain when I see you. But, I did email and call and was going to stop in—"

"I don't need your twenty-something-year-old entitled excuses. I want your work. You have twenty minutes to get here, or I'm done with you."

The lack of any sound on the other end of the line tells me she hung up. I freeze on the spot and try to think of the quickest way to get to Bucktown at this time of day.

"Mon Petit! What is this? What's happening here?" I turn slowly to my left to see Gertie sticking her head out the door flitting her hand in my direction, referring to my appearance.

"Gertie, do you have a car?" I beg.

"Please," she scoffs. "Driving in this town is for fools!" She looks me up and down again. "Oh, darling, don't tell me this is some hippie millennium Bahamian thing."

"If you mean hipster millennial Bohemian thing, the answer is 'no.' _This_ is actually just _me_ , looking like a slob because I got kicked out of my boyfriend's apartment by a very frightening Eastern European cleaning Nazi. Now I have to catch the L, and I have…shit, three minutes to get to Randolph!" I squeak starting a painful jog toward the station.

"Olga?! She kick you out?! Stupid Polack!"

"Don't call Polish people Polacks!" I yell over my shoulder.

"I am old, and I am French! I do what I want!"

* * *

I limp up to the door of Dalilah's, pulling my phone out to see if Tobias had replied to my text. I see no response, but note that I have two minutes to spare until my twenty-minute deadline. Clutching at my side, I take shallow breaths like Evey instructed were I ever to aggravate my injury, and also because deep breaths make me feel like I'm being cooked from the inside out. I knew running was a bad idea, a really bad idea, but missing the L was not an option. I make a last minute attempt to smooth my hair down, but realize lifting my right arm is not going to happen, so I do my best to use my left. Then I take one last breath and walk, as tall and confident as I can, into Dalilah's.

I immediately catch Sofi's eye as she waves to me warmly but warily. I make my way over to her in greeting until I hear the raspy voice of Dalilah.

"Apparently, showcasing your professionalism is equally as unimportant to you as showcasing your work." I look up at the balcony as she gazes down at me, holding her spectacles purposefully right at her nostrils. I glance down at my ratty t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants, and see the mortar that I tried to scratch off my bare legs, has left behind blotchy red marks all up and down my limbs, probably similar to what my face looks like right now.

"I'm sorry, you said I had twenty minutes, so—"

"What is it with your generation where you think you can just get away with whatever you want?" she asks in disgust. "You think everything should be handed to you."

"I really don't, Dalilah. I can see why you would think—"

"You get someone _else_ to set you up to meet me, I allow you to use _my_ space, and you drop off a few pieces of so-so work which I put in my _front_ window because I happen to be fond of the man who went out on a limb for you. Then I don't hear from you for _weeks_ —"

"I was attacked," I blurt out before she can embarrass and berate me further, even though, the embarrassment of that admission seems to be worse.

"Did this so-called attack, prevent you from speaking?" she asks evenly without missing a beat.

"No," I say softly in disbelief at her lack-of-sympathy, yet strangely appreciating it at the same time. "But I've been… It's been…um, hard and… Can we talk privately?"

She laughs at my request while giving me a look devoid of compassion. I decide to skip the excuses.

"I apologize."

"Our contract ended yesterday, and I have no interest in working with millennials with entitlement issues. You have twenty more minutes to prove me wrong."

"Twenty more minutes? To do what?" I inquire as she walks away.

"Five more pieces in twenty minutes."

"But, wait…" I make it up two stairs before hissing out a breath of pain. "Dalilah, they're…at my house. And…I haven't been back there since… Well, that was where I was…where it happened—"

"You have twenty minutes to buck up and grow up!"

"I…"

"Twenty…minutes…my dear!" she shouts from her office.

"Okay." I nod my head and try desperately to hold back tears as I feel a comforting hand on my arm. I gaze into the soft eyes of Sofi and quickly try to exude, at least, a scrap of confidence before I turn for the door.

After exiting the gallery, I begin the steady jog toward my street, trying to control my shaking breaths, which stem from a mix of humiliation and shame. I knew my work wasn't great, but 'so-so?' She's the expert. She sees this stuff all the time. I probably _am_ just run-of-the-mill. _Fuck!_

 _But, ya know what? I knew it! I knew it all along. Christina and Tobias are really the only two who have urged me to try to sell anything—my boyfriend and my best friend. Well, and Amar—my…boyfriend's…mentor and…business partner. God! Did Tobias talk Amar into this?!_

"Oh, fuck. Shit, ouch," I grunt as my body practically gives out from the pain of running to my house.

I lean on the nearest building and look down the street, zoning in on Parkland.

 _What am I going to do when I get there? I might be completely fine! There are so many holes in my memory that…hell…maybe this is a good thing?! Maybe this will jog my memory. Fuck…what if it jogs my memory?_

I grab for my phone, deciding not to be a fucking idiot and ask for some damned help. _Maybe Christina's home?!_

 **Me:** What are you doing right now?

 **Christina:** Shadowing buyers. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this shit. These bitches are straight up nasty. You should hear this guy Dimitri talk to designers. Super cutthroat, shit! Damn it. I just want to design!

"Shit, shit, shit."

 **Christina:** Why? What's up?

 **Me:** Wanted to see if you wanted to do something.

 **Christina:** That's vague. Well, I'm done in an hour.

"Now, what? Now, what? Now, what?" I whisper as I approach Parkland, officially spotting my house.

I sigh in relief as a possible option pops up like a bubble in my brain—The Damen renovation.

 _Maybe someone's there! I wish Tobias were there. That would be a dream come true. Maybe he is? No, he's way too big of a deal. Plus, he said he had a lunch meeting at 11:00. He would be pissed if he knew I didn't try to contact him. But if I do that, he WILL leave work and wouldn't make it in time anyway._

 **Me:** Are you at the Damen project, by chance?

 **Will:** No. Matthew is. Is everything okay?

 _Oh, God…_

* * *

 **Matthew's POV:**

I am not good in stressful situations. I always say the wrong thing, like always, like, with 100.6% accuracy, I say the wrong thing. For example, if Tris is going to ask me, "What's the weather like?" I would say, "Well, seeing that the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains, I would say we're in for a good old fashioned tsunami." Which, I agree, makes no sense at all in this situation, let alone in any situation in life in general.

I round the corner, although I may have skipped, only because there was a crack in the sidewalk and face planting wasn't enticing, and I see Tris…looking insane…sitting on the front stoop with canvases that look like…well, like they were in a tsunami. See maybe my Tsunami joke would be perfectly appropriate.

"Hey, uh, whoa!" I shout as I jog toward her because I'm really worried. "You look… Shit, are you okay? Great weather we're having, huh?" _Idiot!_

She looks up at me as if she doesn't believe I'm really here. Unless someone's behind me? I look over my shoulder and realize I'm in the clear.

"Sorry, it took me so long. Mrs. Devonshire called and…well, she's demanding."

I sit next to Tris, but not too close. I kind of want to send Mrs. Devonshire to a special place for bitching about the ¼ inch difference of the newel posts on the stairs. Should I tell Tris about how much of a horrendous individual this lady is? Babbling may not be the best thing because whatever just happened in that apartment, was terrible. I'm an awful friend and have epically failed in the friend department. I should have told Mrs. Devonshire to shove the newel post up her…tailpipe—the tailpipe of her car. She drives a Rolls Royce. Thank God, I didn't say _that_ out loud.

"So, uh…scene of the crime, eh? How'd it go in there?" I ask stupidly. "Bad, definitely bad…or badly, as your scary, scary man would say. Have I ever told you I use adjectives as adverbs on purpose just to annoy him? It's hilarious. He, literally, bites his tongue."

"Can you just…help me…um…?" She begins to stand, apparently not thinking I'm very funny. _Wow, standing is just not going to happen._

"Maybe we should just…sit," I order even though it sounded like a suggestion.

The firm push of my hands on her shoulder most likely communicated that…or else, I just look like an idiot, making a girl sit and talk to me when she has no desire. Probably a mix of both.

"So, uh, why are you here? _This_ was _not_ a well-thought-out plan."

"Ha, ha. Yeah. I, um, had to get these pictures to Dalilah's gallery."

I look down at the torn photographs. They look…terrible, truly terrible. "Is this like some 'life imitates art thing?' Because I can totally see it. I get it." I'm kidding but not at all kidding. These things look like they were attacked.

"That is so inappropriate…but funny," she responds as she stares in front of her.

"Funny is my middle name. Actually, Winifred is my middle name."

"Winifred…is your middle name?" she quirks her head as if that were some insane impossibility.

"No. Is yours?"

"No," she whispers as a tear escapes that I really want to wipe away, but that would be…weird.

"Sorry, I just don't know what to say right now. So, that's when I'm at my dumbest, my really dumbest, really, really dumbest."

"It's okay. I like your dumb," she chuckles.

"Wow, thanks!"

We sit, awkwardly, well, I sit super awkwardly, just waiting, I mean, waiting, waiting, waiting. I should definitely say…something.

"So, uh, did you want to talk about that?" I jerk my head back toward her apartment where who-the-hell-knows-what happened.

"No."

"Good idea—keepin' that shit on lockdown, holdin' it all in, keepin' it to yourself." I nod my head in fake agreement. "Privacy is the best policy, right? Don't they say that? No. No one says that."

"Mmm hmm."

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. You, uh…look like you could have used some…help." I toe one of the pictures to the side as the photo paper does one grand finale of a tear. I've never seen her photography before, and I can barely see it now.

"I fell."

"Did they fall with you?"

"I guess... I don't really know what happened," she says as if she can't believe what's right in front of her.

"So, now what? How can I redeem myself?"

"Help me get these to the gallery. I don't think I can carry them."

"Without… _damaging_ them?" I ask like a sarcastic ass.

Then I hear her grunt as she stands. It's the same noise I made when I tripped over a dead opossum in my parents' backyard—a very unmanly noise.

"You okay? I'm sure you'll say 'yes,' but you are clearly not okay."

Her forcing back more tears just about crushes my undeniably sensitive soul.

"Just help me, please. Just…help me," she pleads as if she were giving up everything.

"Yes, Ma'am," I salute as I pick up the mess, trying to hold the pictures together. "Or Miss? I was recently informed that women don't like to be call 'Ma'am.'"

"Whoever told you that, is correct." I watch Tris out of the corner of my eye as she tries to hide her hobble, but I decide against pointing it out.

"Well, it was my new lady friend," I inform while smiling like an asshole on the inside. At least, it's not on the outside. Then I'd really be an asshole. "So, yeah, you've been replaced. Turns out I wasn't that into you after all," I shrug jokingly. But I can't tell if she thinks it's funny. "Just kidding. I definitely was into you. Definitely, definitely. But—"

"No need to explain."

"Phew." I think I said that out loud. And I am stoked that she won't make me provide an explanation. Because I really liked Tris, a lot. I still might, a little. But, this new girl… "Dodged that cannon."

"Cannon?"

"Yeah. Dodging a bullet wouldn't do it justice. I would have said something cannon worthy if you hadn't stopped me. It would have been _cannonical_. I just made that one up, I think. Or maybe not? Your boyfriend would know. He uses big words. So do you…sometimes. But, other times, you swear like a truck driver…as in…you should legitimately drive truck for a living. Sorry, I know 'drive truck' sounds grammatically insane. Although I would use the word grammerically if I were talking to Four. God, he hates me."

"Matthew…," she sighs and picks up speed. "I know what 'drive truck' means, I'm from the sticks too. And… _Four_ …doesn't hate you."

"But he doesn't like me."

"He _definitely_ doesn't like you." _Ouch._

"What do I have to do to—"

"Nothing. There are few people on his list who he truly likes, and apart from them, he just tolerates everyone else."

"And you like him because…?" _I've been dying to know…_

"Because I've never met someone _more_ worth knowing in my life."

I glance at her as she grins. That was truly an excellent answer.

"And he's a total babe." It's, unfortunately, true. He could possibly be the most handsome man I've ever seen.

"Yeah, that definitely helps."

"I never had a chance, did I?" I prod because I just _have_ to know.

"Probably not." _Well, thank God I am a glass-half-full kinda guy!_

"You said 'probably.' I heard you say 'probably.' I'll take a 'probably not' over a 'no, you didn't' any day of the week, month, year, decade, centenniade, millenniade… I don't know what comes after that. But, hey, come on, for my own ego, I need it, seriously, say it one more time."

" _Probably_ not."

"Yes! Thank you. Up high, Tris!" I put my hand up for a hi-five, propping one of the disasters under my arm.

She goes for the five, but hisses in pain, so I change course.

"Ooooorrrr…down low." She surprisingly falls for the low-five, apparently not seeing _this_ coming. "Too slow!" I rip my hand away as she falters a little and then slows up her pace walking toward a glass door— _Dalilah's._

I reach over her to hold the door open, but she smacks my hand away throwing it open herself. Now, I'm not entirely sure, but I think I sense a little bit of crazy in the air. Especially when I see Tris throw the pictures down onto the floor making a whole shit ton of a mess.

"Here you go, Dalilah! The wandering, unpersevering, millennial dropping off her mediocrity! Took me a little more time than anticipated—"

"That was my fault," I raise my hand looking around the room to find who Tris is yelling at.

There are a couple of people in here, but—whoa! I see a very interesting-looking woman come sauntering out. _This lady looks like…like… Damn it! Something'll come to me…_

"Let me leave you with these last images. Oh, no, no, no, no… Don't even bother looking at the pictures. I'm talking about…these."

I quirk my head to check out what Tris is doing, and I see something that causes _me_ physical pain—bruises…not normal bruises…these are…

"See these? _This_ is where he grabbed my thighs, so tightly, that he left fingerprints. They're seemingly indelible because they have yet to fade! And this…"

I move my head even more to the side as she lifts up her shirt— _Oh…Jesus…_

"This is where he kicked me over and over and over. And _THEN_ …a chest tube was rammed into my rib cage to reinflate my _LUNGS_. This reminder right here…"

At this point, I'm entirely incapable of sight so I just stare…at nothing…just staring…all over the place…everywhere.

"This is from tripping over the chair he threw at my back. The nurse said they pulled out 27 splinters from the nice jagged edge of the wooden chair."

 _Ouch… Just, ouch…_

"Oh, yeah, and I was under…like _under, under_ …as in _dead_ for twelve minutes. And guess who got to watch that happen? My boyfriend…who just so happens to be…Amar's, the man who are are so fond of, business partner."

I try to digest that piece of brand new information—the whole 'dead' thing while also checking out the look on this Dalilah lady's face. She looks…nervous. _Fuck, I'm nervous. Maybe I shouldn't stand so close to Tris, right now._

"Now, call me lazy, call me a product of my generation, call me whatever stereotypical buzz word you want. But, at least, I don't wear a fuckin' moo moo and glasses that make me look like the much-manlier version of Austin Powers!"

I hear a laugh come from somewhere in the gallery and then the ringing of the bell above the door signaling Tris's exit.

"Mic drop! Bam!" is all I'm capable of saying, along with the appropriate hand gestures, because Tris was pure genius. _Austin Powers… I knew this lady reminded me of someone._ Then I realize I'm still standing there, so I turn to follow Tris but run head-on into her as she re-enters.

"Oh, and one more thing. _Fuck_ you!" she shouts.

"Yeah!" _I just had to add that in there. It just came out._

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I have little to no clue as to what the hell Matthew is babbling about right now. I'm just incredibly grateful for the few moments he's giving me. Understanding that I don't want to talk, he seems to be keeping the majority of his conversation focused on Bud.

I shake my head, knowing I'm supposed to be meeting with Amar in ten minutes. I look like hell, and I feel like hell, but I don't want to disappoint yet another person today. So, I decide to call him to make sure he still wants to do this.

"Yes?" he answers formally as if he's been expecting my call.

"Hi, Amar. So, I've had an _exci_ _ting_ morning and am currently dressed entirely inappropriately for the office." I pause hoping he'll interject with his expected and understanding response.

"And?"

"Um… Would it be possible to either reschedule, meet somewhere else…or I can just send up my…well, I guess they're just _suggestions_ , but, I can send them up with Matthew—"

"No, I think it would behoove both of us to speak in person," he interrupts.

"Okay," I breath out unable to come up with words to sway him entirely. "Maybe we should meet in the coffee shop? I'm really not dressed…properly."

"Please, meet me in my office at the previously scheduled time."

"Alright, um, if you're sure, but—." I hear the nothingness that replaces a connected call when someone hangs up, and I am, now, at a loss for words.

"So, he really wants you up there looking like this?" Matthew gestures with raised eyebrows, reiterating the fact that I look like I was in a tsunami—his words exactly.

"Apparently," I shrug.

"I'm going to have to drop you both off here. They're repaving the sidewalk in front of the building, and I have two more employees to pick up, so I don't have time to pull into the garage."

"No problem, Bud." Matthew claps him on the shoulder congenially. "Tris could use the exercise, anyway."

The look of anger on Bud's face at Matthew's comment is semi-amusing.

"Bud, he's kidding. I'm fine…really, I am."

He furrows his eyebrows, but pulls over anyway. Matthew gets out first and reaches in to take my hand, which I irresponsibly brush away, trying to pull myself up out of the car by leveraging all my weight on the door as it swings open to its full potential—taking me with it.

"Yeah… So…how about that help I just offered?"

"Bye, Bud." I smile as big as I'm capable of as I grasp Matthew's forearms for him to pull me up.

"You sure you're—"

"Yep!" I retort to Bud with finality as I shut the door, knowing full well he's going to report to Tori. _Damn!_

"So, what is this stuff anyway?" Matthew inquires as he peaks into the folder while we walk toward ALG. "Is this why you were at the jobsite the other day? You very more vague than usual that day."

"I'm not vague," I remark blankly.

"Well, you're not forthcoming."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Well, I don't really like it."

I smile on the inside at his honesty, but I know it doesn't make it to my face. "Well, that stuff is what I came to talk to Amar about. He wanted to distract me when I was an invalid, and it worked. So, I… I don't know. Never mind."

"Oh, please continue," he begs with his hands in prayer. "I'm relishing that you're letting me into your soul."

"Fine," I stop in my tracks, resignedly. "Here look," I point out as he carefully holds the papers down. "They're old houses. It's really no big deal. I'm just suggesting rehab and design options." I rub my eyes that have become suddenly cloudy.

"Nice," he responds with genuine interest.

"Um, thanks. Well, this one's my favorite, but—Shit, shit shit!" A ridiculous gust of Chicago wind hits with full force taking several pieces of paper with it.

"Hope you scanned those in—"

"I didn't!" I scream shoving the folder into Matthew's arms as I chase after the notes like a maniacal asshole. "Hey, lady! Stop!" I screech as I reach down and pick up one paper that was stuck under her shoe.

Then I look up to see another laid flat against a garbage bin, pinned to it by the wind. I grab it and look further down the street to see more being taken away by traffic, and who the fuck knows how many others I lost.

"Damn it!" I yell as I turn dramatically to head back in Matthew's direction.

But, I'm hit by a force that feels foreboding in more than a physical manner. I back up, knowing instantly I had run into someone's chest. It's usually Tobias's, and for some reason, this reminds me of him…but the opposite of him. My rib cage burns and the world comes back into focus as I finally find words. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"As am I." That voice—deep and familiar, yet, cold and just altogether awful.

I look up into the gaze of Marcus Eaton as he drags his eyes over me from top to bottom, and back up. I immediately feel a mix of self-conscious and naked. I know he's judging my appearance, in general, but something about his stare makes my want to shed my skin.

"Beatrice…" he enunciates slowly. His voice is deep like Tobias's, but more menacing. "We've never been properly introduced."

"And we never will, good-bye."

I feel a sharp pain on my arm as I'm held back from walking away. But, the pain isn't real. It's more like a feeling of wrong—burning wrong wrapped around my arm. I yank it away from him ignoring the singeing pain and glance back at Matthew. My vision isn't quite right, but I feel his wary look, so I wave my hand signaling I'm fine.

"What happened to you, as I'm sure Tobias told you…" He appraises my limbs, most likely observing the fading and not-at-all fading bruises. "…I'm quite…affected by it, and I have deep regrets."

I swallow and avoid eye contact remembering how Tobias wants his father to think he believes Jack is to blame.

"And?"

"Well, seeing as you are quite involved with my son, I would truly like us to be friends."

I don't even know what kind of bat shit crazy eyes I give him at the words "friends," but it's probably something akin to a psych ward patient. "FRIENDS?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

He chuckles almost jovially. "That was a bit overeager and possibly presumptuous. I would imagine that isn't in our _near_ future. But, I would like to offer my assistance with your medical expenses. I can only imagine someone with your… _caliber…_ of a job doesn't have tip top insurance. I can assure you, my dear, it would be a drop in the bucket."

 _Is this happening? Is he, the devil incarnate, truly in front of me, offering to pay my bills? Assuaging his own guilt? Right here? In front of me? On this sidewalk?_

"You seem to be a rather proud individual, very hard-working… Well, then just consider it a charity write-off. See? Now I benefit from the tax write-off. You're doing _me_ a favor."

He crosses his hands in front of himself and looks down at me as if he's testing my reaction.

"No."

"That seems rather irresponsible. How can I make you reconsider?"

"Admittance," I seethe, suddenly seeing clearly.

"Pardon me?"

"I want you to admit to beating your wife, the mother of your son. I want you to admit to driving her to take pills to quell the pain. I want you to admit to the physical and emotional abuse you inflicted on Tobias—"

"I never laid a hand on my son."

"You locked him in CLOSETS! For hours! He can barely ride in a God-damned elevator because of you!"

"Beatrice, Tobias harbors the memories of a boy. There truly is a bigger picture here—"

"AS I WAS SAYING…" I shout, looking around to see a shockingly empty sidewalk apart from Matthew still hesitating. "…seeing as admittance is a skill you are indeed lacking, _Marcus,_ there is not a fucking thing in this world that you will _ever_ be able to do for me. Regardless of the hand you played in my and Tobias's relationship, or LACK-THERE-OF, I will _never_ forgive you for what you did to his mother and what you did to him."

"You… _truly_ …are the ignorant one in this situation."

"You _took_ her from him! Maybe not directly, but you sure as hell played the bigger hand. Do you know that a piece of him _DIED_ along with her?! And that piece, that _one_ piece, he searches for it…DAILY…and has no fucking clue he's even doing it because he can't VERBALIZE! It's in him, and it torments him. He tortures himself. You did that, you piece of shit! All this…" I gesture to my legs and ribcage wildly. "…I would take this abuse a million times over if it took away his pain."

"Well, my offer still stands, my dear. Your mental health seems to be slightly out of place as well, and I assume therapy is rather expensive, so—"

My hand is at his face, and I slap him harder than I've ever slapped anyone. In fact, it was probably harder than any punch I've ever thrown in Krav Maga. I instantly spin on my heel but am wrenched back by my hair, the gritty feeling of brick hitting the backs of my arms and head along with a jarring pressure into my side.

"Little to me, you little slut!" He grabs my face, and I seem to have forgotten all defensive tactics as more purposeful pain is added to my ribs."I realize your mouth gets in the way of your intelligence, but—"

I'm on the ground before I know it, trying to focus. I feel a presence next to me as Marcus flails with a loud thud. Shaking my head, I make it to all fours and see that… _Matthew_ has Marcus up against the building. I only see him land one punch, but I don't think it was his first.

"Tris, call the cops!" he grits as he wrenches Marcus's arm up his back and drives him into the building.

"No," I choke, knowing Marcus's connections with the CPD. "Let him go."

"You…heard…her…" Marcus grunts.

"Shut you're fucking mouth—"

"Matthew… Matthew… Please…"

He looks at me in shock but then pushes Marcus away, roughly, so he scrapes his face on the brick. I watch in a daze as Marcus lurches and limps away, straightening up and sauntering down the street with more confidence than should be physically possible, based on his face alone.

"Tris," Matthews whispers worriedly as he kneels next to me. "What the…? Are you, okay? Why are we not calling the police?! What the hell was that?! Fuck, I played that off way better than it actually felt. My poor architect hands… Oh, shit."

I look at his split open knuckles in awe, wondering how many times he actually hit Marcus. "Are _you_ , okay?" I ask now more upset about his involvement in this situation. _I can't believe he did that! That's some Tobias shit right there!_

"Yes, I'm… _fuck…_ fine. But…at a loss for words." He stands and helps me up carefully with him. "At that is…foreign, like, I feel like a pregnant whale in the Mississippi—just wrong…on so many levels. But, like, descending levels. I am the opposite of Nick Jonas."

"I think you've found your words, just fine," I chide as we walk the extra block toward ALG.

"Maybe you're right. But, what the fuck?! Who was that guy?"

"Just pretend you never saw that," I deadpan as apprehension nearly overcomes me.

"Noooo. Nope."

"Please? Do _not_ tell Four."

I can see it as if he were standing right in front of me, the look of rage on Tobias's face. I can just about feel the swoosh of air move past me as he breaks out in a near sprint to go murder his father. Or if not to _murder_ him, beat the hell out of him, thus aggravating a situation more than I have already done. Plus…I don't want to admit what _I_ just said to Marcus. I'll tell Tobias, eventually. I will. We can go to the Himalayas. I will tell him then, in a tent, on the side of a mountain, where he can't escape without freezing to death.

"Why?"

"Because _I_ will!" I take a quick beat as Matthew pulls my folder out of his messenger bag and hands it to me with a worried stare. "Anyway, how do you think he'd react if he knew _you_ were the one to save the day?" I add trying to reel him into my plan, dangling Tobias as bait.

"Maybe he'd respect me more?"

"Or he'd hate you more."

"You said he didn't hate me."

" _That_ …" I tilt my head back to the scene of the near crime. "…could make him hate you. He has some protective issues as you know."

"What's up, _rock_?" Matthew sticks his hand out to shake no one's hand on his left. "Oh, yeah, _hard place_. Where ya been, pal?" I roll my eyes as he does the same to his right side. "Come on guys." I stifle a laugh while he pretends to link arms with his invisible friends and walk away. "Apparently, we're hanging out together for a bit, thanks to this lovely lady right here." He looks over his shoulder at me and kicks the door to ALG open seeing as his hands are supposedly occupied. "Come on, Miss Slaps-Harder-than-Dawyne-Johnson-Throws-Punches." I enter before him as he holds the door open, still linking arms with his pretend friends. "Do you know I actually _heard_ the words, 'Do you smell what The Rock is cooking?' right before you smacked him? You summoned the voice of The Rock. Impressive. I'll never forget it and will be forever keeping my distance from your right palm."

I smile, even though I would much rather laugh and grab onto the closest chair as we pass the coffee shop area.

"Except now, because, well, if I don't support you, you may just keel over, and then I would have WAY too much to explain to your boyfriend."

"Preferable to be between a rock and a hard place?" I inquire as a take his arm.

"Infinitely."

* * *

I must have been on a bit of autopilot. I know Matthew was chatting the whole elevator ride up here, but my mind is just a jumble of everything that has happened today. I feel like my brain is floating on a cloud and I don't think I've ever felt more detached in my life.

 _I am not up for this. I should've canceled this meeting. I need to leave._

I stand just as Amar walks in the conference room, furrowing his eyebrows and briefly taking in my appearance, but in a professional manner.

"Amar, I'm sorry I look like…well, I don't even know _what_ I look like, b I think we should reschedule. I—"

"Sit down, please, Miss Prior."

"Miss Prior? Come on—"

"At the moment, you _must_ be Miss Prior…trust me."

"Okay," I respond warily at his tone as I seat myself. "I know this looks like a disaster right now, but here are the sketches I've been working on along with the notes. I sent you just about everything by email, but I just wanted the originals for a reference. It's, uh, a little messy because—"

I'm stopped by Amar who is slowly closing the folder over my hands.

"At this juncture, I'm not sure whether to speak to you on a personal note or a professional note. I always find it easier to speak professionally. However, you, yourself, have pushed me into the personal realm."

"Did I…do something…wrong?" I notice his cold expression and it hits me that I took this request way too far. "God, I'm sorry if I pushed the boundaries a little…or a lot. I think I just got carried away with—"

"I heard you threw quite the fit at Dalilah's today," he interjects.

"A fit? No. I straight up laid into her," I answer honestly.

I notice a small almost snide smirk out of the side of his mouth as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Was that before or after you vandalized her gallery?"

"Vandalized? I knocked over a few paintings by accident…but, nothing broke. At least, I don't think—"

"I vouched for you, Miss Prior. And _this_ is how you treat the people who go out on a limb for you?"

"Amar, no," I sigh out, hearing my own distress in my voice. "I…I realize I didn't call her in a timely fashion…and I _should_ have, but I've been… I don't want to make excuses, but—"

"Then, perhaps, you shouldn't."

I sit silently, and I think the room may be vibrating unless that's the sound of my racing heart.

"My dear, she wasn't aware of what happened to you. And, although, you have been through trauma, that doesn't give you the right to march into a professional gallery, scream obscenities at the owner in front of staff and customers, flash your injuries, and run out of there like a five-year-old. Now, _I_ have officially crossed the line of professionalism by chastising you as I'm not your father!" He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "But that behavior is unacceptable."

I remain seated, looking at him in

shock—I'm sure

like a five-year-old, as he so eloquently mentioned, and continue to let myself take a verbal semi-beating.

"I think what disturbs me most, is that you threw _my_ name in her face—as if _I_ would be the one to vouch for you again? To make excuses for _that_ kind of scene? That seems to be equally as unprofessional on your part, don't you agree?"

I can only nod my head and look down at my hands because I'm about the lose it. "I'm not sure what _she_ told you… but—"

"Enough. She told me enough."

"Well, I'm sorry," I whisper like a scared child. "I…don't know what else to say."

"Neither do I, Tris," he replies steamrolling me with his eyes.

"Excuse me," I say under my breath as I stand, painfully, and exit the room.

I give him one last look through the window in the hall and see him swivel in his chair, looking out the window, shaking his head.

Somehow I make it to the door of the stairs, unable to hold my head high even though I try so hard.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Feeling utterly pleased with how the lunch meeting went, I just about jog toward the conference room, hoping to, at least, catch a glimpse of my beautiful girlfriend before she makes her exit. Lunch took longer than I thought and I doubt she'd wait around for me if they had already finished. I don't know why she worries so much about 'bothering' me at work. Honestly, I wish she'd stop by more often.

Finally, reaching the door, I am disappointed to see only Amar in there resting his head in his hands.

"Hey." I pull up a chair and sit at the end of the table, recline back and stretch my legs out straight. "How'd the meeting with Tris go—"

"It didn't," he interrupts with a shortness unlike him.

"Did you have to reschedule?"

He glances up at me, and I think I see a bit of nervousness in his eyes until he shakes his head. "You know it takes a lot to upset me."

"Yes."

"And I'm a fairy understanding individual," he spits angrily.

"Yes," I answer slowly.

He takes a breath before he responds. "I received a beyond disconcerting phone call from my dear friend, Dalilah, the owner of the gallery where Tris displayed her work. You are familiar, correct?"

The use of the word 'displayed' in the past tense not going unnoticed, I train my eyes on Amar taking in his worried glance, yet again.

"Tris hadn't contacted her in weeks."

"She's been a bit _distracted_ … _Amar,_ " I reply hoping my tone doesn't go unnoticed because his sure as hell isn't.

"I'm aware and understanding on that aspect, although, I failed to mention that to Tris."

"What _did_ you mention to her?"

"My lack of understanding as to why she would destroy two of her own pieces of artwork, throw them on the floor, thus, damaging several other valuable pieces, give a fashion show of her injuries to the entire gallery, blame Dalilah for her delinquency, attach my name as leverage, and then I believe her final words were "fuck you." Can you possibly explain that type of behavior and then, explain to me why we would ever work with someone who exhibits it?"

I take a moment for my brain to play catch up because most of this is beyond what Tris would do. Lashing out is her response to cruelty or when she doesn't know what the fuck else to do. _What the hell happened?_

"Amar…this doesn't sound like her. I mean, some of it does, but…something had to have happened. I have to find out," I say in a sudden panic as I head for the door.

"And you know I'm not one to get stuck on appearances, my friend, but 'unprofessional' doesn't even begin to describe hers," he remarks with a decibel much lower than his usual tone.

"What does _that_ mean?" I ask defensively.

"Ragged T-shirt, cut off sweatpants—like she didn't have a care as to where she was."

"Okay," I respond calmly trying to picture this scenario. "I'm sorry for…what happened. _This_ isn't like her." I notice Amar's lack of body language matching. It's a skill he's quite good at—matching the other person's postures, subconsciously sending the message of being on an even playing field. He has been facing away from me almost this entire time and is hunching into his shoulders. "Are _you,_ okay?"

"I will be," he replies quietly.

"Okay. Well, let me know if I can…do anything."

"Take this." He slides Tris's folder with all of her house designs down the table, and I catch them before they plummet.

"Amar, she worked _very_ hard on this—"

"Well, just because we work hard at things, doesn't mean we get rewarded," he growls. _What…the hell?_

" _Rewarded_? She wasn't looking for a reward. She did this for _free._ Why would you say that?" I ask insistently.

"I'm feeling a bit taken advantage of at the moment, my friend."

"I'll find out what happened."

"Feel free," he flits his left hand toward me and continues his stare.

I lean on the doorframe for a moment, trying to figure him out. Something is up. But my mind is far too intuned with Tris, right now, to investigate further. So, I pull out my phone to text her as I walk to my office.

I spot Matthew and groan internally as he purposely does a 180 and walks the other direction. _Jesus, how am I going to get this guy to act like a human around me?_

I see that she had texted me a couple of hours ago. _Shit!_ I hate it when I miss her texts, and I was already worried about her not responding from the Caleb comment.

 **Tris:** On my way to Dalilah's. Wish me luck. And thank you for the Caleb thing. I love you.

"Aw." I freeze for a second and look over my shoulder to make sure no one heard that. I swear, sometimes I don't even recognize my own voice anymore.

I notice that it's an hour before her therapy starts. Maybe that set her off? But still, for her to throw her own work onto the floor and _expose_ the wounds she has been trying so hard to cover up. Something had to have happened.

 **Me:** Hey, are you okay? What happened?

I sink into the chair behind my desk and wait for her response while I ponder both her supposed reaction and Amar's demeanor. He is genuinely angry. It's an emotion that he rarely displays. And Tris was definitely doing _us_ a favor by going over those houses, and whatever the hell she was doing with them this morning was taking her hours to put together. Just based on what she's told me, the time has been countless. Which, I am thrilled about, but—

"Hey, Four. Your new intervieweeeeee is here. She's early. Want me to send her in? Or are you talking to Tris? Because if you are, that's good. But, if you're not, then…you know, you should."

"Matthew…does it _look_ like I'm talking to Tris?"

"No. Not in the least. But, maaaaybe you should?" he suggests giving me a double thumbs up.

"And… _why_ would you say such a thing?"

"Um…hey! Good Year blimp!" he points out over my shoulder, his overused distraction causing me near-nausea. "I'll send… _Carly…_ in."

 _Oh, God… Interviews… There are so many! Damn it! And…why did he say that in an incredibly strange manner?_

I stand and move toward the door to greet the applicant, trying to put Tris to the back of my mind. _Impossible. Something is wrong. This person will have to wait._

I move to halt her in her tracks, fully prepared to reschedule, but, who shows up? The girl who I showed blatant false interest in, who slipped me her number, who was my father's former administrative assistant, and who I blatantly stated the words, "You deserve someone who will treat you far better than him." _Of course, it's her. Of COURSE, it's her._

"Mr. Eaton?"

"The position has been filled, thank you."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 **Therapy:**

I can't even believe I'm sitting outside this office in one piece. I had been staring out at the Lake for the last hour, slumped on a bench, trying my hardest to ignore the perfectly excellent bottle of Gentleman's that is calling my name at Hangars. Going back to the apartment seems heinously embarrassing, right now because Tobias is probably there. I'm sure he has gotten word of my mass fuck-up at this point. He has texted and called me several times, but I can't get the gusto to respond because I'm so mortified. I know I would cry the second I hear his voice. I can only imagine what Amar told him, and I honestly can't believe my actions regardless of what happened.

 **Flashback:**

I glance down the street—no Matthew. _Don't be a coward, Tris. Go in there. You're stronger than this. Don't let HIM win! He will NOT win! Dalilah gave you a chance. She's horrible, but she gave you a chance. Don't blow it._

I open the door to the foyer and walk slowly onto it, moving my eyes up the stairs.

 _They look like my stairs, no memories jogged, no problems, yet. This may all just be some ridiculous emotion that won't even come to fruition! This could be the solution! If I'm fine with this, I can get out of Tobias's apartment, save him the grief of a very erratic situation, and possibly develop some type of normal relationship. But when would I see him? How would I feel about not living with him?_

A stabbing feeling of sadness hits my chest with the knowledge that I would see him even less than I already do. _Maybe not? We could switch off?! He stays at my place; I stay at his place? That's not fair to him! God, nothing is fair to him!_

I make it up the flight of stairs and turn left, smirking briefly at where Tobias punched the wall. It may not be a _great_ memory, but anything is better than what may be behind that door. I hold onto the newel post and walk around it toward my apartment door, smirking again at what transpired between Tobias and I, right there on that wall. I can still envision the sound of his head smacking against the drywall and the way his hands tried to grip the wall.

I reach into my purse and shakily take out my keys, and then surprise myself by actually getting the apartment key into the lock and turning it.

 _One, two, three…_

I push the door open. The apartment looks the same, minus a new kitchen table chair. I walk slowly to the middle of the room, unable to ignore the escalation of my heartbeat. A loud slam startles me and the back of my throat burns as I turn and see the door has closed behind me.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whisper as I somehow make it to my room. I stare at the scene in front of me—a stripped bed, devoid of all things that make a bed…sleep-worthy. And the reasons…the reasons for it…

….

 _"Eric…stop."_

 _"Why? I'm going slow…not rushing... Just like you always-"_

 _"Please, stop. Please, stop. Please, stop."_

 _"No, babe. You're gonna like it this time. I know I'm a tease... Don't worry… We'll get there…"_

 _Iron taste of….blood and flesh…_

 _"You fucking BITCH!"_

 _…staring at my journal on the floor…. … … …fist connect to my face…again…and again… foot connects to my body, over and over until…nothing…_

….

I'm on my knees in my closet screaming at nothing, screaming at no one. _Am I angry? Am I scared? I'm angry! HE did this to me! He made me crazy! FUCK HIM!_

I grab the first two pictures I see and run out of the closet, but the blunt traumatic pain of metal hitting my shin debilitates me as I end up on the floor next to the bed.

….

 _"Ah! What did you… Do to me?"_

 _"You're fucking fine! Just keep your damned head down. And shut-up! Fucking ridiculous screams! If you're neighbors call the cops, I'll kill you right here, right now… Murder-suicide, you dumb bitch…"_

….

"Damn it, damn it, damn it." I feel the picture under my knees, and I grip them while stumbling again. And then I'm falling…again. _The photos are… They're…_

I'm on the front porch. Somehow I got to the front porch. I did it. I went in there. I did it. It happened again. It all happened again. It feels as real as it did weeks ago. It's inside. Right behind me. But it's also in my head, always there. No questions were answered, just wounds that were barely healing, ripped open.

Ripped…open…

 **End Flashback**

"Miss Prior? Are you Tris Prior?" I hear an annoying even-toned voice right in front of my face, kneeling down. "What? Yes."

"I'm Dr. DuBois. How long have you been out here?" he stands and crosses his arms looking down at me quizzically.

I look down at my phone, but the time doesn't register. "I don't know."

"Do you…plan to come in?" he gestures as if he's annoyed.

"Yes." I stand and follow him into a dingy office, which could double as more of a storage closet than anything.

"You've missed half the session by now," he sighs pulling up a chair to seat himself across from me. "Did you fill out the questionnaire and consent form?"

"Yes."

"Yet, you chose not to come in?" he asks as if he's already assessing me.

"It wasn't…a conscious choice. I was just…thinking."

"Hmm…not a great sign," he droles.

"What?" I ask in an attempt to clarify that comment.

"May I?" He pulls the clipboard from my hands and begins to scan the papers and the ridiculous questionnaire I had to fill out. It wasn't as painful as the play by play I had to give in the hospital, but some of the questions were equally as upsetting. And I had to write it all down…not for myself, as I had in my journal, but for someone else. It was, humiliating and made me feel even less like myself than I had already been feeling.

I watch him with detachment, trying to take note of his appearance, but there is nothing remarkable enough to make me give a shit at the moment. He has brown hair. _That's all I've got._

"Well, Miss Prior, you will be an excellent subject seeing as you're fairly textbook."

"I'm _sorry_ ," I laugh. "Did you just call me a subject?"

"Yes. I'm studying you. But, it's a mutually inclusive experience seeing as you will be benefitting from my therapeutic expertise."

"Uh huh," I acknowledge skeptically. "And…how am I 'textbook?'"

"Physical and sexual abuse. That about sums it up, correct?"

"I…guess."

"I see you haven't sought therapy in the past," he remarks smiling.

"No, I haven't."

"That's excellent news for me as you are, how shall I say it…untainted."

"Great."

He relaxes back in his chair pausing for a moment. "Now, I realize we've never met, but you seem out of sorts. Is this typical behavior?"

"I don't…think so?" I respond, laughing to myself at how dumb that sounded.

"So, it may be?"

"No. I don't usually act like this. It's been an… _interesting_ day. I honestly can't even believe I have brain function, as minimal…as it is, right now."

"Usually?"

"Usually…what?"

"You said you 'usually' don't act like this," he clarifies using air quotes.

"Okay, so—"

"Do you drink alcohol?"

"Yes," I answer, even though, I think that may be the wrong thing to say.

"To cope?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Well, only when I… I mean I _have_ … But, I also just…like it. It's not like I need it to function."

"Hmm." He makes notations on a yellow legal pad before moving his eyes back to my information. "I see here you are in a relationship."

"Yes."

"And how does he cope with your issues?"

"The best he can," I offer with my hands up. "He's very supportive, very, very, very, supportive. He tries to help with…well, with what he can understand. And he's—"

"You used the word 'very' quite a bit. It sounds a bit overwhelming. Do you think there is such a thing as being too supportive? And if so, do you feel he is?"

"No? I mean he, he would do just about anything to help me. He really wants me to…to… He really wants to help."

"Do you think he wants to make you… _better_?"

"I guess." I shrug and sit back feeling beyond exhausted and fully ready to just give this guy one-word answers so I can get out of here.

"So, do you think he's trying to fix you."

"What? No, he… I'm sorry. How is this relevant?"

"Relationships are quite relevant. I'm trying to help you assess if this is a healthy one."

"It is. No assessment needed."

"How is it healthy?"

"Because I don't know what I would do without him!" I blurt out before I realize that didn't answer his question.

"No need to get defensive, Tris. I'm just trying to get a feel for your life," he sooths, trying to calm me. _What an idiot!_ "However, your reaction causes me pause."

"Pause away."

"Well, you said, he _tries_ to help with what he can understand."

"Yeah..."

"Yet, he doesn't…understand?"

"Well, it's not like he's walked in my shoes, so… But, yes, he tries! Probably too hard!" I retort defensively.

"Do you feel suffocated?"

"No." _Do I? No._

Mr. Ass-hat of a doctor sits back and jots down a few more notes. "Has he ever called you a victim?" he asks without looking up from his note-taking.

"No. Never. Ever." I lean forward almost venomously.

"Do you feel that's a conscious decision on his behalf? Or, just luck-of-the-draw that _that_ word, a very powerful word, hasn't come up?"

"I don't know. I just know he doesn't feel that way!"

He smiles pacifyingly. "Well, as long as you're sure."

"With 100% certainty. Yes, I am sure."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Interviewing assistants was a disaster. It was so half-hearted that I probably looked like a detached prick, seeing as I'm worried sick about Tris—honestly near-vomitus.

It didn't help that just about every woman that walked in the door was either over-qualified and unquestionably looking for an interim position until she found something better, or fitting the ultimate cliché of 'sexy administrative assistant.' Is it sexist of me to _not_ hire someone based on that? Particularly since a couple of them may have done an excellent job? _That is most definitely…sexist_. But, I'm only human and would love nothing more than to avoid conflict with Tris…at all costs.

I'm done interviewing, and I decide to call Tris, again. And if she doesn't answer, I'm leaving and going on a manhunt to find her—

"Mr. Eaton?"

"Yes," I grumble as I rudely pull my phone out of my pocket, ignoring whoever the hell just walked in here.

"I didn't fill out a resume. I don't even have a resume. But, I got word from a friend of my husband's that you're hiring, and I need a job, so here I am."

I glance over her seemingly ordinary appearance—curly blond hair, pale complexion, small build, dressed casual, early-thirties. I give her a closed-mouth smile in an attempt to make up for my rudeness.

"Please, sit."

She sighs in what I can only take as relief and sits down easily.

"So…"

"Maggie."

"Maggie, do you have…experience?"

"Most likely," she replies confidently.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, I have managed schedules and logistics, balanced priorities to create and implement budgets, motivated, coached and counseled, taught and modeled ethics, worked with educators to closely monitor academic performance, planned, organized and supervised activities, worked as a clothing buyer, balanced food and supplies with strong budget constraints, coordinated medical care, established clear requirements and provided appropriate discipline when necessary, I have experience as a chauffeur, I have negotiated with suppliers, paid invoices, reconciled accounts, arranged for vehicle maintenance and repairs, maintained a clean working environment, relatively speaking, planned and created meals for various employers, colleagues, clients and prospects, and provided hugs and kisses daily. Frankly, I'm tired of it. Not the hugs and kisses part—can't seem to get enough of that…" she trails off and smiles leaving me in total and utter bewilderment.

"I'm not quite sure how I feel about that last part."

"I'm a stay-at-home-mom," she reassures.

"Oh." _Well, what the hell do I say to that?_

"I'm 29, got pregnant at 18, married my high school sweetheart. Got pregnant again at 22…and then again at 23. Yeah, that happened. Anyway, my kids are all in school. I need a 9:00-3:00. I know those are weird hours, but I have to get the kids to their after school stuff, and I really like to watch their practices. So, I need a job with minimal decision making on my part. A job where _I_ can be told what to do instead of _telling_ people what to do. But, I'm really good at telling people what to do if you need me to. I'm not looking for a foot in the door or a promotion. In fact, just, don't _ever_ promote me."

"Okay."

"I just need something else because I would really like to _hire_ someone to do the shopping and cook the dinners because I hate the grocery store. It's a trap. And I really don't want to volunteer at my kids' school, so I need an excuse to get out of that. But, I'm pretty good at just about everything I try, so, I would be good at this…whatever _this_ is."

"It's an administrative assistant position, _mine,_ in fact." I hide a smile at the fact that she didn't even know that.

"Great. Let's _do_ this! Sorry…I coached my daughter's basketball team for like one practice. It rubbed off on me."

"When can you start?"

"Right now."

"Okay," I chuckle. "HR is on the 13th floor. I'll tell Jonathan you're on your way."

"Really?" she asks with clenched fists.

"Indeed."

"Wow. That went _way_ better than I thought. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"You seemed…pretty sure about yourself." I stand, and she does the same bouncing on her toes in excitement.

"I put on a great show. You should see my puppet show. It's badass. Sorry… I have to get the swears out when I'm not at home."

"You'll fit in nicely here."

* * *

I close the door behind Jonathan after I sign off on Maggie's application and laugh lightly to myself. _Married with kids, stay-at-home Mom, appropriately confident, yet also self-deprecating, likes to swear, no interest in upward movement. She's perfect. Definitely, Tris-approved._

I run my hand down my face in a mix of frustration and exhilaration—I'm frustrated that I just based my business decisions on the approval of my girlfriend, but also thrilled to be in a relationship where I would even consider someone else's feelings. I had always operated under the delusion that I would never mix my business life with my personal life. Amar had always found that quite amusing, but he never corrected me. I now understand his amusement.

 _Amar… Tris…_

I take my phone out and call Tris again—straight to Voicemail.

"Beatrice Prior. Please…call…me or I will hunt you down!" I push the end call button unnecessarily hard as if that will make the message more final before I begin to text Christina.

 **Me:** Have you talked to Tris today?

 **Christina:** Yes, siree Bob.

I wait for the follow-up text disclosing the nature of their interaction but quickly realize I'm not going to get it.

 **Me:** What did she say?

 **Christina:** She wanted to see if I "wanted to do something."

 **Me:** Do what?

 **Christina:** I don't know! I'm busy. Is this important?

 **Me:** If you talk to her, have her call me.

I see that it's 3:47 and she should have been long out of therapy at this point. Just as my stomach starts to lurch from worry, my phone buzzes in my hand.

 **Tris:** Im fine. Please don't woeey. Pls, pls, pls.

"Thank God," I breath out, noting her misspelling.

 **Me:** Don't "woeey?" "Pls?" Nice try. Call me. Where are you?

 **Tris:** On my way 2 apartment. Tori won't let me work.

 **Me:** Are you drunk?

 **Tris:** Lol. I wish.

 **Me:** See you in 15 minutes.

 **Tris:** OK.

I throw my jacket on quickly because this is the first time she hasn't argued with me about leaving work early in addition to the fact that something is definitely wrong. Maybe I can meet her half-way—

"Four, what 's wrong with—"

"Mgh!" I hold Will firmly by the shoulders, pushing him away, seeing as we just cracked heads.

"Damn, you have a hard head!"

"Yours isn't exactly a fluffy pillow, dick," I retort backing up and rubbing my forehead.

"Sorry. I, uh…fuck that hurts. I just wanted to see what's up with Amar. He just walked out of a meeting with a prospective client."

"Where'd he go?" I ask, incredulously.

"He left. Took the stairs."

"Damn it." I take a deep breath and run for the elevator, pushing the button several times once I reach it.

"Hey, Four? Did you talk to Tris?" I turn to see Matthew is standing only feet away from me, looking more apprehensive than usual.

"Matthew, why do you keep asking me that? What the fuck is going on?! Did you see her today?"

"Knowing my luck, my nose would legitimately start to grow. So…I cannot tell a lie. I saw her… _A lot_ of her!"

"What the hell does _that_ mean?!"

"I mean…just her legs and her…well, her…this area." He circles his right rib cage as my anger starts to flare. "I didn't mean to! It was just there and…well, good God, you've seen it! It's um…wow. You know, swollen and purple and green and yellow and—"

"Swollen?" I ask as things seem to click into place. "You were at the gallery?! Why were _you_ with her?!" _Cool your jets, Tobias. Everyone…is…staring._

"She…called me."

"She called… _you,"_ I reiterate in a controlled growl.

"I'm sorry."

The elevator door opens, and I get on as my blood pressure rises to extreme heights—a mix of what feels like 1000 emotions seem to implode and it takes everything in me to control…them…all.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I stare at the text. Just stare at it. It's a picture from Christina, who I had requested to open the bill from the hospital. I had submitted my financial information to be evaluated, to see what kind of payment plan I qualify for. My asking for a discounted rate, based on my horrendous insurance—denied. Apparently, I make too much money. And now that I have proved to the hospital that I _am_ insured, I can't cancel my plan. The deed is done. It has been split up into 5 payments of $10,846.32, the first installment due in two weeks' time.

This whole day has felt like an out-of-body experience, and I don't think there is a single thing that will make it better. I crave no solace. I crave no company. I feel nothing, absolutely nothing.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I'm trying to stay calm, trying to stay calm—I can only text someone so many times before driving them and myself crazy.

I was torn between the two worlds of two people I genuinely care about, one with whom I'm deeply in love with, but who hates to be coddled, and the other my confidant and business partner who may need a friend now more than ever. It made me honest to God bounce on my toes looking right and left while standing outside ALG—left to take me to Tris, right to take me in the direction of Amar, according to Bud. My idiotic jealousy and frustration with Tris seemed to be taking over my body, and I _really, really,_ didn't want to release it in front of her. Yet, at the same time, would I even have been much help to Amar with Tris at the forefront of my mind? I decided on 'no.' So, here I am, an hour later, fully understanding and embracing the expression 'a watched pot never boils,' now more than ever, as I hold my phone in my hand and look up at the door each time I hear as much as a squeak out in the hall.

Finally, the lock turns, and Tris enters looking…pale and devoid of everything as she seems to look right through me.

I'm in her face immediately, holding her by her shoulders trying to get her to look at me, but she quickly stiffens and tries to push my hands off of her. But I hold firm, trying to make eye contact until she _really_ starts to squirm, suddenly tensing her right side significantly. Matthew's word 'swollen' makes an appearance in my mind.

"Hey, what happened today?" I ask softly.

"I can't even…"

"Can't even…what?"

She pushes me away, successfully, this time, while I boldly grab at her shirt lifting up the right side. My mouth drops open as I see how red and swollen it is.

"Jesus, Tris!" I get to the freezer in record time, loading ice cubes into a towel as she completely bi-passes the kitchen, heading straight to the bedroom.

I follow shortly behind, kneeling in front of her as she sits seated, looking near comatose on the bed. I pull at the hem of her shirt to see if she'll let me take it off, and she makes no move to protest or acknowledge me. So, I lift it up her torso, biting my tongue as I see the inflamed, aggravated wound. I swallow back whatever is about to come up and change courses, pulling her white V-neck shirt over her head from behind her neck, to slide it down her arms.

"Please, tell me what happened," I request as I hold up her arm and place ice on her side. She doesn't even flinch.

"I had to leave…this morning…the cleaning Nazi…"

"Yeah, she left me a note. Apparently, you tried to _fire_ her?"

Olga's very unappreciative note flashes before my eyes— _Small, rude girl try to fire me. You don't want me clean. You tell me. No girls! - Olga_

"I guess…," she responds as if that isn't at all strange.

"What happened at Dalilah's?" I ask, deciding to dive right in.

"She gave me twenty minutes. I couldn't do it, in twenty minutes…"

"Do what in twenty minutes?"

"The pictures, my pictures. I tried to get them…"

Flashbacks of me standing on the stairs watching Tris work on the basement floor at the gallery, tears running down her face and onto the picture, hits me hard. I remember seeing, at least, a dozen of her pictures mounted on canvases in the basement.

"I asked for help. I didn't do it on my own."

"Okay, so…did they help you?"

"Matthew…tried—"

" _Matthew,_ huh. No one from the gallery could help?" I ask, biting my cheek. "You had to call _Matthew_?" _What the hell?!_

"I didn't even…think to ask…"

"You didn't think to ask a gallery _employee_ to help you with your pictures? _Matthew_ was the better choice here?"

She zones in on my face for the first time since she arrived.

"Are you… _mad…_ at me about…Matthew?"

"How can you possibly think that wouldn't bother me? And _what_ exactly did you need help with?"

She looks at me as if speaking were impossible and it's infuriating. But I'm worried too, along with jealous and...damn, I don't know what to do!

"Why are you looking at me like that? Are you drunk?"

"No," she whispers.

"You smell like alcohol," I grumble adding pressure to the ice on her side. _She's definitely been drinking._

"I had…two drinks at the bar…"

All of her trailing off sentences and aloof attitude is trying my patience, and I still need to get to the bottom of what brought on her episode at Dalilah's. Getting pictures from the damned basement doesn't seem all that dire.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Breakfast… I just haven't had time. I…"

I wait for her to finish her sentence, but she doesn't. "Tris, please. What's…? Seriously, did you take something? You're acting…" Now I'm at a damned loss for words!

"Did I _take_ something? No…" She laughs inappropriately as if _I_ would find that shit funny.

"What else happened?" I ask, trying to pry information out of her. "Amar said you…threw your pictures and damaged artwork…and, other things I don't understand," I allude, referring to her injury show. "Why?" I rub my hand up and down her left leg, hoping she'll get the message that I'm not angry, I just need to know what the FUCK happened.

"I don't want to make excuses. I shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake. This whole day. My pictures, the gallery, Amar, therapy…"

"Therapy?" I know this is an interruption, but I've been dying to know how it went. "Um…therapy was a mistake?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I adjust the ice and look up as her bottom lip quivers. "I don't want to tell you."

I don't know what I was expecting. Full disclosure? Something? Anything? Either way, her not _wanting_ to explain…hurts. "It's none of my business anyway," I shrug and stand.

The ice falls all over the bed, and I watch for a moment as she fumbles with the cubes and tries with uncoordinated hands to put them back in the towel haphazardly. She is definitely intoxicated, and I don't understand why she won't admit it. I walk into the bathroom needing a brief reprieve and find myself sitting on the shower bench like a dumbass. Remnants of cracked tile catch my eye as I notice they are scattered all over the floor.

"What the hell happened to the tile?!" I yell as I walk out to the bedroom to find Tris staring again.

"I tried to fix it—"

" _You_ …tried to fix it?"

"The cleaning lady must have… I forgot to tell her it wasn't…ready. I'm sorry..." _Well, fuck…_

"Well, I mean…babe, you don't have to apologize." I shake my head and sit next to her. "It was a nice thought, but… God, I fucking hate it when you apologize for no reason."

"I'm just done…with excuses. For everything. I'm tired of it." She rubs her eyes, and I see her knuckles glisten with tears she's trying to hide. "I blew it with Amar, didn't I? Is he mad?"

"Yes. But he shouldn't be. You were doing _us_ a favor. But, Tris, I have to ask, what are you leaving out here?"

"I'm just…tired, Tobias. Tired of trying to…rationalize _why_ I do shit. Why shit happens to me…"

"Okay, can you rationalize something for…me?"

She shrugs at my apparently unimportant suggestion. "Why would you destroy your artwork? And then, throw it on the floor and… I don't exactly know what happened, but—"

"I tripped, I think. Everything just came back to me, and I fell and…all the sudden I was outside."

 _Okay, progress. She tripped and ripped a picture, which jogged a memory? A flashback? Whatever she was crying about in the basement?_

"Do you remember going back in and yelling at Dalilah?"

Something seems to connect…FINALLY…as she makes wary and near-angry eye contact with me.

"Yes… _unfortunately_ ," she snarks.

"And…displaying your injuries in front of…everyone?!"

"Yes! Can we not do a play-by-play? I'm embarrassed!"

"Well, you couldn't have been _that_ embarrassed. Matthew sure got a show!" I add and then immediately cringe at what I just said.

"THAT'S what you're worried about?!"

My eyes are closed, bracing for impact until I realize her voice came out as more of a loud wheeze than a shout.

"Well, good," she chokes. "At least, for one moment you're not worried about me!"

"Are you kidding?!" I walk away, but quickly return. "I've been worried about you all day!" Biting my lips, I take a deep breath and crouch in front of her. "Are you going to try therapy again?"

"It was terrible..."

"Are you, at least, going to give it another chance?" I ask as softly as I am possibly capable of.

"Tobias, you should have heard this guy. He… He said…" She looks at me with dilated, yet, pleading eyes. It's like she wants to tell me…but, won't.

"You don't have to tell me," I reply as I move closer and run my fingers up and down the backs of her arms. I feel scrapes on each of them and wonder briefly where they came from. "Just, this whole day, whatever happened… It's not _like_ you to react the…way you did."

"I shouldn't have gone back at all. It was a mistake." She sniffles and shakes her head blinking her eyes wide, but they immediately go back to being clouded and heavy. _Definitely, too much to drink…_

"Why would you say that? Tell me you're not second guessing your talent," I chuckle.

"Well, it _is_ a little convenient. Amar, _your_ business partner and mentor, sets me up at Dalilah's."

I know exactly what she's suggesting, and I don't like it one bit. "You don't honestly think…I had _any_ influence on her taking you on as a contracted artist?"

"I don't know… Did you…ever mention anything to Amar? It's fine. I understand why you did—"

"Wow. You truly believe… _nothing…_ I tell you."

"I didn't say that. Dalilah just made it sound like—"

"I don't want to hear it!" I cut her off intently. "I think you're an amazing artist. It ends there."

I notice her sway a little as if she may fall asleep sitting up. _Time for bed… Damn it, it's early. So much for spending an actual night together._

I walk to the dresser and pull open her drawer, seeing with my own eyes that she still has not put any of her clothes in it, so I grab one of my T-shirts for her to sleep in. Crouching down again, I reach around and unclasp her bra, pulling it down off her shoulders. For the first time, it actually _bothers_ me that she doesn't react to my face being inches away from her beautiful naked breasts. It's like she doesn't give a shit…at all. So, I pull my T-shirt over her head and cup her face in my hands.

"I'm sorry I was yelling. I love you. I just don't understand why you would… Fuck, there are so many things I don't understand." I run my thumb over her bottom lip as it starts to tremble.

"I know."

* * *

 **AN:** So, yeah, a depressing chapter. This one has been in the works for a long time and I wasn't looking forward to writing it. Tris is having a tough time and a lot of you may be wondering why she can't get a break. Well, there is a reason. I assure you, everything these two go through, every experience, is purposeful.

Oh and please tell me you all know who Dwayne Johnson is…along with his infamous catch phrase!

 **Thank you for the reviews and support, etc., etc. Love you all!**

Kris


	12. Better

**Chapter 12 – Better  
**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I wake up in a cold sweat, my throat dry and calloused over from, what I can only guess, was screaming. I reach my arm out, for the purpose of security, to touch, at least, some part of Tobias's body. But, I don't feel anything—just a bare mattress. A swell of disappointment hits me, realizing he isn't here, but then I shrug it off and sit up, adjusting the messy bun on my head before reaching my arms up and stretching them high over my head. _God, that feels soooo good._

I stand and rub my eyes, noticing that the apartment is eerily quiet. I guess Christina isn't here either. _Did she go to the damned gym without me?_ I quickly bend down to tie my shoe laces, grumbling at her rudeness when I catch a glimpse of my journal out of the corner of my eye. I finish up my laces and grab it, figuring a little light reading never hurt anyone, but, it's surprisingly more dense and solid. _Huh… Was this always a hardcover?_ I tuck the book under my arm and head for the door, suddenly tripping, my feet tangling into something left on the floor. I land hard on my hip and look to see what it was—canvases, photo paper, paints, markers, and frames litter the floor of the entire apartment. They slowly soak up the blue paint that Christina must have spilled on the floor, so, at least, that's good. I slowly stand kicking off the canvas that is stuck on my foot. I am, most definitely, trapped in the middle of this mess and somehow it keeps getting worse. So, I do what only makes the most sense, and I dive for the bare mattress, just barely clearing the gap between myself and the bed.

"I knew you'd be back," Eric sneers as he pushes me down gently, so I recline on the mattress. "It always seems to happen that way, doesn't it? Somehow…we end up together. It's like fate, you know?" He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear lovingly, his thick finger tracing its way down my earlobe.

I shake my head in disagreement, trying to add voice to my panic as his fingers continue their journey down the front of my body. But, no words come out. I'm mute. I feel the rough edges of his fingertips at the apex of my thighs as a shadow catches my attention behind me. _Someone's in the window!_ I crane my neck back to see Tobias crouching on the fire escape, looking in at me in disbelief. I hear him perfectly well through the window.

"Again?!" He bangs his hands on the glass so hard that I think he may just break it. "You're letting this shit happen again?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

 _"I'm sorry! I don't know why I do this shit!"_ I scream, although, my damned lips aren't even moving.

He just sits back and shakes his head, motioning sarcastically for me to continue my venture. _My venture? Did I ask for this? Coming back here? No, wait. I slept here. I LIVE here. Right?_

Suddenly I feel something latch onto my neck like a leech, but I look up to see nothing. Eric left, thank God. I go to sit up, but can't. I try to turn my neck again to get a glimpse of Tobias, but I can't. I'm paralyzed. I sense movement and hear noises, but there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Now the smell—the smell and feel...of— _What is that?_ It's close—next to my ear, hovering over me, blowing across my stomach, between my legs. _Dust?... No. It's…home_. But it's a sick reminder. Not the pleasant, nostalgic smell of end-of-summer sweet corn, but the polar opposite—the smell of post-harvest sludge. It's grain bins and elevators mixed with sweat. It's an odor I never knew even existed, until after I left it behind. And it's everywhere and busy at work. I can't breathe. It's pressed against me. It's all around me. And I'm losing myself in it. I'm lost in it.

I know Tobias is just watching all this happen. I know it. I can feel his presence—sense it. So, I scream. That's all I can do. I know he can't hear me. But if he's the last thing I think about, if his name is the last thing that passes my lips, it'll be worth it…

…..

"Tris… … … Please, Tris… … … … … … WAKE-UP!"

My eyes spring open, even though, I can't see what's in front of me. Everything is so blurry. I feel something cold on my forehead, and I grab for it in a panic, feeling Tobias's fingers holding a cloth to my head. I rub my eyes, which just makes the tears spill down over my temples, but, at least, now I can see. But, I don't like what I see. Tobias is breathing so hard he looks like he may just pass out, and his eyes are bloodshot beyond belief.

"That was…," he breathes out through a strangled exhale. "That was…the worst one, yet."

"The worst…what?" I croak as I sit up and take the cloth from him, nodding my head as a thank you.

"Nightmare. I've never seen you…like that. You were up all night, but, _that_ was…different." He's still staring at me in shock and awe, and it's making me ungodly uncomfortable.

"Um, yeah…well, it was just a crappy dream." I shrug and feel my hair, relieved that it is down and soft, unlike my nightmare.

"No, Tris."

"What do you mean, 'the worst one, yet' or 'different?'" I ask confused.

He shakes his head and frowns severely. "You've had nightmares, no, night _terrors_ , all night. As in, the _entire_ night. You had passed out, dead to the world, but an hour later, you were crying and...saying _things_. So, I held you and—Wait, do you not remember _any_ of this?" he asks incredulously.

I sit back and think, trying to piece together the nightmare before I lose it. It was so real. I kept waking up in a dream and then repeating it. That's not uncommon for me, however—getting stuck in my nightmares. Especially when exhaustion sets in. I glance up at Tobias's worried expression and don't have the heart to explain my misery. He needs to sleep too. Taking care of me, when there's nothing he can do won't help either of us.

"Well, nightmares aren't exactly uncommon for me, so…"

"No," he whispers. "This was…different. Last night was…" he trails off and grabs some ice from a plastic container sitting on the nightstand where he has basically set up shop for me—water, tea, ibuprofen, towels, ice and my brush.

I run my hands down my hair again, feeling how soft it is, and a part of me melts that he was doing everything to make me comfortable, but the hardened part of me starts to take over. "So, _you_ were up all night?" I confront, accusingly.

He ignores me and holds the chilled rag up to my head, but I push it away.

"Fuck!" I grit running my hands through my hair. "Why do I keep _doing_ this to you? You need your damned sleep too—"

"You were legitimately screaming," he interjects before pausing briefly. "Um…my name in particular."

I stay silent and wait for the impending questioning while trying my best to strategize a pacifying answer.

"What was…? What were you…? Or, what was I…doing to you? I mean…" he stumbles.

I slump my shoulders and try to soften my expression seeing as he's at a loss for words. "It was nothing. I don't…remember."

"You're lying," he follows up immediately.

 _Damn. I need to get better at that. But, why should I feel the need? Damn, again._

"There was a lot going on. I don't know—"

"Do I often make an appearance?" he interrogates through a clenched jaw that he's failing to hide.

"Do _I_?" I retort deflecting the attention toward his nightmares where I know _I_ play a starring role. It _should_ make me feel more compassionate toward him, but nothing is as it _should_ be these days.

"That's not going to work." _Damn it, again!_

I decide that instead of being deflective, I'll try passive and just sit here and…do nothing.

He suddenly stands, running his hands through his hair in aggravation. "You're not going to tell me why you were screaming _my_ name as if I were causing you bodily harm?!"

"You weren't," I deadpan truthfully.

"So you _do_ remember."

I sigh defeated, knowing I'm going to have to relinquish something. "I remember it was… I think it was about the attack. I mean, it makes sense. Based on yesterday…"

He furrows his eyebrows, appraising me. Like he's trying to understand me. _What is he not understanding? I was at my damned house yesterday! Having a nightmare about it is kind of like PTSD 101. PTSD? Huh. Never thought about it that way—_

"And I was there? In your dream? In your apartment? Why…? Why was I there? What was I doing?"

"Tobias, relax—"

"I know I'm making this all about me, but…I need to know. For my own sanity, please," he begs as he sits on the bed next to me.

I bite my bottom lip and rest my hand on his leg, trying to come up with the most straightforward, least invasive, way to tell him he pretty much just _lets_ the attack happen. He used to pull his hair out trying to stop it, but now it's like he's just accepted the inevitable. _God, these nightmares are vivid._

"Fine. I'm only going to think the worst," he shakes his head and walks abruptly to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face.

"What's the worst?" I inquire as he dries his face with a towel.

I watch his back muscles flex as he grips the edge of the vanity and hangs his head. "That _I_ was the one hurting you."

"I told you, you _weren't,_ " I respond vehemently, knowing I need to come clean because he absolutely cannot think that way. "You weren't doing…anything. I mean you were…"

 _How the HELL do I explain this?_

"I was what?"

"Well…"

"Tris!"

"You were watching, okay?!" I shout gripping the sheets to control my arm movements.

He shakes his head as if he can't believe what he just heard. "So you're saying you dream about me, _observing_ you, when you…when it happens?"

"It's not exactly a dream—"

"Every night?" he breathes out, sinking onto the bed next to me again. "And you _never_ wanted to share that with me?" he asks with a mix of sarcasm and upset.

I take his suddenly limp hand in mine and pull on it trying to snap him out of his moment of self-deprecation. "It's not like you're enjoying yourself. Please, look at me," I plead reaching forward, attempting to tilt his chin up but failing as he holds firm. "You're just…there. I don't know! And they're always different!" I exalt. "And, you know, you're not supposed to read too far into dreams," I inform trying to reassure him.

He swallows thickly. "You're not exactly the typical dreamer, Tris. Why do you think…I'm just there or watching or whatever?" He takes my hand and absentmindedly draws circles with his thumbs over each of my fingernails in succession—one of his many subconscious habits.

"I know what you're thinking, so, just, please don't. This isn't me believing you _let_ it happen. This isn't me thinking that you knew Eric was looking for me and did nothing. This isn't _that_ , okay?"

He keeps his eyes trained on my fingers, and I can practically see the vacuum of guilt sucking the life out of him, ready to store it in the black hole buried in his mind. The part that he lets no one see, the part he closes off from everyone…especially me.

"And this is why I don't tell you things! Because you hold onto shit!" I blurt out without forethought. _Tris, you idiot!_

"What things don't you tell me?" he asks as if this is astonishing to him. _Fuckin' hypocrite…_

"God! I don't know. Forget I said anything."

He clears his throat and crawls over my legs, lying on his back with the crook of his arm over his face.

"Do you hold back a lot…from me?"

I don't answer and lie on my back, tossing the pillow to the end of the bed to straighten out my spine.

"You do, don't you?"

Taking a moment to think about that question, I find myself cataloging the feelings I _can't_ share with him—and there are a lot. I can't tell him how I hate being alone because then he won't go to work. I can't tell him what the therapist was insinuating about our relationship because then he'll internalize it. I can't tell him about his father, yet, because I was stupid and my stupidity along with Tobias's reactionary personality isn't a good mix. I can't tell him I feel worthless these days because he'll just disagree. I can't tell him I feel sick to my stomach and that I may be losing my mind because it will plague him, he will try to fix it, and then end up resenting me because he can't, and it was a waste of his time. And he's too important to waste his time on me!

Suddenly he laughs at…whatever the hell he's laughing.

"What's so funny—"

"Come here." He takes one of the pillows on his side of the bed and props it next to him for me to lay on my side by him.

So I scoot over and align my body with his, resting my cheek on his shoulder, placing my left leg over his. I can feel him toying with the ends of my hair while I mess with the short coarse pieces of his chest hair. _He has the perfect amount—he's not a gorilla, but he's also not like a totally shaven porn star. It's just a smattering right here on his incredible upper pectorals. Eric used to shave his chest, and I always thought it was weird. I mean, if you're going to do anything, just…wax it—_

I feel Tobias stiffen next to me, and I look up at him as he lets out a deep breath. Just then I notice the dark circles accompanied by a heaviness that only presents itself when…

"You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

He leans down and brushes his lips along my forehead, before resting his chin on my head.

" _Did_ you?" I ask snapping my head back so he'll look at me.

"Would you have?"

I narrow my eyes at him and decide not to answer because, no, I absolutely would _not_ have slept if he was pummeled by nightmares all night. I would have done the same thing he did.

I feel Tobias run the tips of his left fingers up and down my arm as he rests his cheek on my head. This is the perfect recipe for deep sleep, but the sun is already up, and I'm unwilling to succumb to any more torment.

"I don't want to fall asleep," I whisper pulling him to me tighter.

"Okay," he chuckles. "And for the record, I don't _want_ you to fall asleep."

I gaze out the window at the Chicago morning view. We used to be unable to keep our hands off of each other; now it seems like we don't know how to have our hands _on_ each other apart from showing innocent affection. Well, at least, he's letting me _this_ close to him. Even though, I'd rather be on top of him. _Ugh… Triiiiisssss… Enough… You know if you try anything, he'll stop you and blame it on the episode from last Friday morning. I don't know…maybe he wouldn't?_

I move my hand that was securing him to me, slowly over his abdomen, raking the short, coarse hair with my fingernails—

"Is that what you they're about?" he questions, taking my hand and kissing it quickly, holding it to his chest. "The attack? Specifically? I mean, your nightmares used to be almost like flashbacks. Are they still like that?" he asks in one breath.

"Um…" I run the plethora of nightmares through my head, knowing I can, at least, provide him with this much information. "No. They're less like reality, but more, I don't know…vivid? That sounds crazy."

"No, I get it…I do."

"And," I swallow. "To answer your other question, yes, somehow that particular memory or non-memory with…Eric…makes its way in there."

"Okay," he breathes out as if he's trying to cope with this too.

I don't divulge my nightmares anymore and he doesn't ask me. I wonder if it's because he doesn't _truly_ want to know, deep down.

"Do you think that what happened yesterday triggered something?"

"Yesterday?" I laugh sarcastically at his question. _Of course, it fucking did! Dumbass! Sorry…_ "The whole day, start to finish—epic disaster. But, you know what? Everyone has shit days, so what makes me so special? Fuck…" I sigh. "Do I need to apologize to Dalilah? She's not particularly kind. In fact, I've heard her be downright horrific. But, she did give me a chance."

"It probably wouldn't hurt. It doesn't sound like she did anything wrong, apart from her apparently horrific disposition." He pauses, and I know he has something on his mind. "I mean, did she?"

I laugh, annoyed again at how he doesn't seem to have an ounce of sympathy toward the situation. But, at the same time, it's refreshing. _God, I'm weird_. "Um…well, aside from her lack of compassion about getting my pictures, she's also not a fan of our generation, and she made that very known, so, that didn't help my case."

"So, she's horrific, _apparently_ not compassionate, and has a disdain for millennials."

 _Why did he emphasize 'apparently?' Does he think I'm making this shit up? Although, I was vague about what she said. But I know Amar told him, and my reaction was legitimately ridiculous and humiliating, and I would rather not rehash—_

"And, what do you mean by _not_ compassionate—"

"So, Amar hates me," I interject.

"I highly doubt that," he comments, smoothing down my hair down. He softly kisses the top of my head while I go back to my chest hair ministrations.

I take a deep breath of him and my abdomen lights on fire. It's a reaction I'm used to, but for some reason, at this moment, with half my body draped over his, my knee inches away from his perfect cock, it's different. I don't even mean to, but I find myself adding pressure to his thigh just to feel… _something._ I move my head to glance up at him, to possibly see if he feels what I'm feeling, but I see nothing but a relaxed face with him closing his eyes. My lips are close to his neck, where his scent—the one mixed with aftershave and just morning-Tobias—is so damned strong. I can't help but rest my mouth on the thin skin of his neck. And, before I can stop myself, I'm running my tongue tentatively over—

"Is there anything else about yesterday you want to tell me?" he interrupts as I freeze, causing my face to radiate heat, which I need to hide. So, I try to push myself up on my side, even though, he holds me tight. "Tris," he breathes out. "I don't want to—"

"Yep, I… _know_ you don't want to!" I grunt as I try to get up again, but he continues to hold me tight. "Let…go," I state, meaning every word of that sentiment.

He releases me, and I scoot over to stand, pulling his shirt down tightly and walking into the closet. I pull on a pair of sweats and wipe the embarrassment from under my eyes seeing as I have, yet again, been denied. _I'm done. I'm fucking done trying._

I feel a bout of courage, so I storm back out to look at him. He's scratching the back of his head like a jackass with a look that says he has a million things on his mind but has no idea how to tell me any of them. _Shocking!_

"Don't tip toe around me! If you have something to say…then SAY IT!."

"I don't want to do anything until…you're—"

"Trust me. I know very well you don't _want_ to do anything."

"That is…as _far_ from the truth as possible. Holy _shit_ …" He covers his face with his hands and walks away talking to himself. "…have…no… … …clue…"

"Then tell me," I respond trying to decode what the fuck he's mumbling about.

"What the _hell_ do you expect me to do, Tris? We could go back three weeks, but, let's just start with last night," he begins, marching toward me. "When you got home, or back to the… _apartment_ , it was like you were high or drunk or…I don't even know! So, what the hell was that about? And don't even get me started on your magical reinjury, which you have, yet, to explain to me!"

"I wasn't… _either_ of those things. And…I don't know. Maybe everything is just…"

"Just…what?" he asks, punctuating his words.

"Catching up with me!"

I watch him relax his shoulders and close the gap between us…the physical gap. He looks deep into my eyes, speaking in softer tones. "I know you're not feeling like yourself. You're not acting like yourself."

I close my eyes, trying to block him out.

"I'm sorry." He swipes his thumb under my eyes, gathering a tear that I didn't even know was there. "I'm just being honest and, well, I'm worried…about you, very much so. More than usual."

"Well, stop," I whisper backing away from him and heading for the kitchen.

"I was thinking maybe you should talk to Zeke," he gets out before I can officially exit the room. _What the HELL is he talking about?_

"About… _what_?" I ask in amazement, turning back around to face him.

"Well, I've been thinking...a lot, and I feel like things took a turn when you got the results back from your…you know," he gestures.

"Rape…test?" I clarify seeing as he won't say the damned words.

"Yeah."

"Tobias, how often do you think about this? Seriously, how much time do you commit to worrying about me?! And what the hell does _Zeke_ have to do with anything?" I ask in complete awe, upset, and confusion.

He purses his lips, and I can see he's trying to control his temper based on my tone. " _Maybe_ there's a way to find out if… _Eric_ …did or didn't. Zeke said at the hospital that Eric was _planning_ to admit to…whatever you said happened, right?"

"So I was told."

"Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even have your statement read to him, or hadn't known the results of your test. Hell, he still may not know! I would even bet the DA forged his damned signature just to sweep this shit under the rug. Marcus lures that dirtbag here just so he'd get caught! Now Joseph has his psychopath of a son out of the way and they can both make bank off insider trading. I'll bet the DA got a nice pay day as well. What the fuck!" he exalts as he paces like a wild animal and I just watch.

 _What…the…hell…_?

"Anyway…Zeke could find out! I know he could. Fuck, Tris, the results didn't even get in until after… _Eric…_ was already admitted to Masonic. I can't even fucking believe he's in that place," he laughs in bewilderment as I look on in bewilderment. "I _know_ Jeanine Matthews looks the other way when it comes to Marcus, but now with the new DA, this brings shit to a whole new level." He stops and bites his bottom lip, staring at the floor, looking so God-damned pleased with himself. As if he'd just fucking cured cancer! "So, what do you think?"

We make the briefest amount of eye contact as I back up, not wanting to even be near him.

"Hey." He grabs for my arm, but only grazes it with his fingertips as I jerk it away. "What's wrong—"

"Well, you sure as hell have thought this all through! Wow, you really just want this all to be over! You think that finding out if I was raped will just make me better, don't you?!"

"Well, no. I mean, I wouldn't word it like that, but… Don't you think it may help?" he asks with wide eyes, basically, saying "duh," to me.

"Help…make…me…better?"

"Fine, whatever. If that's how you're interpreting this, then great! Jesus, Tris, isn't that why you're going to therapy—to figure shit out? To, in your words, not mine, 'get better?'"

And now I'm fuming.

"Do you ever think that maybe _you_ need to 'get better,' Tobias?! To figure out why you need to fix everything! Stop trying to save me! I don't need to be saved! You know, sometimes, I wonder—What if I was just some _normal_ girl with no issues? Would you be as drawn to me? Someone like Lauren! She's gorgeous and… _normal!"_

He glares at me almost venomously for a moment, and a brief pang of guilt hits me for the hurtful thing I just said.

"Apart from the asinine thought of me _ever_ dating Lauren,—Are…you…SERIOUS?! I was drawn to you the moment I laid eyes on you!" he shouts. "I didn't even know you had been through…what you'd been through!"

"Say it," I state, holding my ground even though he's yelling.

"Say _what_?"

"Say what I've been through," I snark, knowing full well he can't.

The blunt shake of his head as he brushes past me proves my fucking point!

"That's the shit I'm talking about!" I follow him to the bedroom almost running into him as he turns around.

He holds me at bay by my shoulders, looking me intently in the eyes. "So, you're saying _I_ need therapy because naming the particulars of your horrendous experiences doesn't roll off my tongue with ease?"

"That's part of it, yes."

"Such bullshit…" he mumbles as he drops his hands. "You think I need therapy… _that_ badly?" he asks as if that's some unbelievable thing. And his formal grammar is unnerving!

"For Christ's sake, Tobias! Just use the word 'bad!'"

"Like…as an adverb?" he, again, asks as if that's preposterous.

"Yes!"

"That's grammar hell-no #1!"

"Well, you sound like an asshole!"

Something flickers in his stare, and he looks away for a moment before turning his attention back to me. "I don't _like_ using adverbs as adjectives!"

"Why?! Who gives a shit?!"

"I do! Now, drop it. Please…" he trails off.

"Fine. Sound like a snooty prick," I shrug.

The same look crosses his face, only, this time, he turns around and scratches the back of his head nervously. He clears his throat and turns his head to talk over his shoulder, not looking at me. "Fine, I'll do it."

My whole body goes unexpectedly rigid and then immediately soft at his words. "Really?" I whisper with a mix of guilt for being a heinous bitch, and hope that he means it.

He chuckles sarcastically. "If it'll make you feel better, I will."

* * *

 **AN:** Yes, she's pretty awful to him. And, as I've said before, this story is very calculated at this point. So, everything happens for a reason.

Shorter chapter, but, not a filler chapter.

We're on Facebook search **/nitewriter4** or **Kris Daniels** for commentary and...just fun!

Thank you for reading!


	13. React Pt 1

**Chapter 13 -** React Pt. 1

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:** Wednesday

 **Flashback:**

Taking the fastest shower I ever have in my life, because I don't trust Tris to actually stay where she is, I end up using soap for my body and hair. I grin at the fact, as I dry off quickly, that Tris groaned after I walked into the bathroom. I kind of love the fact that she checks me out, seeing as I practically stare at her constantly—peeking around the corner when I know she's undressing, envisioning my hands, both of them, on her ass when she bends over to grab something, and just about drooling every time her nipples harden through those damned camitol, camiside, cami-whatever things she wears. _What? She's my girlfriend! She's mine. I'm allowed! Or, is that totally creepy? Fuck it. At this point, it's whatever gets me through the day._

I wrap a towel around my waist, although, I'd rather be naked, and quietly open the bathroom door because there's no way she actually did what I told her to. I'm totally going to catch her in the act…- _of touching herrrselllfff._ A dry mouth doesn't even begin to describe it, it's like Death Valley up and took residence. I am literally watching Tris run the tips of her fingers over her panties. I don't have a perfect view, on account of her knees, whom I'm very angry at right now, but I can envision it well enough. _Maybe if I just move to the left a little… Move? Yeah, that's impossible. Plus, I'll get caught. Maybe I should get caught? I mean, she needs me. It's obvious. And I will assist her. No, you will not!_

She squeezes her legs together and I watch in awe as her cheeks flush and she— _Oh, God she's changing angles._

"Fuck," she mouths without sound. I can feel the tip of my cock brush against the towel, and I have to glue my hands to my side to prevent myself from dropping trow and grabbing my dick.

And now she's biting her lip… _Please, stop that._ Incrementally she angles her hips down and sucks in a breath and for a moment I thought I was busted. But, then she closes her eyes, more like squeezes them shut.

She lets out a deep breath, "Tobias."

 _Did she…? She just…said my name. She's getting herself off, thinking about me. And that is officially the best thing that's happened to me since Tris survived after dying. That's it. I definitely need to help her. She's obviously struggling. Do the right thing, Tobias!_

I step forward and trip over the edge of the towel, catching myself on the door as it swings open. _You idiot!_ I look up at her in frantic embarrassment to see that she is still looking up at the ceiling but has moved her hand away.

 _Okay, what do I say? Did I miss my chance? She's still in the same spot I left her, technically. Was that calculated?_

"You, uh, really haven't moved. Wow." _Wow? Really?_

"Mmm hmm. Just, doing as I was told." _Yeah, I didn't tell you to do THAT?!_

"Ha, yeah. Okay. Well, good." _Very, very, good. Very good._

"Yep."

I watch her lips as she makes a popping sound and the stark reminder of the noise she makes after she gives me head rings in my ears.

"So, can… …, yet?"

"Huh?"

"Can I move…yet?" _No. Stay right there so I can bury my fingers in you—Holy shit, I'm still completely turned on and fully erect!_

"Oh, yeah," I comment not at all smoothly as I face away from her. "Well, you can move just…um, so…stay…right there on the bed." My entire body temperature is rising rapidly. "Looking…very…yes. And I'll just…get dressed," I stammer, scurrying to the closet like a pussy. _Pussy? Really, Tobias?_

 _What the fuck happened to aiding her you chicken shit?!_

I stare at my dick, as it looks on in obvious disappointment, and silently curse it for ruining a perfectly wonderful situation. _Are you kidding? You're blaming your penis, now? It didn't do anything wrong except present itself at a very rationale moment! You're the disappointment, Tobias! You are contributing to the degeneration of the male species—_

"Tobias, what am I waiting for, here?"

 **End Flashback:**

"Four?"

"Yep," I reply, still staring at the table as if my assistant isn't standing in the doorway trying to get my attention. I'm trying to hold onto this memory because, apparently, it's more important than whatever Jamie's going to tell me, right now.

"Hey, I just found this on my desk, and it has your name on it, therefore, I can only assume it's for you. It's probably been there since this morning. Sorry, I think it got mixed up in all the crap—I'm still playing the trying-to-figure-out-what-the-hell-you-do game."

"Thanks," I reply, visions of Tris biting her lower lip still lingering.

"So, okay, I'll just…leave it…here. So, it's…right in front of you."

"Thank you."

I hear the click of the door, and my eyes are drawn to a folded up piece of paper with my name written in Amar's handwriting. So, I open it, images of Tris slipping from my mind.

 _I have some things to work out. Going to our cabin in Galena for some perspective. Will fill you in upon my return. Take a look at my preliminary thoughts for the possible expansion._

 _Amar_

This is the first time I've heard from him since his two brief text messages yesterday saying he wasn't coming in. It's probably better he wasn't here yesterday, seeing as my mood was more foul than usual.

The note Amar left me is officially the only thing that registers right now, even though, technically my eyes are dragging over the expansion proposal I have now unfolded. It's more or less a bunch of notes at this point, and they aren't making my synapses fire. Although, I do see that the notes are in English, and he wrote with blue ink. I push the papers to the side and remove my glasses, resting my forehead on the table.

This day has flown by, mimicking yesterday's speed as well. However, unlike yesterday, where I was just a bastard all day and working like a maniac, exhaustion has officially set in now that the extra shot of espresso I had Lauren (God, help me.) dump into my coffee has worn off. I've done exactly as Tris seems to be dying for me to do—concentrate on work and forget about her. Although burying myself in work is more or less what I did, concentrating not being the appropriate verb.

I haven't initiated any texts nor called her in well over 24 hours. I responded with a cordial, "OK," when she texted me that she was taking Tori to chemo after work last night. And when she crawled into bed around 5:00 AM, I had my arm laid out waiting for her to rest on. I saw through my drowsy sleep-deprived eyes, her lip protruding out and trembling before she bit it back and clung to me. I waited until her breathing evened out before I slipped away to go for a ridiculously early run, going straight to work to shower when I was done.

I'm giving her space. Not that she asked for it, but, based on yesterday morning… Shit, maybe _I_ needed some space. And the other thing is, I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO FUCKING DO! Because when her spitefulness comes out, man, the things I want to say to her!

 _And, what the hell? How can she not see that I'm flailing right now?! Calling me an asshole, a snooty asshole, because of my grammar? Thanks, so much for your thoughtful eloquence, Tris._

Although, I haven't exactly been forthcoming about why I'm so adamant about my speech _. Damn it! Why can't I just tell her this shit?_ Tell her that my mother tutored me after Marcus told me that I sound like a "grade A, idiot, inbred hick."

I still remember her saying conspiratorially, "Let's prove him wrong." The hours we spent on the nuances of the English language, and then how she'd wink at me and I'd grin when Marcus said something grammatically incorrect. It was our little secret—our silent protest. And I can't let it go.

It's funny how it doesn't even occur to me to tell Tris these little insights when they come up. It's like they have just become second nature, almost like the thought doesn't even cross my mind to mention the reason behind my ridiculous idiosyncrasies. _Because MY bullshit is secondary, right now! Don't be so fucking selfish! She doesn't need my dumbass quirks on her mind!_ _Particularly because of the specifics she's dealing with!_

 _Dealing with... Fuck, I hope she stays in therapy. Her nightmares alone being reason enough._

 **Flashback:**

I set the bag of take-out on the counter, noticing how quiet the apartment is, and how Tris hasn't made her appearance from our, or _my_ , bedroom since I walked in the door.

"Tris?" I call as I grab two plates from the cabinet.

No answer. So, I walk toward the bedroom and see her cute, sweet (relatively speaking) self, curled onto her side. She has her knees up to her chest and is wearing one of my T-shirts, which is bunched up to the apex of her thighs giving me a clear shot of her behind…and more.

My dirty, male, mind immediately envisions exactly what's under that small, thin, piece of fabric and I practically start to salivate, along with sport an uncontrollable erection. Lately, no amount of cold showers and near daily self-gratification has been able to temper that. She's obviously trying to kill me.

I sigh out a small breath of disappointment as I crouch down next to her, folding in her bottom arm that lies extended mid-air exposing her double-jointed elbows. Her hair is piled on top of her head, so I carefully attempt to detangle it from her ponytail holder thing, knowing she hates sleeping with her hair up. She flinches just as I realize my naïve attempt is futile. I lean in and deliver a soft kiss to her forehead, breathing her in. Then, knowing she'd hate it, but taking my chance anyway, I pull up her shirt to inspect her side. The swelling has gone down significantly much to my relief. Until that relief dissipates upon seeing a much more enticing swell—the underside of her breast. Having enough sexual frustration in my life for the time being, I hastily pull my t-shirt down over her ass and stand, making my way for yet another dinner…alone.

"Stop," she whispers, although, it comes out as more of a mumble.

"You're awake?" I chuckle as I crouch down again. "I got Chinese—"

Her legs shoot out straight as she cries out in pain. My hand instinctively braces her bruised ribs, trying to quell the probable ache. _What the fuck did she do to herself today?!_

"Hey, are you okay—"

"Tobias, please," she moans.

"What? What do you need? I'm right here."

She doesn't respond, and it doesn't take me long to realize she's having a nightmare…and I'm in it. I run my fingers down the side of her face and shake her shoulders a bit. "Tris."

She groans and shakes her head muttering something I don't understand. I'm at a loss for what to do. Based on how she was acting when she got home, along with her passing out, she's clearly wrecked and exhausted…or drunk. So, she may need sleep. However, if she's having a nightmare, maybe I should—

"Tobias!" she screams at the top of her lungs, almost launching me off the bed from the shock alone.

"Tris, babe. Hey, hey, hey. Hey!" I roll her onto her back as she opens her eyes wide.

"Hi," she breathes out rapidly as she looks right and left and then back up at me. "What are you…? You're here."

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's good," she whispers as her eyes get heavy again. "'Cause I don't…know why… And again...I don't…" Her eyes close as her last words trail off, and she seems to fall immediately back to sleep.

I run the back of my knuckles down her cheekbone and my thumb along her bottom lip. I think about shaking her awake again, but my mind instead wanders to her tone of voice as she yelled for me. Except he wasn't yelling _for_ me, she was yelling… _at_ me.

 **End Flashback**

After that initial nightmare, the rest were borderline call-911. Nine times, count them, nine times she woke up screaming and thrashing. Apparently, not remembering waking up at all. The last one being the worst—hearing her plead for me, hearing her say she's sorry, then, just like all the other dreams, she's yelling at me. Whatever I was doing, she wanted me to stop. Although, according to her, I wasn't doing _anything_. She can say she doesn't blame me for doing nothing when I knew Eric was looking for her, but, unmistakably, her subconscious says otherwise. Now the question is—Has she been lying to me about it this whole time? Her admission about holding back was upsetting. But, I wonder how much she's keeping from me?

"Hey, boss."

"Don't call me that," I state in the flattest voice I'm capable of.

"So," Matthew begins as he pulls up a chair in front of my desk. "I realize architects and builders aren't always on the same page, but if I get another damned phone call to clarify the electric, I'm going to march right down to MOSAI—"

"What?"

"What _what?_ "

"What the hell is MOSAI?"

"Oh, I made it up. I was tired of saying 'Museum of Science and Industry.' It's too long. So…now I say MOSAI. It's an acronym. Like ROY G BIV. Ya know, colors of the rainbow? Sorry, I have no idea where that one came from. I don't think there could be a less dumb example of an acronym. Anyway, you get my drift—"

"I know what a damned acronym is," I cut off before he pisses me off even more. Also, because he just called _my_ acronymic example 'dumb.' "And if you insist on using it for the museum, then say 'MSI.'"

"Mmmmmyeah, no." He shakes his head doubtfully. "That doesn't sound as cool."

"Well, Matthew, transitions aren't used in acronyms and since when has sounding cool been a priority for you?" I ask hoping he realizes he is the _least_ cool person…ever.

"Touché, s'il vous plaît."

"God… Just because it rhymes, doesn't mean it makes sense," I whine, resting my head on my desk.

"Anyway, so I really want to smack their electrician up the side of the head. I know I _can't,_ totally unprofessional, but one can dream. Maybe he'd slide down the hill...or should I say, the slope? _My_ slope. Sorry, I meant, _our_ slope."

"You can take credit for the damned slope, Matthew," I mutter still with my head on my desk, truly not giving a flying fuck about how much of a whiny bitch I look like.

"Hey, thanks, Boss! I mean…friend, Four. Just…Four."

Knowing I need to nip this in the bud, I lift my head meeting his dumb stare. "Is there any other reason you're here apart from complaining about something completely out of our control?"

"Well, since you asked—"

"Hey, Four, sorry to bother you." Jamie walks in a little more tentatively than before, considering her more confident personality.

"I'm not," I reply, running my hands down my face.

"How's it goin,' Matthew?" she asks, trying to hide her laugh. She picked up, on day one, that Matthew drives me to the brink of mind implosion.

"Fuckin' great!" he responds with way too much emphasis.

"O…kay. Do I get to swear like that too?" she whispers as she comes closer.

"Yes."

"Sweet. There's a kid here to see you. He seems pretty eager…or terrified." She ushers in an incredibly nervous looking young errand boy.

"Jonathan?" I say his name as if I'm unsure, even though, I had quickly realized he's the runner for the concierge in my apartment complex.

"Hi, Mr. Eaton—"

"Better call him 'Four.' Seriously, dude…for your own safety."

"Matthew, don't say 'dude,' and Jonathan, ignore him. What's up?"

"Well, Miss Prior…or Tris, yeah. Is it okay that I call her that? I don't want my boss to yell at me."

"Did she _tell_ you to call you that?" I inquire at his laughable question while my heart skips a beat at her name.

"Forcefully."

"I'm not surprised," I mumble under my breath, it not going unnoticed that Matthew said the same thing…at the same time.

I shake my head as both he and Jamie stifle a laugh.

"Uh, yeah, so, she wanted me to give this to you."

He sets a 2-go cup of coffee, the particular aroma I instantly recognize as Gertie's, down on my desk, turning it, so the word 'guilt' shows up in Tris's messy script. I know I have a childish smile on my face, but I don't care. Then he sets down a plastic container, a ready-made snack of sorts, of Nutella with the words, "You already know what this is," written on it in equally terrible handwriting.

"Thank you, Jonathan," I remark suddenly in an incredibly better mood. _Is this how she felt the other day? We're awesome! Nutella rocks!_ I take my wallet out of my pocket, en route for a tip. "Here."

He tentatively reaches out, but then shakes his head and backs away.

"Sir—"

"Don't call him 'sir.'"

"Shut your mouth, Matthew."

"Just sayin'."

"Um…I'm not supposed to take your tip until I…" the kid falters as I look at him curiously.

"Until you…?"

"Ya know, I don't need the tip." He waves me off. "See ya around, Mr.—"

"Jonathan, stop. You work for tips, and my rent pays your salary, so, think of me as your boss and take the tip," I retort.

"She said you'd say something like that."

Jamie reenters the room and sets the interior layout of ALG that I asked for on my desk unrolling it, which grabs my attention because I've been waiting for it. My office phone also rings, and I see it's Amar.

"Guys, I need to take this—"

"Four, did you have time to approve the copper alternatives we came up with?" Trevor and Diana both magically appear, rudely pushing Jamie to the side, which ticks me off.

"Wow! Looks like a party!" Will enters and I feel like my head may explode. "So, Zoe wants me to sign off on the reno. Wanted to run it by you first—"

"Wait, Will, it's not ready, yet—Oh, sorry everyone!" Zoe backs away nearly running into Jonathan while my mind answers all questions, but my voice doesn't.

I see Jonathan's mop of hair make a break for the door. "Jonathan!" I yell, getting his prompt attention. "Take the damned tip," I grit out as I look over to see Amar has hung up. "Damn it!"

"Um…she's going to be really mad—"

"Come on, kid, move it!"

"Trevor, you are no more important than him. And, not the first time and, definitely, not the last time, kid!" I shout over everyone trying to both chastise Trevor and encourage Jonathan.

"Um…"

"Jonathan!" I grit out, still in the throes of demanding associates all chatting, trying to talk over each other.

"Okay, she said, there's only one reason you're getting guilt coffee and apology Nutella…"

"Con..tin…ue!"

I watch him mutter something, and I officially can't take this shit anymore!

"What?! Jesus, just say it!"

"BECAUSE SHE KNOWS YOU'LL TURN DOWN AN APOLOGY BLOWJOB OKAY NOW CAN I PLEASE LEAVE?!"

You know that sound in movies? The diamond tip scratching across a vinyl record to signify all loss of conversation because something was said that was unbelievable? Yes, that just occurred.

"Well, who would turn that down?! I know I wouldn't—"

"Shut the hell up, Matthew."

"Here ya go, buddy." I glance up and see Will hand poor Jonathan a $50. "You better run."

And, that's exactly what he does.

"Okay, everyone. Let's give Four a minute to…process…that." Will ushers the now awkwardly silent herd of employees out the door, and, of course, laughter ensues in the hallway. _She's going to pay for this…_

I groan into my hands, the hotness of my face not going unnoticed, and pretend I'm alone for a moment.

"I knew you were a nice guy, but, wow, I guess you're a _really_ nice guy."

"Thank you," I respond to the joking voice of Jamie, my voice muffled by my hands.

"Matthew, come on—"

"I need to talk to Four about something," he punctuates as I raise my head giving him a this-better-be-good face. "Seriously, I do."

"It's fine, Will." I nod to him, still giving Matthew the same look.

"Okay, buddy. Drinks this week—"

"Just tell me when and I will…be there," I reply with every ounce of intention I have.

I open up the cup of steaming coffee, listening to Will join in the laughter in the hallway, and take a sip. _This coffee may just be worth the embarrassment. Damn you, Tris Prior!_ Matthew leans forward looking at me with a concerned expression. _What now?!_

"Would you _really_ deny a—"

"Get out."

"I'm kidding!" he laughs jovially as if what just transpired was at all funny. "I honestly just want to find out how Tris is. I'm asking as a friend—not your friend…of course, but her friend. And I do promise that she's just a friend. I am otherwise engaged with a different beautiful woman. I mean, we're not engaged. I'm just engaging with her. And I didn't mean to say Tris is beautiful. In fact, I'll just say she's not…definitely not."

"Did you really just say that to me?"

"I mean, she is…most definitely. Shit, I just said 'definitely,' again. Anyway, I wouldn't, or I shouldn't say that to you because, well, you shouldn't talk about dating your boss's girlfriend. Not that I want to date her! No offense."

"None…taken."

He rocks back and forth on the toes and heels, and I take note of the redness in his face, we probably match right now, to be honest. And I feel a little, just slightly, sorry that he's trying so hard to prove to me his disinterest in Tris. What he doesn't know, is that his efforts are futile.

"So, um, is she okay?"

I sit back and cross my arm semi-astonished that he actually thinks I'm going to talk to him about Tris. Honestly, he honestly, believes that.

"She's not. I will take your silence and cold, dark eyes as a no?... So, just to clarify, is talking about our mutual acquaintance off limits? Not that she's _just_ an acquaintance to you…or me. We're more than acquaintances—"

"Matthew. You need to be done speaking." I tilt my head toward the door signaling his exit order. So he stands, walking at a snail's pace toward the door, looking over his shoulder in debate before pausing at the door.

Not being able to take any more of his shit, I look at the building plans on my desk. First, the date strikes me—June, 13 1999. _Shit, these are the originals._ I pick up my phone to call Jamie and pause as Matthew now stands switching his weight. _Good Lord! What the hell?_

"You have 5 seconds to tell me why you're hovering in my—"

"I couldn't sleep last night because of what happened on the sidewalk and I was wondering if you could clue me in as to what that was about because it scared the shit out of me!"

I run all possibilities through my mind about what the hell he could be talking about. They were fixing the sidewalk a couple of days ago. Did someone get hurt? Jesus, I can't deal with a possible lawsuit, right now.

" _I_ don't even know what happened," I admit slightly ashamed. Not that Matthew needs to know that.

"Oh, well. Psshhh…" He waves me off and heads toward the door with long strides. "I'm just rambling so—"

"Matthew, you _will_ tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

"Uhhhh… Uuuuummmm… Welllll—"

"MATTHEW!"

"DOES TRIS HAVE ANY STRANGE HABITS?"

"What the hell are you—?"

"Ya know, like, I don't know, violent confrontations with older dudes in expensive suits?"

I scan Matthew's face, and it's plain as day that he's trying to speak in dumbass code, as in code only used by dumbasses.

 _Apparently, I am rolling with this… Okay…Violent confrontations? No. Older dudes with…expensive suits—_

"I can be more specific! Like, does she habitually get quite angry with older dudes in expensive suits, slap them, and then they…retaliate?"

His meaning clicks into place at the word "retaliate." Then, match it up with the words, "violent," "older dudes," and "expensive suits," and that is my own personal recipe for a stroke.

"No," I growl. "She doesn't. That is, indeed, NOT a habit of hers. Now, WHAT HAPPENED?" I stand and stride toward Matthew grabbing him by the arm and closing the door.

"Ow, ow, ow. I didn't say that happened."

"I don't have TIME for your bullshit. You will tell me what the fuck happened, and you will tell me _now_!" I push his arm away, although, he stands surprisingly strong.

"You should talk to _her_." I recognize the look on his face as loyalty. I know it well because I have very loyal friends.

"I _do_ talk to her!" At this point, my mind is going to the worst-case scenario. _Did he do that to her side? The scratches on her arm? The way she was acting? Did MY FATHER do that to her?!_

"Look, I see that you are incredibly upset…like, more upset than I've ever seen you. So, for the record, she _said_ she was going to _tell_ you…and that's why _I_ was _not_ to _tell_ you. But, apparently, she didn't _tell_ you and WHY didn't she _tell_ you?!" he asks in total exasperation mixed with fear he's trying to hide as he backs away.

Internalizing his look, I have to put myself in a mini time-out. I realize Matthew and I have a _unique_ work relationship, but that doesn't give me the right to yell at him. He's still my employee. And, maybe it wasn't even Marcus. Maybe it was some crazy guy in the street. Either way, I'll hunt him down.

"Did she say who it was?" I ask with as mild of a tone as I'm capable of.

"No."

"Because she didn't know, or because she didn't want _you_ to know?"

His lack of response is all the answer I need. I'm at my desk phone before I comprehend the movement.

"Alex, this is Four. Send me yesterday's exterior security footage for the street level Northwest corner of the building immediately."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Therapy:

I end the call on my phone, and I have the first, albeit small, smile on my face in almost 72 hours. It's fleeting, and really more like a smirk or maybe a grin, but it's there. And all on account of a phone call, a requested phone call, on behalf of Caleb—he's eating…and drinking. The nurse informed me that Caleb preferred for me to have minimal information. I know I could easily override that request, and find out everything, but, he deserves some type of control of his life. The only thing the nurse told me is that he's taken up playing chess again. I haven't prayed in a while, but I definitely took that moment to thank God.

I clear my throat and decide to concentrate on other things because I could easily worry about Caleb, for eternity. Of course, Tobias takes up immediate residence, but I push him away with more vigor because I would rather hold onto my mind, rather than lose it.

Concentrate on what's in front of you—the task at hand. That's the only thing that seems to have worked for the last day.

So, I take some time and look around Dr. DuBumbledick's office. It's about the size of the closet at Calahan's, my first memory being—Tobias giving me an orgasm with his mouth. _Sweet Jesus…_ _Okay, Tris. Other things, other things…_

I observe that this place is actually pretty bare. Squinting my eyes at the various papers attached to his tack board, I see Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs Pyramid, pictures of the physical evolution of humans from an ape to an upright man. I see articles with words like _stigma_ , _behavior_ , _psyche_ and—

"Tris." Dr. DuBendover enters the room and sits unceremoniously behind his desk, rather than in the chair next to me like last time. I must give him some kind of look because he smirks and comes back around the desk to sit across from me, making a notation right away. "You're here."

It's an interesting comment seeing as he's the ass dick who called _me_ at the last minute for a session.

"Yep."

I still can't believe I'm here. So many of the questions he asked made me uncomfortable. And his demeanor, in general, was, well, not was I was expecting. But, I did an internet search of "common questions a therapist will ask," and many of the ones he provided were on that list.

I think what scared me the most was the way he focused on Tobias. He seemed to be eating up whatever I said about him. It made me crazy at the time, but, some of the things he said stuck with me.—" _Do you think there is such a thing as being too supportive?", "He doesn't…understand?", "Do you feel suffocated?"_ That one hurt because my first reaction was an unequivocal, 'no.' But, going back, I do feel smothered, sometimes. But only on account of Tobias's insatiable need to fix this situation. It's more like me feeling pressure, not pressured. And the last and final question, _"Do you think he wants to make you…better?" Ugh…_

In addition, one nagging thought of my own still resonates, a particular comment on my behalf—" _I don't know what I would do without him!"_ And…it is…so true. The mere thought of his absence in my life sends my mind into a tailspin—the memory of that nightmare still fresh. I can't fathom not feeling his arms around me, not hearing his authentic laugh. I can't imagine losing the way he makes me feel—better than I actually am. Fuck all of that! Just how much I love him, alone. Could I live without giving him that? He's shown me, unintentionally, how giving love is just as important as receiving it. But, if that's the case, then why am I holding back? What the fuck is wrong with me? So much… There is so much—

"Tris, are you going to actually participate today? Or shall we reschedule?"

I shake my head to clear it and focus on the rather unkind eyes of this _therapist,_ glaring at him with contempt at his tone.

"Let me repeat—I was surprised you agreed to attend this last minute session. I was under the impression you were less than satisfied," he remarks smugly as if he knew I'd be back.

"That was an astute impression."

He immediately scribbles something on his pad while continuing. "Then, why did you come back? And so readily at that?"

I really don't want to give this blowhard the satisfaction of knowing he _did_ , in fact, give me a lot to think about. I also don't want to lie because I want to get the most out of this, so why lie?

I take a deep breath and decide to reveal one of the deciding factors. "Well, my boyfriend …" I groan unintentionally, "…wants me to."

The dumb fucker quirks his head at me and, _shit_ , I know exactly what he's thinking.

"Not that it's his decision, but, he feels… He didn't pressure me! I'm not here _just_ because of him," I stammer as he takes notes. "And he didn't _tell_ me to come to…try to _fix_ me or make me… _better._ " My eyes widen at the disdain with which I say that last part.

"Tris," he draws out my name in a condescending manner. "I never said he did. These comments are your own conjuring. Yet, I will say he seems to have quite the hold over you…obviously."

I sit there not knowing how to respond because he isn't exactly wrong. Tobias does have a hold over me, but not in an aggressive way. It's our emotional connection. _Right?_

"Is he controlling?"

"No," I reply quickly. However, memories come forward of his cute, frustrated, face when I do something he disapproves of, but knows he has no say in the matter. "Ha! Well, he _wants_ to be but—No, don't take that wrong!" I interject trying to halt his note taking. "It's just his…well, it's kind of instinctual to him. But, he tempers it…constantly."

"He has to temper it? Hmmm. Does he have to try hard?" he asks sarcastically.

"I…guess. But, we all have our quirks, right? It doesn't bother me that he's like that. Sometimes, it's kind of adorable."

Flashes of me getting caught reaching up into the top of the cabinet shelves—the ones Tobias had deemed "Off limits for a minimum of two weeks because they're too damned high!" He huffed and exited the kitchen, grumbling some bullshit and probably running his hands down his face. But then not two minutes later he hugged me from behind, thinking I didn't notice him counting my ribs as if I'd lost them.

"Tris, what is your goal of these sessions?" Dr. DuBastard infringes.

"I want to learn to deal with things better," I reply with a firm nod of my head.

"Things?"

"Yes. I, still have nightmares of my… _experiences_ and I—"

"Care to describe them?" he interrupts…AGAIN!

"No." I cross my arms and sit back, him acting like a scribe for Jesus—writing every damned thing down. I roll my eyes, knowing I'm being immature. "Fine. They used to be about the abuse from my ex-boyfriend, it was more like reliving it, every night. They went away after my current boyfriend and I started dating—"

"May I ask his name?"

"Four."

"Because…then you can start referring to him by name?" _What the hell is he talking about? Oh…now I get it._

"No, sorry, not 'for' like 'Why?' Um…his name is…Four. It's…yeah…like the number," I respond drawing out my words because, honestly, I hate the name 'Four.'

Dr. DuLittle-to-nothing raises his eyebrows in both annoyance and—What is that? Disgust? And I am on the defense pronto.

"He went through things as well, and he wanted to reinvent himself. There's meaning behind it! It's important to him—"

"What did he go through?"

"None of your business."

"Hmmph." He sits back and crosses his legs like a friggin' girl.

"Can we please get back to the whole nightmare thing?" I suggest. "And why am _I_ directing the attention back to—"

"So, the nightmares just…poof!" He swirls his pencil in the air. "Up and went away?"

"Yes," I deadpan just now noticing that his skin is an unbecoming shade of boring and dull.

"But they came back?"

"Yes. We broke up for a while and they…started up, again. And then the most recent attack—"

"You broke up?" he inquires feigning surprise.

"Yes," I grit out.

"Why?"

"None of your business."

"Tris, I can see you're on the defense." His tone has suddenly changed to passive and horseshit. "I'm just curious as to why the nightmares left so easily, at first, but have now _not_ gone away. Have you thought of why that may be?" He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, making me sit back against my chair.

"No." _But I am now!_

He chuckles under his breath as if the answer is obvious.

"I can only assume _you_ have a rationale for that."

"In fact, I do. Maybe you're not as secure in your relationship as you think."

My silence is deafening, but, most likely, only to me. He has struck a major nerve. And the confusing part is that he seems to know it! _What is this guy's story?_

"I still don't understand why we're focusing so much on my relationship with my _boyfriend_!"

"Okay, okay, Tris," he soothes, making my skin crawl. "Like I said, your relationships affect you. As a doctor, I must use all facets of your life to evaluate you."

" _Evaluate_ me?"

"I'm sorry. I misspoke," he replies hastily. _What the fuck?_

"Well, can…we…move…on…to…another… _facet_?"

"Yes, of course, of course. You're more than welcome to take the lead. But, may I say something complimentary about… _Four_?" He has the audacity to say his name like it's some kind of joke.

"To make up for your barraging remarks, yes."

He glances at my expression and makes some sort of checkmark on his paper. "From what you've told me, he seems very supportive of your progress in a therapeutic environment. That's an excellent quality. I can only assume he's sought therapy himself, seeing as he has had…issues that are none of my business."

I stay still, hoping he doesn't read into my reaction or lack thereof. I notice he suffers from adult-onset acne, and he obviously doesn't give a shit about it.

"I take that as a, 'no.'"

"Well, he said he would. Yesterday morning, he, he, he said it."

"Because you want him to? Did you suggest it?"

"Why does it matter?!" I'm getting incredibly angry, and his receding hairline isn't helping.

"Because he wouldn't be doing it for himself."

"What does it matter as long as he goes?! What the hell! You have to start somewhere! That's why I'm here! Scraping the damned bottom of the barrel!"

He gazes at me completely disregarding my fury. "In my opinion, unless someone initiates the experience, it doesn't—"

"Doesn't what? Doesn't count?!"

He shrugs his shoulders in a you-said-it-I-didn't manner. I notice the light brown-rimmed glasses and laugh to myself as something about his appearance connects.

"Dr. DuBois, aren't you curious about…? I don't know! But, I've watched enough Lifetime to know shrinks ask about, like, childhood and—"

"I'm much more focused on your present."

"Okay, let's do that." I stand and grab my purse. "Presently, I'm LEAVING! And, speaking of the present, you presently look like a cross between a pedophile and a sociopath! You're like the real-life version of Stanley fuckin' Tucci!"

I storm out, and the last thing I hear is him stifling a laugh.

* * *

 **AN:** The Stanley Tucci reference is from a character he plays in the movie version of The Lovely Bones...soooo brilliantly creepy.

Had to add a little bit of humor in this one!

The reviews...passionate doesn't even describe it! I love the feedback. Finding out how people feel about what your writing, while your writing, is an experience I'm very grateful for. So, I thank you all because it really keeps me on my toes.

Thanks for all the understanding with the big move, also!

If you're interested in chatting, etc. Find me on Facebook. Search /Nitewriter4 or Kris Daniels. The page is no longer public. Too many creepers and weirdos.


	14. React Pt 2

**Chapter 14 -** React Pt. 2

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

"So, we're sitting now? Okay, we're sitting."

I briefly hear Matthew's voice as I sink down into my chair for the second time.

I'd never seen it before today—my father causing physical pain to someone I love. I always imagined the look of anger and rage on his face, as if an uncontrollable bought of temper came over him, and that was why he inflicted pain. But, this wasn't what I was expecting—enjoyment. He was…smiling, as he threw the woman I love up against a brick building, purposefully grinding the fair, soft skin on the backs of her arms into the façade. I had to swallow the thick liquid threatening to purge out of mouth upon observing the way he bit his bottom lip and sneered as he moved his hand, almost seductively, down her body, driving his fingers into her rib cage, purposefully.

Then, the other side of the coin—I'd never before seen that particular look of fear on Tris's face. I'd been party to, on a few occasions, a toned-down version of it. But it was nothing like what I saw on the footage. Looking back, I subconsciously _had_ envisioned her expression, my obsessive tendencies to torture myself taking over. It was always something akin to what you see in the movies—wide, surprised eyes, taken aback features, cringing. However, Tris's face was beyond that—this was horror. As if what was in front of her made her want to vomit as much as escape. Then the way she crippled under his grasp made my legs buckle, the chair behind me literally saving my ass.

The whole scene was brief, and I have Matthew to thank for that—three good punches and a death grip on Marcus's throat against the building. My first reaction, much to my shame, was anger because it should have been _me_ , my next was upset, seeing as Matthew had reacted similarly to me, thus showing his affections for her, but the third and most important—relief and gratitude…indescribably gratitude.

I stand again and walk to the other side of my chair, bracing myself on it. My first reaction is to find Tris—to make sure she's okay. My second reaction is to find Marcus and kill him. My third reaction is something odd—to calm the fuck down. So, I walk back around my chair to sit, for the third time.

"What did she say to him?" I ask slowly and precisely.

"I don't know. You saw what I saw."

Raking my hands through my hair, I then rest my elbows on the table and hold Matthew's stare. "Thank you, Matthew. I mean it."

"My pleasure. For real, it was. I took great pleasure in that. Who was that guy anyway?"

"Marcus Eaton."

I observe Matthew scratch his head and look up at the ceiling. "Any relation?" he asks in jest, evidently putting two and two together.

"Unfortunately."

"So," he begins, warily. "Is there anything else I can do? I have to ask because I have gotten the Matthew-I-want-to-kill-you look from you on many occasions. But this, whatever you have going on here," he remarks gesturing to my face. "This is next level. You look like you may do something you're going to regret."

I remember how I felt after I almost beat Marcus to death. For a moment, it was as if he and I were kindred spirits—reactionary, violent individuals. But, then the feeling of disgust that overcame me proved otherwise. And I refuse to go back to that. If I ever attempt violence to such an extent ever again, it's not going to be on account of my manic temper. And as of right now, the amount of rage moving through me trumps how I was feeling on that fateful day. So I would, most likely, not be able to control myself, and he would be dead—the image alone of him ripping her small form backward, fueling my desire.

"…honestly, it's like some _Minority Report_ thing happening. You are the poster-child for 'pre-crime.' Should I call someone?"

"No."

"Four?" He leans in mimicking my body language. "I am asking with sincerity. Are you okay?"

"No. But, I'm handling it."

"Not well."

"Ah," I shake my head and stand. "Thank you for helping her. I don't know what…would or could have…happened and…" I open my mouth to continue but no words can express—

"I can see this is a struggle for you. You're welcome." He exits the room before I can comment. It's probably a good thing.

I rip my cell out of my pocket and select my desired contact who answers promptly.

 _"Yo."_

"Are you on duty?"

 _"Negativo."_

"Good. Meet me at Eaton Funds."

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

"Hey," I greet trying to remain cool and relaxed, even though, I've found Four in the parking garage at Eaton Funds, looking, I don't know, a bit on edge. "What's…uh…what's goin' on, man?"

"Just wait here with me." He stares at the ground, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He doesn't even have the gumption to look me in the damned eyes. _And how do his suits always look so perfect? No wrinkles, no creases…nothing!_

"Why?" I ask, diverting my attention from his attire. "I definitely have the right to know why the hell I'm here. My educated guess is it has something to do with Marcus."

"For the moment, I need you to distract me," he mumbles, still staring at whatever is on the ground in front of him. All I see is a nasty piece of gum.

"Okay. How's Tris?"

"Fuck…" he whispers, lifting his head and just about smacking it on the concrete. _Whoops…_

"Apparently, that's counterproductive?"

He clears his throat and goes back to staring at the dingy concrete, and I now realize I need to speak Four, even though, technically, he's not speaking.

"So, this is one of those times where I talk; you listen, right?... I can definitely roll with this. Well, let's see." I wrack my brain trying to think of something lite. _Oh, I've got a good one!_ "Hana's pissed at you. When was the last time you called her? She's worried."

He furrows his perfect eyebrows and looks at me in a very accusatory way.

"Don't give me that look. Yes, I told her your lady was attacked and that you've been dealing with that. How could I not? Have you ever _tried_ lying to Mom?I And besides, I didn't say anything about Marcus or Carlos." I believe I have succeeded in diverting his mind as he shakes his head. "I had to tell her something! Will you call her, please?" I beg.

He nods his head and sighs. I figure I need to continue or he's going to go back into his dark Four place.

"What else, what else… Ha, Oh, my God! Uri is so lost! This whole girlfriend thing is hilarious. He's like a dog begging for a bone…all the time. And Marlene just dangles it in front of his face."

I get a smirk and a side glance and, _damn it_ , I know exactly what he's thinking.

"No! I was _not_ that bad! Seriously, this is borderline crazy. Even worse than you! I mean, you turned into a different guy, but you weren't on a damned leash."

"She never kept me on one," he mumbles. _Yes, he spoke!_

"Well, Marlene _made_ him try sushi. Like the raw kind—straight up Japanese-style. Shauna and I went with to supervise—or just because we wanted a front row seat. First, he wiped his _face_ with the warm towel."

Four bites his lips, trying not to laugh. _More success!_

"And don't even get me started on the edamame—which he ate…whole. Or, the damned sake—which he took like a shot right after the server set it in front of him. Burned the fuck out of his throat!"

He all out stifles a laugh at this one, and I can just see him picturing Uriah in his head.

"Then, when mealtime came around. Shit, you should have been there! He took a bite…yes, a bite, or more like a nibble—lookin' like a damned fool—of eel. He said he liked it, and Marlene looked all pleased and shit. But, no, no, no…he was _not_ diggin' the sushi. When Marlene wasn't looking, he spit it out in the towel—the one he wiped his face on."

I am blessed…yes, blessed…with an all-out laugh from Four. Who ever knew I would miss this guy's laugh?

"Remember how he used to do that with Mom's meatloaf?"

"Her meatloaf is terrible." _What the hell? He did not just say—_

"Are you serious? I love Mom's meatloaf!"

The exit door opens to our right, and I move out of the way for the guy to pass just as Four pushes _me_ out of _his_ damned way, knocking the guy down hard with two kicks to the back of both of his knees.

As Four drags the poor bastard across the parking garage by his arm, which I think is not out of its socket, I figure out who it is.

"Shit… Four!"

I hear him grunt and grumble something through his teeth as I bolt across the garage, just in time for Four to haul Marcus up by the shirt collar. This is the first time I've seen legit fear on Marcus's face.

"If you ever lay a finger…ONE…fucking…finger on her again, you will regret it until the day you die. And, the best part is… _I'LL_ be the one to kill you!" I see him shove something into Marcus's jacket pocket and push him hard into the dumpster before walking past me, hitting me in the shoulder as if I'm not even there.

Jogging after him, I lay my hand on his shoulder. "What was that—"

"She thinks you're weak!" Marcus chokes out, louder than he should be able. "She told me! She thinks you're damaged!"

The raspy nastiness of Marcus's voice makes us both stop in our tracks. But, by the look on Four's face, we did _not_ stop for the same reason.

Marcus keeps coughing out his words as Four nears him again. "Apparently…part of you is dead… because…of me—her words! You'll…never be whole." He's smiling as he talks and it's fuckin' disturbing. "You sure she's…worth it? Someone who…thinks so… lowly of…you?"

I do a double take at Four and see that he's actually ingesting some of this bullshit.

"Four, let's go—"

"Seems we fall for the same type of…woman. They think we're less…than we…actually are. Evelyn thought that. You think…Beatrice feels the same?"

I didn't even see it or sense it—Four now has Marcus against the dumpster again. I have a vantage point of his face this time. And I see murder.

Marcus somehow pulls off a laugh, knowing he got to Four, and now I'm pissed. So, I'm just going to let this happen for a bit. Ya know, see how shit plays out.

"Verbalization…not one of your… strong suits, son? Again…Beatrice's…words."

"Don't you fucking say her name! Either…of…their…names!"

I watch Four's hand move North and grab Marcus by the throat. And seeing that I would rather not testify in my best friend's murder trial, I decide to put the lid on this shit…seriously risking my physical well-being.

"Four, Four, Four..." I nudge him in the back, but then I see the white of Four's knuckles and the purple of Marcus's face. "Fuck!... Tobias!" I try to pull him off his ass shit of a father, unsuccessfully. Then, I remember his shoulder, and, really hoping I don't rip apart his rotator cuff, I grab his wrist at the perfect angle and twist, disengaging his grip immediately as he grunts in utter pain and falls forward, with my catching him, so he doesn't look like a weakling.

Although, Marcus is the one who ends up looking like a weakling as he staggers, nearly weeping and grabbing at his neck.

"Come on. That's enough, let's go."

"Mmmmgh!" He rips his arm away and steps backward.

"Well, one…thing is…for sure," Marcus starts in again, sounding like that creepy creature thing from Lord of the Rings. _Does this man EVER stop?!_ "You…certainly…have the Eaton temper…son. Never…seems to…go away does it?"

And that did it. As if it's in slo-mo, Four lifts his head, roboto style, and lunges grabbing Marcus by the gut, and hoisting him up like he's fuckin' Hercules. It's over before I know it, with Four limping back toward me, and Marcus flailing in the dumpster.

"I'm not your fucking son!"

He walks away with the longest strides I've ever seen him take as I jog next to him, words not being my forte. It isn't until we get half-way down the block that I speak.

"Talk…now, asshole!"

"Thank you," he grunts after some very painful seconds.

"For what?"

"Making sure I didn't kill him."

* * *

Talking Four into heading to the gym was easier than I thought it would be. At first, I was sure as shit that he would turn me down to go see his woman. But, that doesn't seem to be on the menu, in the least.

We're dancing around each other, each getting a jab in here and there. Great news is, I can tell this man hasn't been to the gym in a while—his stamina isn't quite the same. Or maybe it's because he used every ounce of adrenaline on his fuck face of a father. Either way, I have absolutely no problem exploiting his—

"Gah!" The world is on end for a minute, until I hear the shitty words of my cocky-ass opponent.

"Did you seriously think I didn't see the look on your smug face?"

I put my hands on the ground to push myself up and back on my toes.

"Damn it! I was trying to find _your_ weakness, for once."

"Well, your _'trying to find my weakness'_ opened you up to an ass beating, which I did _not_ deliver, your welcome."

"Ya know, you're a freak," I state as I put my gloves up, preparing myself. "Makin' yourself look all clumsy just to bait me! Can we _please_ just box without your Jedi mind tricks?"

"Observation and exploitation are not Jedi mind tricks. That's just plain—"

I feel a smack up the side of my head as I reel to the side.

"—smarts."

"Dude!" I rest my glove by my ear, where he had just smacked me. "We were _talking._ No cheap shots!"

"Fine. I'll box your idiot brother."

"I fuckin' heard that, dick!" Uri shouts across the gym. "And 'smarts' is grammerically incorrect, Four! Ha…Ha…!

"He's right," I point out, agreeing with my brother's assessment. _I love making Four look ignorant!_

"Uriah Pedrad!" Shauna shrieks, sticking her gorgeous head out of her office. "You're a God-damned professional! Don't swear in my gym!"

"Do you think she hears herself when she speaks?" Four asks, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

"No."

"What the hell?" Uriah jogs over and leans on the ropes. "Does your woman hear herself when she speaks?"

"No."

"Get in here, Uri," Four orders. "And put your damned gloves on this time."

I roll my eyes, walking away so Four can be a dick to Uriah in peace.

"Um, why? What's up? What did I do? How can I help? What did I do?" he stammers.

"Nothing," Four says squirting water in his mouth. "What the hell's wrong with you? I just want to box."

"Why, why do you want to, um, box _me_ , specifically? What did I do? I didn't do anything—"

"I need someone who's less of a pansy."

"Fuck you," I add as I blow my beautiful girlfriend…ahem…fiancée…a kiss. _Still trying to find the right time to bring that up. And who's going to be my best man? Can I have best men?_

"And…" Four bounces, switching his weight and sporting a severe lack of patience. "I need to be distracted and kept on my toes. _You_ are notorious for bullshit and cheap shots. Now, for Christ's sake, please, get your ass in here."

I watch on as Four tries to speak through a clenched jaw. It's pretty fuckin' funny.

"Says _who_?" Uriah asks like this is some big shock.

"Everyone!" we hear Shauna yell.

I smirk at her, even though, she continues to type away at whatever she's doing. _How do women do that? What's it called? Multi-faceting?_

"So, you're not pissed at me?" Uri slides under the ropes as I toss him my gloves.

"No. Why would I be?"

"Well, Tris didn't show up for her session, so, I assumed I was in trouble. And, what the hell, Zeke? Could your hands get any sweatier? Fuckin' gross—"

"What?"

"I know, right? I texted her! Damn, I even _called_ her. And, as you know, I am _not—"_

I cringe as Uriah sucker punches Four in the gut.

"—used to women not calling me back."

Four did nothing but stumble a few steps back, even with Uriah rattling his cage. _He looks… Yeah, I don't know this look._

"I'm just playin'. But, yeah, she ditched me yesterday and then—"

"What…session?" Four asks looking pretty lost.

"What the...?" Something clicks in that small brain of his because he, for once, stands still in the ring. "No. She… That little she-devil! She didn't TELL YOU?!"

"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, so, obviously not!"

For a minute there, I thought Four was going to lose his shit over the whole "she-devil" thing. But, he must have thought that was a fair assessment.

"I've been doing her PT!" Uriah yells as I try my damndest to hold back a laugh.

 _"_ Shut up, Zeke. _You've…_ been doing her PT?" I have to continue holding back my laughs because I really thought Four would be pissed, but he also looks a little amused.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"The reasons are too many to count—but, let me start with a few. You're a sports trainer, not a physical therapist, you check out and usually hit on each woman you train—"

"Not anymore."

"Bullshit," I cough out because he's my brother and it's my job to be a dick.

"Shut up, Zeke. In addition, you take _nothing_ you've ever done in your life seriously. She's been through some real shit, and I guarantee you, you aren't sensitive to that! And what about me? You didn't think I'd have a problem with this? Do you have an ounce of sense?" Four throws his gloves in the corner of the ring and looks at the ground, shaking his head.

"Are you done?"

I glance at my brother, who just handled Four in the most mature manner he's capable—he didn't throw a fit. Four nods his head, scratching it at the same time. He does that shit when he's guilty or nervous.

"You're an asshole."

"Uri…" he sighs as Uriah slides under the ropes and beelines to the locker room. "Fuck!"

I pat the spot next to me on the ring and swing my legs over the side, resting my forearms on the ropes. "That was a dick move. Uri's doing it for free, you know."

"I'm not even mad at him," he replies, finally with some honesty, rather than subject-changing and all around anger. "And he probably is qualified! What's funny is that I probably would have suggested it."

"For real?" I ask, not believing the words out of his mouth.

"No."

"Didn't think so. So… What's up with Tris? Why didn't she tell you?"

"I would imagine it's because…"

"Allow me to finish that sentence—You would react…well…like you just reacted."

He shakes his head. "I guess. But, the only reason I just took my shit out on Uriah was because I'm mad at _her_ , not because he's _helping_ her. God… I don't know what to do. She seems to be under the impression that lies by omission, aren't lies. Apparently, the only way Tobias and Tris's relationship will work is if she keeps me out of the loop."

Four referring to himself as Tobias catches me off guard. I smile to myself because I do miss calling him by his real name. I never got why he made us call him by another. It was fuckin' weird. But, I'm not even a fraction as deep as he is, so it's not surprising I wouldn't understand. My mom thought it was a great idea, at the time, so I went with it.

"And you don't do that to her? Let me answer that question for you—You do."

He shrugs and stares off toward the locker room, probably waiting for Uri to come back out. Now is my time to dig deep.

"You know, I would have expected you to head right on over to your girl after almost committing homicide…on her behalf. Unless…you don't _want_ to see her?" _Silence… Oh, the silence…_ "So, I take it she didn't tell you she ran into Marcus."

"No, she didn't."

I really want to ask how that whole Tris versus Marcus confrontation went down, also, how Four found out about it. But, I think he's a bit on the one track right now—the Tris track, if you will.

"Well, your father is a…mmmm…tough subject to…uh…bring up…with you. Maybe she's trying to find the right time. Fuck, I'm _always_ trying to find the right time to tell you shit."

 _Like the fact that I'm engaged and more excited than I've ever been in my life but I can't tell you because your pissy and because I asked her right after I thought your girlfriend may or may not have turned into a zombie!_

"Why?" he grumbles.

"'Cause you're very, very, unapproachable lately."

"She knows she can talk to me."

 _I sense hesitation…_ "Whatever you say, man. Look, just give her a chance to tell you. Hell, maybe just straight up ask her if there's anything…I don't know…of ' _importance she wants to divulge,'_ " I offer up in my best Four impression. It's pretty damned good.

"A, I don't sound like that, and, B, is it a lie if she says, 'no?'"

"In my expert opinion, 'yes.'" I absolutely saw him roll his eyes at my 100% inaccurate use of the word "expert," but I'm ignoring it.

"And if she lies?"

"Well, then you actually _have_ something to be mad at."

He rests his chin on his folded hands on the ropes, and I do the same, hesitating for just a minute because I think I look like kind of a douche. But I legit remember a lecture Four gave Uriah when he was nervous as all get out for his internship interview for the Kane County Cougars. Something about mirroring people's movements to make them comfortable and make yourself seems confident—

"Don't mirror me."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about—"

"You don't have to build a rapport with me. I already know you're a douche. Plus, you're doing it wrong. You need to be…facing each…other…" he trails off as if he's remembering something.

"Whatever, man. Numero uno, I'm not a douche. Numero two—What are you thinking about? Right now, at this moment, and don't fuckin' lie to me."

I do my strategic count to ten and still nothing.

"Do I need to be your Enema?"

"Wwwwhhhhhat the…fuck are you talking about?"

"Shauna pointed it out that you and I do not function the same, but we need each other to function. Does that make sense?"

"Unfortunately."

"And she was not nice about it. She says that words fall out of my mouth like diarrhea falls out of people's asses."

"Why do I even ask—"

"Why she couldn't have just said I suffer from verbal diarrhea, I will never know, but Shauna is nothing if not excellent at providing me with images I will never forget! Anyway, I was offended. But, then, she said she loves my diarrhea."

"Jesus, she _truly_ does _not_ hear herself," he acknowledges finally jumping aboard this conversation.

"Not at all. Anyway, apparently _your_ words get stuck in your—"

"Don't make me listen to this."

"—anal cavity until someone gives you an Enema. Apparently, _I_ am your Enema. So, in normal people language, we balance each other out. Get it?"

"Unfortunately."

I look over at him trying to remember how our conversation took this turn, but he seems to be deep in thought. "Okay," he starts, "if that truly was an analogous statement—"

"A _what?_!"

"—and you are the Enema to my supposed constipation. Then I am the _what_ to your diarrhea?"

"We didn't get that far. I don't know... You're my butt plug, I guess." I nod proudly at my made-up word because I have no idea what else to say. _I mean how do you stop diarrhea? Is there like a—_

The ropes start shaking profusely under my forearms and I sit up looking right and left to see what it is. But, something unexpected, Four is…

"Dude, are you…are you crying?" His head is on the ropes, and his ears are a bright shade of red. The dude is convulsing! Then the unmistakable laugh comes out that we don't hear often and… _Oh, no…_

"No, no, no, no! Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up. I did not say that."

"Oh, you said it. You…definitely…said…it." _He can barely get the damned sentence out. Fuckin' fool._

He continues laughing as I now have images of freaky naughty dirty toys beating the shit out of my brain. I groan and look over at Shauna, who is smiling at us. I know she's smiling because Four is laughing and it is, frankly, a relieving sound, but I pray this conversation, at least, the ending, doesn't get back to her! _Or Uriah! I'll never live it down. Never. Never ever._

I begrudgingly, (I think I used that word correctly) wait until Four's laughter dies down until I speak—ready to dig myself out of this hole.

"I hate him so much," Four says still chuckling like a jackass.

It's a weirdly smooth transition, and I can only assume he's talking about Marcus.

"Yeah. Me too," I agree. "Is that what you were thinking about…ya know, before—"

"Let's not repeat that conversation."

"Agreed."

"But…yes. It's what he said. I can't get it out of my head."

I run the assholic things that came out of Marcus's mouth through mind. Most had to do with Tris—the words 'damaged,' 'weak,' and 'dead.' _Shit!_ "Don't LET him get to you! She _doesn't_ think you're—"

"She does," he interrupts. "And it makes sense because _I_ feel that way about myself. What sucks is that…she's always said otherwise. And I believed her."

"So, now your believing _Marcus_ over her? That's just…not right, man."

"There are so many things that are just 'not right,' so…add it to the damned list."

"Other things?"

"Mmm hmm."

 _Is he talking about sex? Is this my in? Does he want me to ask? I get in trouble on this subject! What would Shauna do?_

"You guys gotten horizontal yet?"

He sighs out a deep breath. _What does that mean? Should I continue?_

"Or verticle? Sorry, horizontal was just my guess. First time back together…testin' the waters and shit…nothing too crazy…you know. Savin' the sex swing for a later date."

"We almost did," he mumbles.

"You _almost_ used a sex swing? How did you not follow through with _that_? I know the ergonomics—do you like that word?—can be tricky, but—"

He's glaring at me, so I have to put myself in check and do a little rewind.

"Oh, like you haven't followed through…at all?" I add in some hand movements so he knows what I'm getting at.

He shakes his head and looks away, which is good because it turned red as fuck.

"She looked at me like I was… _him_. And it's not a look I'll be forgetting anytime soon. It's funny, never in a million years did I think I'd get a limp dick by looking at Tris's face. Don't _ever_ repeat those words."

I put my hands up at his very stern voice. "Number one, there's nothing 'funny' about that. And, your secret is safe, my friend." I bend my head to get his attention, but he dodges me. "So, what? You don't _want_ her?"

"Fuck, Zeke… She's _all_ I think about. But, then that particular moment appears…no, it accosts me—her expression, the fear in her eyes and…"

"Deflation."

"Yeah."

"Like, every time?" I ask truly not able to comprehend that.

"Well, as of late, I've been avoiding anything _physical_ …with her. But…often enough."

"What about your solo endeavors?" I ask because I want to help him solve this problem.

"I have _trained_ myself to _only_ think about amazingly pleasant things. Therefore, I am now an expert…and I am officially fourteen again."

"That often? Damn, dude. Just…damn."

"We sleep in the same…bed," he says slowly as if he's being tortured. "'Release' doesn't even begin to describe the need. And that is why I am now a dirty, dirty, adolescent. And, _why_ am I talking to you about this?"

"Don't know," I reply thinking it's weird that he's _sharing_ so openly…again. "But I'm liking it."

"You _like_ hearing about me jerking off?" Flashes of Four holding his junk present themselves and…yeah—

"Not that part." Things get weird for a minute, but then I turn the tables…directed at me. "I would never be able to handle that! You are one tough sonofabitch!"

"You _would_ be able to handle it," he says as if he has a massive amount of just...wrong…confidence in me.

"Mmmm…nope. I know my dick. It wouldn't be able to—"

"Zeke."

"I'm just saying… You're a guy! I don't get it—"

"Zeke," he warns.

"Hey, I realize she's been through shit. I had to hear it! But—"

"Ezequiel, you don't know the half of it!"

"Maybe not! But, I know me!" I laugh. "And I know you! And there's no way in hell—"

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK YOU WOULD DO BECAUSE YOU'VE NEVER HAD TO DEAL WITH IT!"

I just about piss my pants at his rage as he slides under the rings and heads for the locker room. I make quick eye contact with a shell-shocked Shauna, and gesture that I'll take care of this. He hasn't yelled like that since Mom made him deal with Evelyn's death.

"She doesn't know if she was raped or not!" he whispers with equal rage, turning quickly and getting in my face. "Do you know how that tortures her? How that tortures _me_ to see her torture herself?! And then she goes and pulls this _shit_ with the man who practically unleashed the sick freak who abused her for years?! Where is the sense in that?" He points to his head as if he can poke his sense in the face. "Do you know she hauled off and slapped him?!"

 _Nope._

"And then she kept that from me! As if I can't handle it?! I am a mix of pissed off _at_ her and worried as fuck _about_ her, and I don't know what the hell to do about it!"

 _Sounds to me like she was onto something._

"Okay, Four, you're right. I'm sorry." I say keeping my voice low and looking around the gym. Everyone seems to have gone back to their workouts. "And I was just talking about sex—"

"Well, I've had enough of that shit as well! As frustrating as it is, it's, in fact, the lesser of the problems right now. Jesus… I can't fucking talk to her and now I can't even fucking talk…to you! Do you have any idea how alone I feel in all of this?!"

 _My man is desperate._

I detect redness in his eyes that I will pretend isn't there because that was some admission.

"So," he turns his entire body away from me, walking toward the locker. He looks over his shoulder, stopping. "Don't ever tell me how _you_ would handle this shit. What if this happened to Shauna? You think you know what you would do—how you would handle things, but, you don't."

He disappears into the locker room, and I let him.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I scribble the final instructions on my last scrap of paper before cleaning up my mess to the best my sufficiently re-inflamed ribcage allows. This has been the perfect way to keep me busy and not thinking about how terrible I was to Tobias yesterday morning. I still haven't heard from him, even after I sent him my guilt coffee and apology Nutella, which is surprising, but, that probably means he's more upset than I thought.

I had been hoping we'd have dinner together or that I'd, at least, see him before I went into work. Hell, Tori may just kick me out anyway. She would have last night, but there was no one to fill in for me. So, Juan Carlos and I tag-teamed. It was actually kind of fun—me helping with his English and him helping with my Spanish. We had half the patrons at the bar in stitches at our communication gaps. So, that meant bigger tips for me and larger tip out for him. And, most importantly, it kept my mind off of Tobias. _God, I was awful to him…_

Maybe it'll pacify him if I ask him to hang out and police me tonight. Then, at least, we'll get to spend _some_ time together. He would be a good reminder for me to take it easy. Plus, I know I've been hurting his feelings by telling him not to come by the bar—

The door opens, and I quickly turn to see Tobias come in and make the briefest amount of eye contact possible. It's a look I've seen once before—the same one he gave me the morning he got back from seeing his father.

"Hi," I start, giving him a quick wave, but, for some reason, I stay frozen in place.

"Hi," he replies curtly.

"Are you still mad at me—"

"I wasn't."

"Oh," I respond because, wow, that's news to me.

I watch his jaw clench tightly as he tries to pull his shoe off, oddly switching hands when it becomes difficult.

"Are you okay—"

"But, thanks for the coffee and the Nutella," he adds laughing sarcastically.

I can't tell if that's good sarcasm or bad, but I'm going with good, so I laugh, walking toward him. "Was the message too much? I was just trying to lighten things up—"

"Jonathan delivered it in front of five of my associates, one being Matthew, oh, and Jamie, my second-day-on-the-job personal assistant. That sent a great message." _So, that was bad sarcasm._

"Holy shit! I—"

He breezes past me as I grab his fingers, but they slide out of my grasp.

"I, um, told him not tell you in front of everyone—"

"Did you also tell him not to accept my tip if he didn't?" he accuses poignantly as he steps out of his basketball shorts. _So, apparently we went to the gym?_

"Well, yeah, but I was going to tip him on the backend—"

"No need, Tris. Don't trouble yourself. Will gave the poor kid a $50 just to prevent him from pissing himself."

I stifle a laugh and Tobias widens his eyes as if he can't believe I find an ounce of humor in that.

"I'm sorry! Hey, seriously, it's a little funny. Come on." I walk to him again and rest my hands on his hips.

"If I wasn't one of the owners of the company…" He takes my wrists and purposefully puts them back at my sides as if my hands on him is unappealing. "…it may have been. But, otherwise, it was pretty unprofessional. Do you understand the meaning of that word?" He narrows his eyes at me, knowing full well the jab he just delivered.

Flashes of me in my ratty shorts and T-shirt, no makeup, puffy red eyes, grouted and scratched up legs, and who-the-fuck-knows what my hair looked like, penetrate my mind and I blush profusely, particularly when the look of Amar's pure disappointment comes forth.

But, I'm a grown woman, willing to accept consequences, so I decide to suck that comment up and walk back into the kitchen. I rest my hands on the counter top next to the fridge and hang my head, stretching out my neck.

 _I still can't believe Tobias's lack of understanding. Ya know what? Fuck it! What's to understand? Why does it matter what Dalilah said or what happened at my house? I'm a grown woman! I'm a responsible adult! I should never have let the damned cleaning lady drive me out to begin with! Fuck, I don't even know who I am anymore…_

I stiffen in surprise as Tobias comes up behind me and places his hands firmly on my arms. I feel his lips on the top of my head along with his token inhale. I smile in relief at the familiar gesture and lean back into him, feeling his heart racing. Suddenly, I notice how shaky his breathing is. _Something is wrong…_

"Tris?" he whispers.

"Yeah?" I turn around and look into his eyes, resting the tips of my fingers on his jaw. He flinches slightly at the contact, so I pull my hands away.

"Is there anything else that happened yesterday?"

 _I know I need to tell him about Marcus. And I will. But he's already upset enough as it is because of yesterday morning. He acts so irrationally when anything to do with his father comes up. Is it fair of me to spill and leave? He's going to need support. I could call Zeke or Will? Shit, what do I do? And then there's the added bonus of my knee-jerk reaction to Marcus. Tobias is going to flip if I tell him I slapped his abusive-toward-women father. Along with what I said… It all kind of came out of me like word vomit, and that's exactly what set Marcus off—my mention of Tobias. The whole thing is my fault. Fuck…_

"I…got my medical bills yesterday," I emit swiftly. "Well, the first one."

And, that is the truth, along with it being the straw that broke the camel's back, so it was a definite contributing factor to yesterday. _Maybe this will satisfy him until I can sort out this mess. Damn it! Why did he have to come home, or, back to the apartment, mad?!_

"Mmm hmm," he murmurs as he backs away. I turn to see that he is seemingly not at all bothered by that as he leans back against the countertop staring past me. _I need to give him more details. Then he'll understand._

"My claim for aid was denied, so, now, I have to pay in increments." I know he's not going to be happy when he finds out the amount, so I brace myself for more inquiry.

"Mmm hmm." A murmur equal to the previous one resonates from his throat as he bites his lips between his teeth. "How's your side?" he asks matter-of-factly, almost coldly, as if he were a doctor checking up on a random patient.

"Getting better," I respond warily. "The, uh, swelling has gone down. I called Evey!" I add with unintended enthusiasm, knowing he'd be thrilled that I took that extra step—you know, 'caring about my well-being.' "She says it's common to aggravate a rib injury because the musculature takes a while to heal—"

"Common." It's a statement, not a question. He's across the kitchen in one stride and I back away out of normal human reaction, but not before he pulls me to him by my elbows, running his fingers up the back of my arms unceremoniously. "And scratches?" He lifts up my left arm, exposing the scabbing wound that I hadn't realized was that bad until this morning. "DEEP," he raises his voice, catching me off guard. "…scratches, are common as well?" He collects himself and moves back, something flashing behind his eyes.

I walk past him into the living room rubbing the backs of my arms in shame at what I let his father do.

"Do you have anything to tell me, Tris?"

I turn, and he's right behind me, closer than I thought, looking at me with utter accusation. I am not a fan of the condescending way he's treating me, so the calculating side of my temper immediately goes into what-the-fuck mode. _Matthew…_

"Sounds like you already know," I fire back mirroring his sarcastic tone. "Can probably thank Matthew for that one—"

"Well, I sure as hell did!" he yells. "Thank God you called _him_!"

I sense a mix of jealousy and legitimate gratitude toward Matthew in his voice.

"Tobias," I begin, toning down my sarcasm. "I only called him because he was down the block and I only had twenty minutes. You're always telling me I need to be smart and ask for help. Well, I did. I knew I couldn't handle it alone. Trust me. I would rather it have been you."

"I am still at such a fuckin loss over this whole 'twenty-minute' thing. How could it possibly have taken you so long? It's not like they were on another damned planet, Tris! I know I sound like an insensitive prick because I'm sure they invoke a lot of…memories for you, but—"

"They were in the back of the damned closet! What are you not understanding here? And how are you _not…_?"

I can't even get the words out because tears are already building up, and I don't need them interfering, right now. Tobias still looks at me with wide eyes and hands out.

"Not _what_?"

"More _sympathetic_?!" I choke out.

"Tris, I'm trying to be. I really am—"

"Never mind, I've never had any use for anyone's sympathy, and I sure as hell don't need to start with yours. Forget those words ever came out of my mouth," I state with disgust at myself for _asking_ for sympathy. _Gross…_

He turns and walks toward the balcony with his fingers laced and behind his head. "Talk to me about what happened on the sidewalk. Not at Dalilah's—we need to _seriously_ move on from that," he remarks lightly and again, sarcastically. "I'm talking about with Marcus."

"It wasn't a big deal." I am officially in shut-down mode, and he's just going to have to deal with that—emotions are out of the equation.

"So, that's how you're going to play this off? Like it's not a big deal?"

"It…wasn't. Are you going to hear me out or not?" I snark, making sure he won't interrupt me.

He laughs and looks at me as if he's expecting me to lie.

"My papers flew down the street, after picking up the ones I could get my hands on, I ran head on into Marcus. He asked if we could be friends. I told him, 'hell no.' Then I walked past him, but he grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall and then Matthew was there." _There. End of story. I'll be leaving now._

I turn and walk to the bedroom to get my awful heels out of my bag, but as it turns out, Tobias is hot on my trail and standing over me intimidatingly with his arms crossed.

"So, you're telling me that a very calculating man, whose biggest fear is the possibility of damaging his name, would throw a woman up against a wall in plain sight, right in the middle of the business district… _unprovoked_?" He's towering over me, thinking his bullshit use of his bullshit façade is going to get him anywhere with me.

I stand slowly, glaring at him. "You _don't_ get to use that tone of voice with me. I'm not one of your employees or someone you feel you can talk _down_ to, now back…the…fuck…up… _now_!"

This, thank God, puts him in immediate check, and he relaxes and backs up whispering a flat, "I'm sorry," to me as I pass. _Whatever, dick._

"And anyway, if I _had_ provoked him? What then? It's my fault?!"

"You're lying to me," he responds, ignoring my previous statement as I put my awful shoes in my work bag.

"I'm not—"

"By omission. I know you slapped him."

I stop in my tracks but can't bring myself to turn to look at him.

"I saw it on the damned surveillance footage. What else did you say to garner that reaction out of him?" he asks using a soft voice that probably feels like having his tonsils removed without anesthetic.

"Um…" I feel the emotion coming back. Whereas before, I was on a quick, avoid drama track, now I find myself regressing. This is a sensitive subject, and I don't know what to say. _I'm at such a damned loss!_ "Why does it matter?" _I probably sound like a mouse begging for cheese_. "Tobias, I didn't know he was a vile enough individual to make a scene in the street. I had no idea he had _that_ kind of temper."

"Well, you certainly had no problem putting that ignorance to the test. What did you say to him, to make him react that way?... _Tell me_ ," he all but growls at me.

Right then, as I look into his angry eyes, I make the decision. I'm going to tell him everything. Because I can see the desperation to understand _behind_ those eyes. It's _his_ father. He should know.

"Okay. But, you're very…upset, right now," I try to soothe as he backs away biting his lips between his teeth. "Can we take a beat here and—"

"Tell me, Tris! Fuck!" He runs his hands through his hair.

"I will when you relax, Tobias."

" _I'm_ the one who needs to relax? Are you kidding?! From what I saw on the footage, you're the one who needs to relax! Whatever you said must have struck some nerve, Tris. I've been running this through my mind over and over, and as much as _I_ hate him, _he_ does hold some sort of sick pride in me. Did you say something to counter that feeling? Because your insulting me, in his mind, is equal to insulting him."

"Insulting you?" I ask baffled. "Why would you think that? Where did you get that from?"

"I'm sorry. Am I not _verbalizing_ enough?" he asks with bitterness.

My use of that word, in particular, with Marcus, hits home…in a big way. _How did Tobias know…?_

"Did you…? Did you confront him?! Is that why your shoulder—"

He pushes my hand off his arm as I instinctively reach for his injured shoulder that I know he keeps aggravating.

"What did you do?!" I breathe out starting to panic. _This is exactly what I was trying to avoid._

"It doesn't matter."

"Tobias, please," I beg. "It matters to me. He…has a…he—"

"Has a what?!" he shouts.

"He has a hold on you, and it makes you…act like _this_!" I counter his shout, gesturing toward his posturing stance and attitude toward me. "Like a man I don't know! This isn't you! This is—"

"Weak?"

"Did I say that?" I ask in mockery wondering where the hell he got that from because last time I checked, he's _the_ strongest man I know.

"Not to me," he shakes his head slowly, and it all comes together.

"So _he_ got in your head?!" I move near him, angry that he would let his father rule him like this. "Do you seriously care what he thinks?!"

He crosses his arms holding his stance. "Not in the damned slightest," he responds slowly. "But, what _you_ think…" He points right at my heart. "…that's a different story."

"Tobias, what the hell did he say to you?"

"Why don't we start by talking about what _you_ said."

"Fine," I sigh. "Can we sit?" I walk and sink slowly onto the couch gesturing with a small smile for him to sit next to me.

He starts to move toward me, following my lead but changes his mind. "I'm fine."

Tobias uses his stature and glare to intimidate people, even when he doesn't mean to do it. And, I'm not falling into that trap. As he did in the closet, he'd undoubtedly try to use it as a tactic and then feel guilty later. _Not gonna deal with that shit._ So, I push myself back up to standing, swallowing the pain that shoots through my side when I accidentally use my right hand. I flinch as I notice Tobias is suddenly two steps closer with a worried look on his face. _Jesus, back away!_

"I wanted him," I begin, pushing Tobias to the side lightly but firmly, "to admit what he did."

"Elaborate," he enunciates slowly.

"What he did to your mom, and to you," I answer softly, looking at my feet, so I don't have to look at him. "I wanted him to have to say it."

" _Why?_ " he asks as if he's disgusted. "What _good_ would that have done?"

"I…I don't know. At the time, it just came out. But, Tobias, don't you feel like he's _never_ had to do that?! That he's never had to fess up? Don't you want that—"

"I want him out of my fucking life!" he roars, suddenly putting major distance between us.

"Then don't let him in!" I yell back, closing the distance.

" _You_ did this. Not me. _You_ opened up this can of worms. Shit! Do you know what I had to do?!"

I stand there, at a loss. "Not unless you tell me!" _Idiot._

"I had to threaten him with information," he laughs, looking at the ceiling with his hands on his hips.

"What information?"

"Information that I had been saving for… _years._ Information that I didn't want him to know I had! And I did it, just so he'd stay the hell away from you!" He's saying it as if he thinks he made a mistake.

"Again…what information?! _AND…_ I didn't ask you to do that!"

"Proof that he was paying off my mother's doctors."

I know my mouth is completely agape at this completely BRAND NEW INFORMATION!

"I found out years ago. As it turns out the nurses weren't too keen on the doctor, so they had no problem providing me with the lack of visits versus prescriptions filled in my father's name. It didn't take me long to track down financials either."

"So, for all those years, your father, Marcus Eaton, was _aiding_ her addiction? And you choose this moment to use it! What about all the other times he had betrayed you? And why haven't you ever _told_ me—"

"What other times? To be honest, Tris. Before _you_ , I hadn't spoken to Marcus in years. And when he did make his appearance, I didn't exactly think he was the bad guy."

I take a moment to process what he's saying, and it hits me like a lightning bolt. "So, you're saying my presence in your life is what brought your father out of the woodwork?"

"I guess." He shrugs his shoulders as if that comment means nothing, even though, he glances up briefly, gauging my reaction.

"Then, I'm sorry." Now it's my turn to look away at his insinuation, and I decide to add onto it and walk away. I feel the tears about to spill, so I enter the bathroom and lock the door.

I look at my face and immediately get a tissue to soak up the tears before the dam breaks. I had already done my makeup and, fuck, I'm so sick of having puffy eyes! I lift my arms to braid my hair down my back, making some sort of noise in pain, each time I switch hands. I sense Tobias's presence right outside the door, so I taper my noises, but tears just replace the grunts.

"Do you need help?" he grumbles through the door.

"Don't bother."

"Don't bother? Really?"

I can only take so much sarcasm in my life, right now. And he's using it in spades. It's one of his defense mechanisms, one we have in common, but I can't handle it anymore.

"Yes! Don't…bother!" I finish my braid and wipe under my eyes, opening the door and walking past him. "I don't ask you for help! I don't ask you to do anything! And I sure as hell didn't ask you to use information you had saved for a rainy day—information that I had _no clue_ you even had, nor that you were even privy too! Don't do that shit for me…or because of me!" I look at the clock and see that I don't have to be at work for another 45 minutes—

"Well, the thing is, Tris," he starts slowly. "I happen to love you…more than I even under _stand_. And sometimes we do shit to keep the people we love safe."

I stand there as his cold words hit me. "More than you understand? You…you don't understand why you love me?"

"I don't understand love, at all, sometimes," he chuckles looking straight at me. "But maybe that's just the part inside of me that's dead. You know all about that, right?"

And now it comes full circle—what Marcus said to him, why he's acting the way he is, where this is all stemming from. Tobias and I share a very common hang-up—and Marcus exploited that.

"I never said…" I breathe out, not knowing how to make this right. "Or I didn't mean it, like that…um…I just wanted him to know what he…did…" I feel suddenly very out of breath.

"Well, now he does. And, I'm just sorry I'm not the "whole" person you want me to be."

I look up into his eyes and see the redness that he seems always to be able to hold back. The two of us, convey emotion in the most fucked up ways, but we can almost always read each other's eyes. His words are hurting him as much as me.

"I, um, I made dinner because, well…I made dinner." I head for the front door, breathing through my mouth, as to hide the sudden congestion in my sinuses. I bend and slide my shoes on, feeling his presence behind me. "So, I wrote down instructions…for you. It's just, like, chicken breast and some veggies—"

"Tris, I—"

"Shit, I should have baked it. I don't even know if you'd want that. We just…" I glance up at him and see he's looking at me nervously. "…haven't had dinner together, in…"

"Don't go," he whispers.

"I'm gonna go."

"I don't want… You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," I interrupt, briefly taking his fingers in mine. "And you know it."

I detangle our fingers even though he tightens his grip, and make it to the entryway. I look over my shoulder, making sure I don't look at him. "You're exactly the person I want you to be."

And then I exit, and he lets me.

* * *

"So, Tris. How did I do?"

The new bartender who Tori hired, without my or Chris's knowledge, throws his bar rag in the sink and stands next to me with his arms crossed. He's a little too close for comfort, but I have a much bigger dance space than most.

"Sorry." He backs up and faces me. "This is my dance space. This is your dance space." He makes the same motions, with the same tone of voice as Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing and I laugh because he basically read my mind. "I'm a little too Midwestern sometimes—personal space goes out the window."

"No, you're fine," I sigh. "I'm the weird one. And, yeah, you did great."

"Thank you," he states emphatically.

I narrow my eyes at him and smile. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He was, surprisingly, very good. And I figured out quickly—this wasn't his first go at tending bar. He was the ultimate bartender—flirts with the girls enough to make them tip him well, but not to the point where he's hitting on them, makes the men feel like they have the ultimate say and that they are way important than they actually are. And his drink-making ability rivals…well, mine. The way he was able to put together concoctions and make it look smooth and easy. He was also hardworking—if there was a lull, he would fill the condiments, or help Lynn and Molly. It helps that he's good-looking too. But, not in an intimidating or cocky way.

"Yeah, I just wanted to hear you say it. Men…we always need that reassurance. And I have no shame asking for it."

"Sorry if I was a bitch, at first. I just was expecting Christina, and Tori didn't give me the heads up that she hired anyone new."

"Nah, you were fine."

I lift my eyebrows at him, remembering when I said, "What the fuck are you doing behind my bar?" in greeting. Along with the subsequent eye rolls and snotty passive aggressive gestures for most of the night.

"Alright, maybe you were a little bit of a bitch. But, hey, you should see me when I'm hungry. Or as my wife calls me, 'hangry.' I'm like a pissed off Wolverine."

I laugh lightly at his Wolverine reference, even though, it reminds me of someone I'd rather not think about, right now.

"Sorry, I'm a struggling sci-fi author first, and bartender second. So, I automatically assume people are as much of a nerd as me and will understand my X-Men references."

"First, I don't think you qualify for nerd status and, well, my boyfriend is like a tall, broody, pissed of Wolverine. It's part of his charm. So we'll get along just fine. Also, for Christ's sake, any asshole that didn't pick up on the Wolverine mention needs some culture in their life."

"I like you, Tris." He nudges me with his elbow leaning back on the counter, in my dance space again. "You've got spunk."

"And I will take that compliment," I state as I pull out two rocks glasses, filling them each with a shot(ish) of Jack.

"As you should. So, boyfriend, huh? You make him sound…rather scary." He waves off the glass I offer him and grabs a beer, instead.

"Meh." I toss back the contents of my glass. "His bark is bigger than his bite." _Except his emotional bites. Those are pretty bad—_

"No, it's not," comments a deep voice behind me in jest.

I look over my shoulder, shaking my head because I just can't fuckin' wait to hear this one.

"You should have seen him today, Tris."

I grab a Heineken from the fridge, uncap it and pass it to Zeke.

"How's he doin'?" he inquires.

I sigh and lean onto the bar top in front of Zeke. Part of me wants to lay it all on the line for him—the hurtful things Tobias said to me, _why_ he said those hurtful things, how I've been barely making it through the night. _Wait…_

"So _you_ saw him today?" I ask trying to put a possible timeline together.

"I'm Zeke." He reaches his hand over the bar to introduce himself to the new guy, ignoring my question. Not on purpose, he just gets distracted.

"Mark," he returns the handshake and then moves on to a new customer.

"So, you two…uh…had a discussion?" he asks, already starting to pull the label off his beer.

I appraise Zeke, trying to figure out his motive. "Apparently, you did too."

"Short version?"

"No."

"Well, I don't really _do_ long versions—"

"Try."

He grumbles something about Shauna and women and "talky talk."

"Zeke, speak!"

"Okay, okay! Ahem, well, he called me over to Eaton Funds. We met in the parking garage. We talked about sushi and meatloaf. Marcus came out and then, yeah, a lot of shit I didn't hear, followed by a, "if you touch her again I will make you pay," or some shit like that. Then a good 'ole fashioned throat grab-gag move. My disarming techniques to the rescue, you're welcome. Then, Marcus successfully got under his skin and ended up in the dumpster."

"I think you left out a good 90% there. And what was that last part?"

"The cream de la cream—"

"It's crème de la crème."

"Damn, you and Four. Always correcting me! Let…me… _finish._ Yeah, you heard me right, Four hauled his assholic father's ass right over the edge of a dumpster. I don't even know how he managed it… Adrenaline does some freaky shit—"

"What did Marcus say to him?" As much as I'm enjoying the image of Marcus flailing in the dumpster, I have more important issues on my mind. But I will be saving that little gem for a later date.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't. But I'm not an idiot, and he wasn't subtle, so I put two and two together, at least, the best I could," I remark in frustration—my sadness at the situation moving on to anger.

"I fuckin' knew he wouldn't tell you! Damn him."

I down my other shot, seeing as Mark denied it, and look at Zeke, waiting for him to fill me in. He exhales and leans in.

"Cliff notes of the _World According to Marcus._ Apparently, you informed him that Four is weak and damaged. And that a part of Four is dead or something—that he'll never be whole. Then the big guns—saying the two of them fall for the same type of woman."

"What type of woman is that, exactly?"

"The type who think the two of them are lesser than they are."

"The _two_ of them? That sound repulsive," I spit at the mere image of Tobias and Marcus together. "And, there's no way Tobias believes that. Deep down, he doesn't."

"Yep, I would say definitely…but, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because Marcus gets to him. It's so fucked up, but this 'deep down' thing you refer to—Marcus has his own permanent seat there. Since we're using the word 'deep' so much, I'm going to continue. On some deep level, he believes it. He buys into his father's lies. I don't understand it in the least. I've tried most of my life!"

"Well, then you didn't look hard enough," I quip.

"Come again?"

"His father doesn't take residence. That's ass hat bullshit. Tobias views his father as weak—an incomplete, revolting human. The problem is, Tobias thinks he's _like_ his father, or that he has his father's tendencies. And as much as I hate to say it—he's not wrong on the tendencies part. Tobias can be calculating, duplicitous, slightly vengeful, and cruel. But, the difference is, with Tobias, those attributes are surface level, but with Marcus, I would guarantee you, it's inherent. When Tobias fulfills any of those traits, he regrets it and punishes himself. Where Marcus thrives on them."

Zeke quirks his head, and it seems to be taking quite some time for him to process.

"That still doesn't explain why he lets Marcus get to him."

"Well, Tobias already thinks the worst of himself. And then he hears that I may have mirrored those sentiments…that's all he needed," I remark flippantly.

"Did you say those things?"

I exhale, not wanting to relive that scene but knowing I can, at least, let Tobias's best friend in, seeing as Tobias hates my existence right now. "Short version?"

"Please."

"I told Marcus he took Evelyn from Tobias, and that a piece of him died along with her. I told him Tobias doesn't even know it. But he tortures himself because somehow he thinks it's all his fault."

"Yeah, it was not communicated to us that way."

"No shit?" I ask with pure sass. "Here's what I wish he would understand." I lean forward hoping that Zeke will soak in what I'm about to say. "A piece of that _boy_ , that nine-year-old _boy_ , was taken away, then. But, it made Tobias the _man,_ the 25-year-old man, he is today. The man, who just so happens to be the love of my life." My face flushes a little at that admission. I've never said it out loud…aaaaand I just had to say it to Zeke.

"Yikes."

"What?" I ask nervously, wiping down the bar to occupy my sweaty palms.

"The man who you say is the 'love of your life,' and who you seem to know pretty damned well, sure is quick to think the worst in you. That's cold." He laughs taking a rather large drink of his beer.

I play Zeke's statement over in my head—"… _you say is the love of your life…quick to think the worst in you._ " _The worst in me… He... Is that true—_

"Shit! Did I say that? I did not mean… Wait, that didn't come out right!"

"Don't worry about it," I respond quickly and deflectively. _Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God._

"Seriously, Tris! He would kill me if he knew I said that."

"So he, talks to you…about us?" I blink my eyes profusely, hoping to force the humiliation back into my tear ducts.

"Hey, Tris, no, don't get the wrong idea. It takes a lot to get anything out of him. It's just…today the floodgates opened."

"Great," I mutter as embarrassment rules my face. I don't even want to know what 'floodgates' mean. I'm always so careful about what I say to other people about Tobias and I. Apparently, I'm not owed the same courtesy.

"Look, I'm not here to get all up in your business."

"Mmm hmm."

"And I don't want any more details."

"Ha," I bark at the irony.

"That was… _truly_ not my intention. My goal was to tell you the following—Four is my brother, and he's not alright. Right now, he is _not_ okay."

"So, he's miserable," I state although it's really more of a question.

 _No comment from the Zeke gallery._

"And it's my fault," I add now officially knowing I'm causing my boyfriend…misery.

"No." He lays his hands on mine and looks at me more sincerely than I've ever seen him. "It's absolutely not your fault." He takes a deep breath as if he's trying so hard to say the right thing. "I just want to make sure you're looking out for him. I can't help him. And I know you have your shit going on, and this is a lot to ask. But, I need to make sure you're looking out for him. So, are you?"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

A ten-mile run, a protein bar, five hours of work on Amar's ideas of expanding, an almost ½ bottle of Bunnahabhain 8 later, and I'm in my office, flat on my back. At least, I'm on the bed this time. I stare at the bottle, pondering the label and the memories it invokes. Although it's not quite the bottle Tris and I had shared, it's still good scotch. Even if I paid $70 for an otherwise $40 bottle. _Fuckin' Chicago, upcharge, ridiculous, bullshit, cost of living, Cook County, sales tax, tomfoolery._ I put the bottle down lightly, hearing the liquid splash all over the place and thinking how much I have to piss.

I'm suffering from a mix of aggravation and shame. I was hoping the aggravation would say, "see ya later," and then I would find my way home, apologize, and deal with shit tomorrow, like a normal guy. But, nope…I'm still aggravated, and now embarrassed at the way I handled it and how I probably hurt her feelings…badly. And how much I hate to see her sad because her lip sticks out. If she did that right here, right now, I would bite it. But apart from the lip biting, I know if I saw Tris right now…it would be bad…real bad...real, real, real bad. Even I'm smart enough to know I'm not in my right mind, presently. And, as much as it pains me to admit, sleeping without worrying if I'm going to beat the shit out of my girlfriend because of one of my nightmares, along with not having to worry about her nightmares, sounds pretty damned good.

 _Fuck, I'm a terrible boyfriend! I'm honestly taking solace in the fact that I don't have to deal with her nightmares. Listen to me! I'm a fucking prick! Why didn't she just say that tonight? Then I would have more reason to be mad. Why couldn't she just have…been a jerkface…? No, she had to make dinner…a dinner she wanted to have together…and then she just had to be sweet and leave me instructions as if I were five, which was a good thing, even though I still fucked it up because I turned the stove on instead of the oven. And then I tried to cook the chicken on the stove and…it was terrible…and I ruined a pan…because it stuck to the bottom._

Even after all that, I'm still angry. I'm angry for how she was acting the other day with Amar, I'm angry that she slapped Marcus, I'm angry that she kept it from me. It makes her a total hypocrite! But, most importantly, I'm angry at myself for even feeling this way. Because I can guarantee that she's home, blaming herself, trying to think of what she could have done differently. At least, this time, I have the wherewithal to text her.

 **Me:** I'm a sleeping at the offce. Just need some time and some sleep.

 **Tris:** I love you.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkk…" I groan feeling insta-guilt. I close one eye, so the screen isn't split in two. And type her back the most genuine response.

 **Me:** I love you very vey vry vy vy much 2. Sorry I ddn spell it

* * *

 **(Gravity – John Mayer)**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

After waiting and wringing my hands for so long, that my skin is going to suffer from a permanent Indian burn, I decide to crawl into bed. It's 3:00 AM and I haven't heard from Tobias. I can't be mad. It's not like I bothered calling him. But, it hurts my heart…my semi-drunk heart.

The nice married bartender walked me home. Said, he'd "never let his wifey walk home by herself, and he'd bet the Wolverine wouldn't either." He's a nice guy. But, the " _let_ me walk home" thing was prrrrrrretty funny because Tobias doesn't give a shit how the hell I got home. I could've swum (swam, swammed, swummed) home and he'd be like, "yep."

So, sleepytime it is! _And guess what? I just took an Ambien! Ha! Suck it, Tobias! That's mean. I'm mean._ I'm only taking it _'_ cause I'm gonna need it. Or else I'm gonna cry, and it'll be so sad. It's going to be, to make me, sad.

I check my phone one more time and then grab Tobias's pillow and wrap my arms around it, thinking it would be okay to cry just for a little while. So, I let myself…

* * *

I can't open my eyes, but I feel the buzzing noise in my hand. Giving it a painful left-eye, I see a text.

 **(3:57) Tobias:** I'm a sleeping at the offce. Just need some time and some sleep.

I note that it's 4:00 in the fuckin' morning, which makes me mad…because I'm not surprised. But still, I type him back the most genuine response, 'cause that's all I've got.

 **(3:57) Me:** I love you.

I even add the period, even though, it's really hard. And I wait.

And feel myself doze…

So, I start counting to keep my mind on it…waiting…hoping for his "I love you too" response.

…. 105, 106, 107, 107, 107, 107, 7, 8, 108… I feel my lip stick out because I'm so sad right now. And then more tears come. And I remember my mom, "A bird's going to poop on your lip if you don't stop that." I laugh loud and inappropriately at the memory.

 _Sometimes she was funny… I miss her… I love you, mom… Sometimes, I still do…_

* * *

 **AN:** I feel like Tobias needed to have an angry moment, seeing as he doesn't have a clue what's going on and he feels a bit betrayed. And, Tris, because of her state of mind, hasn't exactly been forthcoming with information. And, well, we know how men can get…they can only take so much.

Anyway, I've been meaning to write this based on some of the reviews. None of them were bad, just impassioned—This is just something to bear in mind. People who have experienced trauma (it's relative to each person) tend to make irrational decisions until they learn otherwise. It's the whole fight or flight thing. And that learning curve is usually obtained through a mix of therapy and positive experiences, that of which neither of them are receiving properly, and frankly, I'm not sure they would even recognize a positive experience if it smacked them in the face.

And if you haven't figured this out yet, this story is as much about Tobias and Tris's journey together, as theirs apart. It's not "fluff" (how did that word take on a meaning that has nothing to do with pillows or marshmallows or clouds?) or "lemons" (Can someone please explain when that word evolved from a fruit to a sexual innuendo?).

Honestly, there are too many readers who have reached out saying the identify with this version of Tris and/or Tobias. Therefore, I won't turn it into a fan fiction cliché. (If that phrase offends anyone…well, okay.)

Thank you for all of your input, thoughts, questions and support!


	15. Permanent

**Chapter 15 -** Permanent

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

A buzzing feeling against my face rouses me, along with an indescribable splitting headache—one I haven't experienced in a while. I know where I am, and I hate it. I know what I said last night, and I hate it. Scrubbing at my face, I sit up and immediately lie back down groaning like a high schooler discovering the after effects of their first hangover. I open one eye and roll over, a glass bottle hitting me in the face…3/4 gone. _Fuck… I drank more than I thought._

Now able to open the other eye, I push myself up again and hobble over to the window, opening the blinds slightly—just enough for my eyes to adjust to the incredibly foggy day. I sigh out a breath as my phone buzzes again. It's Tris. I know it. _Time to face the music, you prick._

Yes, I was mad. And I have reason to be mad—her keeping from me the fact that Marcus assaulted her in the damned street! And then, the things she said to him about me.

 _"Apparently,…part of you is dead… because…of me—her words! You'll…never be whole."_

 _"Verbalization…not one of your… strong suits, son? Again…Beatrice's…words."_

However, now I'm not entirely sold that she did, indeed, say those things…and I can't for the life of me, understand why I would.

 **Flashback:**

"More than you understand? You… You don't understand why you love me?" Her voice trails off, so I barely register her response to my hurtful comment.

"I don't understand love, at all, sometimes," I remark, keeping purposeful eye contact with her. "But maybe that's just the part inside of me that's dead. You know all about that, right?"

My instigating seems to, finally, pay off as I see my insinuations connect behind her eyes. She said those things—I can read her like a book. I wait for the argumentation to ensue, for her defenses to go up. But, the unexpected happens—I see concession, understanding, and finally, resignation.

"I never said…," she responds with shortened and jittery breath. "Or I didn't mean it like that… Um… I just wanted him to know what he…did…"

I observe her reactions with an amount of smug satisfaction that feels suddenly misplaced as she fumbles over her words.

"Well, now he does. And, I'm just sorry I'm not the _whole_ person you want me to be."

The prompt hopelessness in her eyes is all I need—this whole conversation is a lose-lose for her. It won't matter what she says, and she knows it. I'm hurting her, and I know it.

"I, um, I made dinner because, well…I made dinner." She unexpectedly bolts to the front door as I try both to follow her and process what she said. "So, I wrote down instructions…for you. It's just, like, chicken breast and some veggies—"

"Tris, I—"

"Shit, I should have baked it," she interrupts as it finally connects that she _made dinner_ for us… _again._ "I don't even know if you'd want that. We just…"

She stops, briefly, as I draw at straws, wanting to both be angry but make things right at the same time. I know I don't want her to leave.

"…haven't had dinner together, in…"

"Don't go," I mumble, hoping she understood me. I don't _want_ her to go, but I'm driving her away nonetheless.

"I'm gonna go," she says firmly.

"I don't want… You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do." She laces our fingers in an attempt at undeserved consolation. "And you know it."

Her fingers are clammy from nerves as she pulls away and I try to hold on, not seeming to be able to get the words out that this isn't what I want. But my gesture fails just as much as my words. I stand unmoving as she glances over her shoulder.

"You're exactly the person I want you to be." I stare at the door as she closes it quietly behind her.

The sincerity of her words, juxtaposed with the snide remarks of Marcus, snap me back to reality.

 _Marcus just won._

 **End Flashback**

Every part of me is screaming that I have no reason to believe Tris thinks those things, yet, I can't seem to get them out of my mind. I don't understand it. But, I'm not sure sleeping at the office was entirely the right decision. I don't know. Maybe it was for the best. I can only imagine how our conversations would have gone, or wouldn't have gone. Knowing myself, I would have kept up my acrimonious storm—goading her until she retaliates so then I have even more of an excuse to be angry. Or, it's possible she wouldn't have been at all quick to engage, and that may have been even worse. The worst arguments Tris and I have, at least from my end, are when they're one-sided. _Last night was pretty one-sided, Tobias._ _Fuck…_

I close my eyes one more time before peeking one open to see the expected text from… _Zeke?_

(7:07) **Zeke:** Glad you luv me. Got your drink on last night? Real productive. Fucker.

 _What the hell is he talking—_

My eyes are suddenly very dry, most likely because they're probably quite wide. I let go of my phone as if it's on fire and watch it bounce from the bed onto the floor. The night was blurry past a certain hour…but, I know I texted Tris _. Didn't I?_

I scroll up and see said text—

 **Me:** I love you very vey vry vy vy much 2. Sorry I ddn spell it

Taking note of my embarrassing lack of vowels, I see that I, indeed, sent that text…to…Zeke. The one that should have been a response to Tris's perfectly wonderful—"I love you."

 _God, I'm so damned predictable! I shouldn't be allowed anywhere near technology!_

"No, no, no, no, no," I whisper not knowing why I'm whispering. I reflect on the despondency that would follow had _I_ texted Tris "I love you" and her not responding. Couple that likely feeling along with how I treated her and the sum of the equation is—pure asshole.

Then the time registers, 7:07. "Damn it!" I have a meeting at 7:30.

I never (or very, very rarely) sleep in this late, drunk or otherwise. I look down at the wrinkled shirt and pants I'm sporting, and bust a move to the bathroom, even though, I already know there is _nothing_ that will help me.

 _What the fuck were you thinking? Oh yeah, YOU WEREN'T!_

I quickly wash my face with hand soap and stick my mouth under the faucet ( _God…_ ), swishing water around in my mouth and then brushing my teeth with my finger ( _God…_ ). I rip my belt off, shoving my pants down and—

"Shit!"

A now familiar pain rips through my shoulder as I land on the ground, biting my lip to hold back a shout. I look down and see my pants stuck at my ankles, caught on my damned shoes, which seem to still be on my feet. So, kicking out of my shoes and pants, I launch them into the closet door, unbutton my shirt in record time, and stand. I pull the iron out of my closet, plugging it in and bounce on my toes, occupying myself while waiting for it to heat up.

 _Call your girlfriend, dumbass._

I run back into the bedroom, grab my phone and select her cute face…just as my phone dies _._

 _Mother…fucker! Because why the hell would I ever feel the need to memorize her number? Technology is always reliable, right? NOT!_

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" _Will! Find Will!_

I book it to my desk and ring his office…no answer. But I can hear him making idle chit chat with the Junior Associates somewhere out on the floor. I'm at the door knob, just about to turn it when… Thank God I get my bearings. _DO NOT GO OUT THERE!_

So, back to the bathroom I go, thanking Amar for having the foresight to design these offices with en suites. _Why don't I keep more shit here? I've slept here countless times! Usually on the floor or the couch, but still! Why are you thinking about this at the most inopportune moment?!_

I actually take a minute to look at myself in the mirror—my face screams 'hangover'—dark circles, glazed over, swollen eyes _. Fuck!_ At least, I can do something with my hair, which…happens…to look…ridiculous. _Holy shit, it's everywhere. Thanks a lot, Tris, for not telling me to get a haircut!_

I hastily dump water on my head, silently apologizing to Tris for blaming her for my lack of proper upkeep. Then run my left hand through my hair, while attempting to tend to my pants.

A quick knock on my door and a head peeks in.

"Four? Whoa!"

I jump about ten feet in the air, while at the same time wanting to give Will ten hi-fives for showing up…even though, he is just standing there…with my office door…wide open.

"Shut the door! Shut the fucking door!" I whisper, forcefully, as Will locks it behind him.

"You should really, like, for real, pal, use these things—locks. They even click, so you know they're activated. They're pretty amazing. As are you… What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to make myself presentable for you!"

His confused and slightly taken aback expression speaks volumes.

"Not like that! I passed out last night and can't go out there looking like…a lazy, hungover, piece of shit!"

"Yep…not recommended." He gestures to me—my shirt unbuttoned, boxer briefs, black socks.

"Not at all funny. Now call my girlfriend," I order, switching my pants to the other leg, praying I'm not fucking up. _Thanks, Hana, for never teaching me how to do…anything!_

"Why?"

"Because my phone died," I state my obvious answer through clenched teeth while silently apologizing to Hana for blaming her for my lack of domestic skills.

"Gotcha," he replies pulling his phone out. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing. I'm going to say it," I retort annoyed. "Wait, what the fuck am _I_ going to say?"

"No clue."

"Hang up, hang up, _hang up!_ " I whisper in a panic.

"You know, one 'hang-up' would have been just fine. And, why are you whispering?"

"Sorry, I just…need to think this through," I remark as I trip into my pants.

"Lay it on me," Will offers, leaning on the wall and watching me with amusement.

I look up at Will, trying to decide how productive a discussion would be right now. And how forthcoming I should be. I feel bad enough for my semi-revealing discussion with Zeke yesterday.

"Things have just been kind of rough between us. And last night got _very_ rough and, I don't know, I'm angry. I have a good reason to be angry. But, I was unnecessarily dickish about it, and she took it like a champ, by Tris Prior standards."

"Oh, that's the worst—when they don't retaliate.

Remembering Tris's attempt at a controlled expression, even though the hurt was apparent, as she absorbed an emotional beating from me makes me break out into a cold sweat. "Yes…it is."

"Sometimes we all get a little rough."

I frown at his very Matthew-like comment but make no move to respond as I concentrate on my pants.

"Sorry, that sounded weird," he adds as if he can't believe what he just said.

"That's because you said it weird."

"Made sense in my head, but not in my mouth."

"What?"

"Sorry, It's early." He shakes his head to clear it. "Christina kept me up last night. And then you said the word 'rough' and, well, we're dealing with our own…obstacle—"

"Will, focus!" I interrupt, reminding him and myself that we aren't talking about his and Christina's sex life!

"On what? You still haven't told me anything!"

"Just, get Tris on the phone!" I snap. "I'll figure something out."

I trip back into my pants and begin ironing my shirt, vigorously, knowing I'm definitely doing it wrong.

"Straight to Voicemail."

"Sonofabitch," I huff out.

"Maybe she's out of battery," Will suggests. "Call your landline."

"I ripped it out of the wall several weeks ago and, nope, she has it off on purpose."

"And…how do you know that?"

"It's after 7:00, so she's definitely awake. And one of the first things she does when she wakes up is check her phone."

"Well, maybe she woke up, didn't have time to charge it enough…and left," he challenges, as if this is relevant conversation, right now.

"And that has happened on occasion. Therefore, I purchased a battery back-up to keep in her purse for this particular scenario. She doesn't go off the radar unless it's intentional."

"You bought her a battery back-up in case _you_ couldn't get a hold of her. That's a bit controlling."

"I'm a bit controlling," I shrug, having accepted my innate personality flaw the first night we met when I wouldn't even let Uriah sit in the back of the Jeep with her. "But, as it turns out, she cannot be controlled. So, it works fine for us."

"Do you track her phone too?" he asks sarcastically.

"We're not on the same phone plan."

"Okay, buddy," he chuckles as if I'm not entirely serious. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I know she was fine last night. I mean, at least, she got home in one piece."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" I pause mid-iron.

"Don't do that. You'll burn your shirt," Will advises as I pick up the iron to see what would have been the makings of a disaster. "According to Christina, Tris was in need of an escort."

The idea of Tris drinking alone and then getting in a cab or on the bus doesn't appeal to me. "Tell, Chris, thanks for making sure she got home."

"Well…she didn't. Turns out _my_ girlfriend was half-in-the-bag and checked out early. She was out for fancy schmancy cocktails with one of the buyers in town." He stops and looks away as I try to relay to him with my face that I don't have time for random pauses. "She's been…busy and, well…she's thinking about, or, nope, not even that—she's _going_ to—"

"Can we talk about the important one, right now?!"

I feel instant guilt at the look on Will's face because he really does seem like he wants to get something off his chest. But, I don't have TIME! "Sorry," I mumble.

"It's…fine. So, Tori texted last night at, like, 3:00, to let Christina know the new bartender walked Tris home, and all is well."

"Oh, I didn't know Tori hired anyone new." _This is great news! Now maybe Tris won't work as many shifts._

"Neither did Chris. She was kinda pissed. But Tori said he did great. I don't know... Maybe it'll be kind of nice to have a guy bartender, ya know? ... …I just … …because … …. …. ….and …. ….Al is kind of…. ….. ….. and I can't…."

I know Will is talking but the words "RANDOM MALE BARTENDER WALKING DRUNK GIRLFRIEND HOME" keep flashing in my otherwise unsuspecting brain.

"Hey, are you…? Four?"

I don't even have words to provide him with as images of Tris being held upright, walking down the street by some smarmy guy while she laughs at something, most likely not hilarious in the least. He then, because he's a male bartender and a total dirtbag, takes that as his "in"—his official invitation to—

"Snap out of it!" I feel Will's fingers smack the side of my face and then the back side of his hand for the rebound slap on the other.

"What the fuck was that?!" I ask incredulously seeing as my mind nor my body knows how to react.

"I've seen it in movies, and it's always funny, so I thought I'd try it. Got your attention, right?"

"Yes," I grumble in agreement as I hastily put on my shirt knowing I only have about five minutes left.

"I get it," he continues as I let out a very shaky controlled breath. "Random guy walking your girlfriend home to make sure she ' _got there just fine_.' I wouldn't like it either. But he's, supposedly, a nice guy—"

"Nope."

"Jesus, Four, it's better than her walking home alone. Haven't you been worried about that? 'Cause I have!" He glares at me accusingly as if I've done something wrong.

"Why are you looking at me like that? She _doesn't_ walk home…or, back to my apartment."

"Mmmmyes...she does," he disagrees. "I picked her up mid-walk last week."

Another image takes up residence—Tris walking home, alone, arms crossed to keep warm against the wind, alone, shivering, alone, not understanding why her boyfriend doesn't give a shit about her while random, desperate, drunk, homeless man lurking behind her—

"No," I interject my own thoughts along with Will's penetrating stare, talking myself out of the preposterous insinuation. "That's not possible."

"Yes… _Four._ How did you _think_ she was getting home?"

"The bus…or, or, or, or a cab or, someone?" I squeak…I think I may have definitely squeaked.

"This is actually funny," Will laughs. _Oh, yeah, he's fucking LAUGHING!_ "Remember that time? It was pretty similar to this time. When you gave me shit about leaving Tris in the lobby of a _luxury apartment complex—your_ luxury apartment complex? All because it was 2:00 AM in Chicago. _'You don't wait?!' 'You don't wait ?!'"_ he imitates.

This is the second time in my life that I've wanted to punch Will Reynolds in the face.

"And now she's walking home…on your watch—"

"Will, before you continue, I need you to file through the myriad of _shit_ clogging up the pathways in your nervous system that is telling your brain that this is funny."

Watching his face digest my comment, briefly takes my mind off the guilt I'm feeling.

"Sorry."

I nod my head in semi-acceptance of his apology as I nimbly button up my shirt.

"You have three minutes, buddy."

I'm suddenly frozen and standing there like an idiot.

 _I can't believe I told her I didn't understand why I love her… I can't believe I didn't know she has been WALKING back to my apartment!_

"Fuck… I hate this." I run my hands through my hair, knowing full well it's doing me no favors while wondering how important my presence is at this meeting. Amar can definitely survive without me—

"Four, you can't skip this meeting just because you can't get a hold of her," Will intrudes my thoughts being the mind-reader he is. "You said it yourself—she has her phone turned off on purpose. Put your big boy panties on and go!" he remarks standing back and appraising me.

"Jesus. Everyday…more and more like Christina," I comment.

"Don't I know it," he grumbles. "Hey, I rub off on her too—"

"I need your tie."

"Not this again."

"Mine looks like I wrangled hogs with it."

"What?"

"My girlfriend rubs off on me too," I shrug, remembering my baffled reaction the first time Tris used that phrase.

Will rips his tie off as I slide back into my shoes. His mumbling about, "keeping things here because we have amazing offices and how it's a waste… _blah, blah, blah,_ " is seriously interrupting my _own_ mumbling. He tosses his tie to me, and I begin to put it on, fumbling with it because I have a meeting with some very wealthy prospective clients in four minutes, and my mind is completely elsewhere and this damned…thing…is…NOT—

"Here...just…" Will's hands invade me, swatting my own hands away.

"What are you— Stop it! Stop that!" I meet his swats with my own.

"I'm trying to help you! What is this? Your first middle school dance?! Just…let me do it!"

I feel the blood pulsing through my veins, making my hands shake, so I acquiesce. "Fine." I rest my arms at my sides while Will puts my tie on, and I begrudgingly notice how his hair always looks…just…right. He's got this wave thing he does. "What do you use in your hair?" I ask sincerely. "It's always like, perfectly… What the hell is that word? 'Coughed,'" I state proudly.

"Mmmm…I think you mean 'coifed.'"

"There is no way that's a word."

"It is absolutely a word."

I ponder that possibility, remembering that Will has been right about this stuff in the past. "Are you sure that's what I mean?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Pretty sure. Anyway, do you mean, like, what product do I use?"

"Product?"

"Yeah. Shit you put in your hair," Will answers as if I'm supposed to know this.

"They actually use the word 'product' for that? Like, as in the result of production?"

"Yep. How does that look?" He turns me toward the mirror looking over my shoulder.

"It's a little…off—"

"Here don't move."

I stand still so he can reach his arms around me from behind to fix it.

"Thank God we're the same height. Otherwise, this would be a little awkward. So, yeah, anyway…you'll never believe what I use." He waggles his eyebrows as if waiting for me to guess.

"And I don't have time to."

"Coconut oil."

I must give him a weird look, even though, I'm desperately trying to hide it—the problem being, I have no idea what the hell he's talking about.

"What? You've never heard of it? Here, smell it!"

He moves his head so I can lean in a take a whiff.

"That's amazing," I comment as the coconut smell infiltrates my nose—it's like a walk on the beach!

"Yep. Christina calls it orgasm in a bottle. Even though I get it out of a jar."

"Hmmph." I really don't want to hear about anyone's orgasms right now. "Didn't even realize you could get oil out of a coconut," I mutter, ashamed.

"Four, you could probably learn the indigenous languages of Equatorial Guinea just by having a conversation with a native along with building them a self-sustaining well left-handed. How do you not know the fantastic uses of coconut oil?"

"Just…can we please stay on track!" I jerk my head away, fixing the tie myself before things get too weird. "What the hell are we going to do about my hair? I don't have any toileties."

"Toiletries," he corrects.

"Whatever. I'm still not convinced that's a word, either." I wet my fingers try to tame my bed head, but my efforts are wasted. "Well, so this is happening," I sigh in defeat.

"Hey!" Will grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to look at him. "Just march into that boardroom with confidence. You can usually pull off any look."

"You think?" I ask, unsure.

"I...know."

"Thanks, pal." I put on my suit coat and go behind my desk to charge my phone. "Um, okay, just—"

"I'm not going to phone-stalk Tris," Will chimes in before I can finish my sentence.

"Fine. Then, clean up my office."

"What?! Don't you have an assistant now?!"

"I'm not going to have Jamie make my bed and clean up my bathroom!" I respond looking over my shoulder as I bolt to the door.

"But you'll make me? Is that all I am to you?!" He laughs lightly at his sarcasm, but I can tell he may be just a little sincerity behind his words.

"Look, I'm sorry. Just, straighten the bed and hide shit. I just don't want it to look like I slept here!"

"And you think you pulled it off so well for the three weeks you actually did sleep here? Who cares—"

"Do it. I'm your boss?" I add with a pleading look. I hate pulling the boss card with Will.

"Boss card, huh? Again? And you still owe me for the last time!"

"Love ya, buddy!" I say quickly over my shoulder as I leave.

"You better love me…a lot!"

I stop in my tracks and back up a few steps. "Can you look up "toileties" and make sure it's a word? Send me a screen shot."

"It's toilet- _tries_! And, do it yourself."

"I don't have time. And I won't be able to concentrate until I know!"

I exit the office, officially, and walk stoically and unfazed, which is the absolute opposite of how I feel, particularly with things like coconut oil and toilet _ries_ swimming in my brain. At least, those atrocities are keeping my mind off of… _Tris. Or not. Damn!_ I stop right before the conference room windows and let out a quiet groan, just to put it out there that I am miserable, before plastering my professional and attempted pleasant face on.

Amar and I prefer to run about five minutes 'late' to these meetings in order to let the possible clients acclimate to the atmosphere of the office, and loosen up before having to put on their feigned poker faces for us. I walk into the room and take a brief inventory. There are several people crowding around the light breakfast buffet we have set up—a woman and three men, along with Jamie, who is pouring coffee for everyone.

"Well, aren't you just a little dream come true!" comments one of the older gentleman in a flirtatious manner.

"Well, thank you! Can I introduce you to my husband? He could learn a few things from you!" I smirk at Jamie's over-emphasized, very fake laugh—it reminds me of Tris when she bartends.

She makes eye contact and heads my way with a mug. "Sorry. Layin' the bullshit on nice and thick for you. I'm so excited I can swear! Coffee?"

"Your bullshit is appreciated. And, yes, please."

"Mr. Eaton?" The same man who Jamie was entertaining approaches me reaching out for a handshake. "Taylor Conrad."

"Mr. Conrad," I accept his firm handshake, returning the gesture as Jamie catches my eye, signaling that my coffee mug is by my chair at the table. "Nice to put a name with a face. How are you today? Jamie taking care of you, I see?"

"Yes, yes, she's lovely. You've got a good one there! Now, let me introduce you to my partners. This is—"

"Connie Grayden." The woman whom I've spent a good deal of time researching, seeing as I didn't know of her, takes control of the introduction. "Pleasure."

"Likewise. You received quite the accolade last week. Congratulations," I comment, referring to the Ambassadors award she received from Save the Children.

I observe her sizing me up with a scrutinizing gaze. It's a common look, I've noticed, from strong women. I can only attribute the skepticism to past experiences where men may have handed them bullshit in the form of a handshake. But, what the hell do I know?

"So, you saw my speech," she crosses her arms, still looking at me with doubt.

"Actually, no, I'm sorry. I read up on your humanitarian work in Darfur."

"Ah, yes. The old Internet search," she adds alluding to her perceived minimal effort on my behalf.

"I find your views on proper implementation of humanitarian work quite intriguing. Particularly how, as much as money _is_ needed, trained people on the ground are needed more. The most interesting aspect being your idea of behavioral training. Have you had an opportunity to speak to universities about incorporating training programs?"

I try to keep my gaze unwavering, although, I do feel a little smug seeing as I've obviously caught her off guard.

"Actually, yes. I was at Columbia just yesterday having coffee with their Social Sciences department. There's a professor there, a 'behavioral sociologist' he calls himself." She rolls her eyes at the made up name, most likely because by pure definition, a sociologist studies behavior. "Anyway, this gentleman considers himself quite the expert of humanity, in general, mostly focusing on human relationships. He's looking to branch out to explore other cultures."

"Other cultures?"

"Yes. He's in agreement that as Americans, in particular, we are quite ethnocentric. So, opening up and requiring more world culture classes with a broader range of immersion experiences and training would be a great start—better equipping our students to not just function, but contribute outside of this country."

"Sounds incredible."

"And not just Western Europe," she continues passionately, reminding me of Tris when she talks about photography or the homes she's been redesigning. "And, not just in the business world, as we push so much. Bill Gates can write all the checks he wants, but unless he has good, well-trained, well-minded people, his money is worthless."

"Sounds like brainwashing to me," comments Taylor as he nudges his way back into the conversation.

"You would think that," she remarks in jest to her much older partner, whom she links arms with, in a less than socially acceptable manner. "My uncle is the original founder of the Old School Good 'Ole Boys Club. Change is unthinkable."

"Hey, I hired a female!" he puts his arm around Connie's shoulder.

"By default. Hello, nepotism!"

"You're welcome, my darling."

"I didn't realize you two were related," I chuckle at their congenial banter.

"Well, son, I don't want people to know I only hired her because she's my niece," he whispers conspiratorially, although purposefully for Connie's ears, as well. "Who knew that hiring a woman would actually boost sales! I would have started hiring broads years ago!" he practically yells, just about turning red from laughter.

Connie rolls her eyes and smacks her uncle on the arm, hard. "Mr. Eaton you can laugh. My uncle's sarcasm runs deeper through his veins than his blood."

"Sorry," I respond, at a bit of a loss, but appreciative of their humor none the less. "I just wanted to make sure."

"And," Taylor looks over my shoulder as I feel a presence behind me. "Mr. Eaton this is—"

"Good morning, Tobias."

I turn and look straight into the eyes of…my father's…lawyer.

"Good morning, Mr…Avery." I clear my throat to regain control of my voice box. "And everyone, please, call me Four!" I announce in a more commanding voice than I intended. _Right when I was getting more used to the name Tobias…suddenly the name pisses me off!_ "Our Senior Associates should be here any moment, but we figured you all would enjoy a light breakfast before we got down to business. Well, at least, we'd _like_ your business." I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. Judging by everyone's faces upon my tone, it was needed.

"Yes, I quite agree! Good morning, hopefully-future clients!" Amar's spritely self makes itself known and immediately heads toward me as I turn my body away from all people and take a monstrous bite of an apple. "Down boy," he states as if I'm a dog.

"That's Marcus's lawyer," I growl after swallowing the last remnants of the bite.

"I know exactly who it is."

"You didn't want to inform me?" I ask without making eye contact.

"I didn't know, until this moment. Lawyers do tend to have more than one client, you know? He isn't exclusive to Marcus."

I shake my head because this is just way too coincidental—there have been too many Marcus connections, lately. Time to compartmentalize—file this shit away and move on. So, I turn my attention to Amar. "You're looking a bit more chipper today," I remark taking in his change of attitude, although the dark circles under his eyes suggest otherwise.

"Well, I'm not. I'm worse, in fact. Turns out guilt is far worse than self-deprecation."

"If only I knew what that meant," I sigh out, not having the patience to decode Amar's comments.

"I think we need to talk, my friend."

I sense urgency in his voice. "Now?"

"No, but shall we reconvene after we hit this out of the park?"

"Can it wait? I have some serious back-pedaling to do with Tris, so, I'll be leaving the absolute minute this meeting is over."

"It can't be worse than the backpedaling I must do." He rests his hand on my arm, and I see the intense sincerity in his look.

"Okay," I agree, realizing he's referring to his conversation with Tris.

"Tobias." I feel a tepid hand on my shoulder as I stiffen promptly and turn toward the sleazy face of Carl Avery. "It's been years! How are you, my boy?"

The way this man tries to use jovial comradery in conversation with less-than-mediocre confidence makes me cringe.

"Please, call me Four and I'm well, thank you, and it hasn't been years, we corresponded several months ago, so let's desist with the unnecessary pretenses."

"That's excellent, just excellent!"

I glance in Amar's direction, seeing my confused reaction at Carl's response mirrored in Amar's face.

"You seem to be keeping things together quite well around here. Business is booming! People are lining up to work with you ever since Mr. Ghadi, here, scooped you up."

"He earned my 'scoop,' I assure you." Amar backs away, dodging Carl's strange shoulder grab as Jamie swoops in with a cup of coffee. He nods in my direction communicating that he won't be far if I need him.

"I have no doubt! That work ethic runs deep. It's almost like it's in your blood," he laughs while receiving nothing but a chilled expression from me. "So, I hear there's a girl in your life," he interjects completely changing his tone.

I clear my throat and nod my head politely as I see Taylor lingering close behind.

"She must be special if she caught your eye," he leans in and winks, sending a revolting shiver down my spine. "I don't remember you being quite the ladies man."

"I'm not."

"So, things _are_ serious then?" he insinuates. "Do I hear wedding bells in your future?"

I open my mouth with the words "Fuck you. Stay the hell away from us," on my tongue, but I think better of it and choose to keep my cool instead so as to seem detached.

"Did someone say wedding bells? Are you engaged?" Connie comes up behind me and, for the sake of Carl Avery, I deliver a very, very, blunt response.

"No."

"But he has a girl," Carl continues as I look over my shoulder for Amar, needing this conversation to steer away from Tris, immediately. "And I bet with this man…that _means_ something."

The way he said it—as if he was delivering a message, underlying meaning. Why would my and Tris's relationship 'mean something?'

 **Flashback:**

I put the final touches in red, fine-tipped marker on the Commerce Building plans. This is it. My first project…ready to be handed off to the drafters and then sent to County. I take pride in my work, but I'm not one to praise myself. However, with this being the slam dunk that it was, I allow myself a moment and smile quickly, immediately straightening up the moment my grin gets too noticeable. Just in case someone was to walk in—

"Tobias…Eaton," a sniveling voice announces its presence at my office door.

I look up, the physical reaction to vocal stimuli taking over before my mental awareness can bitch slap itself back into submission—I already knew exactly who it was. His voice is a decibel too high, to be considered at all masculine and his slight form and gray, comb-over hair, do him no favors, either.

"You may refer to me as Four, although I would prefer no reference at all. Speak…and leave," I state looking back down at my project, now wishing it wasn't complete.

"You're just about as welcoming as your father. Although, he, at least, puts on airs."

"I find it an unnecessary time-filler—similar to your presence."

"I'm here as a courtesy."

I scoff at his comment, knowing full well Marcus is getting billed for whatever the reason his lawyer is here.

"The terms of your father's trust have changed, and he wanted you to be aware."

I smile to myself and stand, happy that his reason for being here holds absolutely no interest for me. "No need to inform me." I walk toward the door and hold it open for him. "I couldn't care less. Good afternoon."

"You say that now. But there may come a day when—"

"I highly doubt that." I turn and then feel a drab and weak grip on my arm. I look down at the yellowing thin skin of his hand and then back up to his face, ready to throw his ass right into the cubicle across the aisle.

He wisely backs up immediately. "You're getting nothing."

This does, indeed, make me pause— not out of disappointment, but out of relief. I want no part in any of it. However, there has to be a catch—motivation behind it. "I'm assuming you have more information for me."

"Of course." He seems to get his bearings after he puts a certain amount of distance between us, but I'm still between him and the door, relishing in the fact that I'm making him nervous. "It's highly irregular, but, as you well know, your father is a highly irregular man."

I stare blankly at him because I don't give a damn about Marcus's demeanor.

"The Will and Trust now states that any subsequent grandchildren will be the beneficiaries of his estate."

I furrow my eyebrows at him, trying to make sense of what could be the dumbest and most irrelevant thing Marcus has ever done. "And why the hell would he do that?"

"Well, I can only assume, seeing as you've made it clear that you have no interest in his money, he would like it to go somewhere where it would be appreciated and where there is a possible of wise investing and growth—"

"Since when are children wise investors?"

"You're assuming your father will die young."

"I'm hoping."

He searches my eyes for sincerity, but I'm an excellent liar.

"This isn't about the money. He'll be dead. He doesn't give a shit. This is about him controlling me indirectly because he has yet to be able to do so directly. In any case, it has no effect on me because I have absolutely no interest in children…ever. Good day."

 **End Flashback**

The connection burns in my mind, and I go into immediate and instinctive disingenuous mode—and it's disturbingly easy. "And why would you think that?" I laugh as if my relationship and future with Tris are irrelevant.

"Because you do tend to be rather picky, my friend." Amar pokes his head in—his way of breaking up the possible slippery slope of a conversation while complimenting Tris at the same time.

Unfortunately, I can only beam on the _inside_ about her.

"Now, shall we?" Amar proffers his arm, which Connie bypasses and goes to seat herself.

"I apologize if I touched on a sensitive subject," Carl sneers in my ear as I chuckle at how seemingly unimportant this exchange is. "The engagement question is a very common thing to ask people in serious relationships."

"Well, it's a good thing I have absolutely _no_ plans of future engagement. Now, following Amar's lead?" I, with more force than I should, push him toward the board room table.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I stare down at the charger that Tobias not-at-all covertly slipped into my purse a couple weeks ago for those _special_ moments where I forget to charge my phone. It's his version of the least-invasive-way-possible of keeping tabs on me.

"Hello! Hello! Hello! Beatrice!"

I'm snapped out of my staring contest by Gertie's literal snapping in my face.

"I listen to you ramble. Now you listen to me! Or leave…and that's fine!"

I sigh at her use of my full name. "Just because I told you my given name, doesn't mean you can use it _Ghertrude_ ," I groan.

"Beatrice sounds much more French. Which make it better because—"

"Everything French is better. Yeah, yeah… And, by the way, me telling you that I got an hour's worth of sleep last night, isn't…rambling." Those are the nine words I got out before Gertie furrowed her eyebrows and started in about the new bike messenger and how he better not tell his group of "hoolihans" on wheels about her shop.

"The deal was, mon cheri, you want my coffee, you come keep _me_ company…not I keep _you_ company," she states emphatically, narrowing her eyes at me for the second time today. "Agh! Fine!" She throws her hands in the air and stands, moving behind the counter and rummaging around. "My jokes are not funny to you today, hmm?"

"Nothing is funny to me today, and you're not a particularly funny person."

She chuckles to herself at my expense. "Ma petite, sometimes I think you could be French. Now I see it on your toot sweet face…" She gracefully shuffles back over to me and sits down with a plate of Madeleines. "…you want to tell me your problems. Now, you have my ears…so, use them."

I flit my eyes back and forth between her greens ones. Gertie knows I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend, and that it landed me in the hospital. She's made little to no comment concerning Tobias, which makes me believe she knows more about him than she's telling me. Gertie is a relatively in-tune person, although, you'd never know it. She also knows I was sexually assaulted, but has been reluctant to comment on that fact…which is odd.

"Fine. I will start. You feel…" She gestures for me to continue while taking a large sip of her scalding coffee.

"Lost." I shake my head and groan at my immaturity. "And that is one of the harder things I've ever had to say."

"That's because you didn't just say it. You admitted it, my dear."

I take a sip, like a normal person, of the hot coffee and break off a piece of the cookie to nibble on.

"You feel disconnected."

I scrunch my face at her spot on assessment. "Yes."

"You feel out of control."

"Yes."

"You have many questions, and one minute you think you have all of your answers—Ta-dah!" she sings in an operatic voice. "But then you don't have the words to…to…express them."

I stare with watery eyes as she rattles off my emotional confucktion like a checklist.

"You're…what is this word…évasif?"

"Evasive," I whisper.

"Yes, yes, evasive. Yet, you crave attention—a secret you keep even from yourself. And the worst part…you are misunderstood. By… _everyone."_ She leans in, knowingly referring to Tobias. "At least, you think you are."

I have no words to offer her, and I'm fairly sure she doesn't want them.

"Yes, yes…," she rolls her eyes and takes a dainty bite of her cookie. "I have my own shit too. I have lived a life—a full life, ma petite. But, just because one's live was full, it doesn't mean part of it wasn't full of shit. Now, that's enough!" she stands abruptly as I pull my mug away from her flustered exit. "Turn on your damned phone and stop being such a kitty!"

Her quick exit to the back proves my instincts correct—she doesn't want to be questioned. But her words resonate—"At least, you think you are."

I plug my phone into the pocket charger and wait for it to power up.

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

The door Nazi wouldn't let me up to Four's apartment, and can get a hold of _neither_ of them! So, I'm, basically, wandering the busy streets of the Loop staring at nothing except people's choice of attire. I mean, I know it's the business world and not the fashion world but…ladies…come on—

My phone dings and I grab for it immediately, seeing that Tris responded to my "Where the hell are you?" text.

 **Tris:** I'm not home.

 **Me:** You were supposed to text me this morning.

 **Tris:** It is this morning.

I check out the time and, she's right, it's only 7:07. But still!

 **Me:** You've been up since 6. At least! I know it! Coffee?

A part of me is hoping she'll turn me down so I can avoid everything that is about to play out. _I'm such a baby!_

 **Tris:** Drinks last night wasn't enough?

"Oh, Lordy…," I mumble aloud as I keep walking. I was three sheets to the wind last night after having way too many drown-my-sorrow cocktails with Brielle.

 **Tris:** I'm kidding. I'll bring the coffee. Where are you?

I stop in my tracks and realize I had only gone around the corner and down the block.

 **Me:** Wandering in your neighborhood.

 **Tris:** Not my neighborhood.

I sigh aloud at the irony of that text. _Shit…_

 **Tris:** Stay where you are. And give me a minute.

 _Ooooookay…_

* * *

There is no way in holy heck fire that this can be right! I'm looking down a dingy, dirty alley—one that really shouldn't even exist in this neighborhood, yet, somehow does. A door screeches open, and I see the tired, per usual, face of Tris gesturing me in.

"Hey, what the—"

"Come on, come on!" she mouths looking around nervously.

"Okay! Okay!" I mimic sneaking toward her on my toes. I look right and left and up and down at this ridiculous set-up. "Is this a speakeasy? Did I time travel? I know I was tipsy last night, but this is like some Prohibition shit! No, seriously—"

"Just be quiet and—"

"Wow!" My voice takes over my nose, and it is loud and clear! "What is that SMELL?!"

"Uhhh…coffee—"

"I know it's coffee, silly!" I smack her hand out of the way as she tries to grab for my shirt. "But…ya know how when coffee is amazing…it almost smells like skunk—"

"What did she say?! Get out! Get her out!"

I just about fall backward as a crabby old lady with a sweet bouffant hair-do starts squawking like a psychotic mother hen.

"Gertie, please!" Tris begs, stepping between crazy lady and me.

Seeing as Tris definitely knows this little wack-a-doodle, I take note of her name and introduce myself like any self-respecting person would do in this incredibly strange situation.

"Gertie? Hi! I'm Christina." I reach in to shake her hand but…no dice. So, I turn myself toward Tris. "What are we doing in here?" I whisper.

"Having coffee!" Tris answers in a pacifyingly chipper voice.

"This is my café!" the little Gertie person says with way more gusto than needed.

"Yeah, this is not a café," I disagree as I look around at the bare walls, apart from one picture, a small folding table in a corner and a counter that looks like something you'd see in like a 1950s butcher shop. It's all retro and kind of cool.

"OUI!"

"Hey, hold the phone." I put the fiery little lady on pause as I take in this place. "Is this like some covert co-op or some weird new underground thing? Or a secret club? Holy shit, Tris! Honestly, I feel like I have a staring role in a Harry Potter spin-off. This is like the alley that exists, but Muggles never see it! Is that the entrance to Diagon Alley?" I point at the painted-over bricks on the wall, ready to knock the secret pattern into the—

"Out of all the stupid Americans you know, _this_ is the one you choose?"

"I know way worse stupid Americans, trust me," Tris defends. "She just comes on a little strong. You didn't like me at first remember, Gertie?" _Hey, what the what?_

"A little strong? And you just _assume_ she doesn't like me?!" I accuse looking right at Miss Tris.

"I don't like you."

"You don't even know me!" I comment all too loudly to the little foreign nut.

"I don't think I need to know you."

"You should know her," Tris interrupts before I can move on with my counter insults. She rests her hand on crazy Gertie's shoulder, which is a totally out-of-character thing for Tris to do. "She's worth knowing."

"It's true," I add as I check out my toenails.

"Egh! Entendu! One coffee. No creamer. No foo foo shots!" I feel a small poke in my shoulder as the little freaky thing walks past me.

"Hile Hitler," I retort as under-my-breath as I'm capable of.

"Christina, shut-up."

"What?!"

"Apart from Gertie's father being killed in the German occupation of France during World War Two…nothing," Tris seethes, steering me to the small table.

"Whoops."

"No, whoops! They got their duedigence!"

"Due dil-i-gence."

"Bite your mouth, ma petite. Yes, yes…the French! We won the war! The Germans," she scoffs, but it's more like spitting. "…just a bunch of brain-washed fools. We occupied them right back…after WE won the war. Tried to bring culture to their beer-drinking, sausage-pounding, filthy—"

"Okay, Gertie—"

"No, 'Okay, Gertie,'" she attempts at the worst Tris voice ever. "Your friend needs a lesson in history!" she yells from the back.

"But it's all good in the hood, now! The EU and all that. Aren't Germany and France all 'up-top?!'"

"Ma Petit? Translate or knock your friend up the side of the head to improve her English."

"She says the European Union wouldn't be able to function without France!" Tris shouts to the back.

"Yeah…I didn't say that—"

"Shh!"

"She's right! It would crumble to Kibbles and Bittles."

"Kibbles and Bits."

"You don't get to correct me!" Madam Cray Cray screeches.

"What the hizzle?" I lean in feeling the need to whisper. "What is the deal? How long have you known about this place? And why is it a secret? And what is the deal?"

"She's just picky about who gets to drink her coffee," Tris waves off as if that isn't weird as fuck.

"How does she stay in business?"

"I am rich, and I don't care."

I turn and see the little Frenchy leaning on the counter. _How the hell did she hear me?_

"That's how everyone stays in business in America."

I nod my head at her stereotypical, yet, kind of accurate statement, waiting for her to finish her—

"I don't bring you the coffee. You come get it yourself."

"Oh, shit, sorry." I jump up and run to the counter, which is only a few steps away, so I probably look as nutty as this lady.

"Gertie," Tris says as I clutch my coffee and bring it to the table. "Christina is a fashion major. She's graduating soon and may travel to France—"

"I don't care. Those hoighty toy toy people think they embody French culture. But, they just make us all look like uptight assholes."

"Well, funny you say that…" I turn and lean my forearm on the chair, knowing this may just be a great lead-in to the purpose of my visit. "Because I have _not_ been having the best experiences lately with the French fashion populace. So—"

"Are you insulting my countrymen?"

"Nooo…I—"

"So, what do you think of the coffee?" Tris interjects at what I can only imagine is the perfect moment.

I take a quick sip, and the warm, pungent, semi-bitter, grounded wonderment takes over my senses. "Okay…now I get it! Drugs." I nod my head and wink at Gertie. "You put Colombian bam bam in this! And this 'café' is your façade!" I laugh turning to look at Tris, who is shaking her head slowly as if I'm not hilarious.

"You think…I put…cocaína…in my…beans?"

I open my eyes wide at her tone, but I refuse to look over my shoulder because I'd bet Frenchy's glare may just kill me.

"No. No, no, no. She doesn't think that. Right, Christina?"

"Right! Just a joke! I promise!"

"Hmmph!"

I feel the lack of French presence behind me, so I take my chance. "Seriously, Tris, I feel a little high."

"I think it's just that good."

"Honestly, though…" I take another addictive sip. "How did you find this place?"

"Tobias," she sighs, staring at the scratches on the table.

"Wait! Is _this_ the amazing coffee?! Like the 'coffee and scones' coffee?"

"Indeed."

I take note of the way she nods her head on the second syllable of that word. "You say that like him."

"He rubs off on me," she shrugs.

"Yeah, Will rubs off on me too," I agree. "I'm much nicer now. Ya know, more in-tune with people's feelings and all that BS. Speaking of which, sorry about last night. I think you were trying to talk to me about something?" I question, remembering her semi-desperate expression.

"You were a little tipsy, yeah," she laughs. "I don't know... This past week has been—"

"These shadowing 'experiences,' with the designers," I explain, hoping she'll understand my life as I know it, right now. "I don't know. I just…I'm not sure if that's the route I want to go anymore, ya know? I guess I feel…kind of lost lately—just not myself."

"Yeah."

"So, you think I haven't been myself?" I ask, hoping she had, for real, noticed that I've been kind of MIA.

"Um… Well, I haven't really…been paying attention."

"Oh."

"Which is… _shitty_ ," she mumbles, still staring at the table.

"Well, I know you have a lot on your mind with…stuff…," I trail off trying to put myself in her shoes. I can see she's trying to listen, but her vacant expression, which is just her face lately, is very telling. _See, I'm getting better!_ "So…how is _stuff_?"

"Just…holding it together. Well," she chuckles, " _trying_ to hold it together. Remember that card you gave me?"

"Yeah…" _Tell me this is going where I think it is!_

"I started therapy." _Yes!_ "But, I'm not going back." _No!_

"Tris," I begin in a low controlled voice. "Why?"

"He was…a joke. I can't even describe the bullshit—"

"Tris."

"What?"

I just need to put it out there, even though, she may get mad. "Are you _sure…_ you're giving it a chance?"

She swallows and purses her lips. "I went twice," she grits out. "The second time was worse than the first. It didn't feel like therapy. It felt like…an interrogation or like I was a… Fuck, I can't explain. Some of the things he said, resonated and made me question…a lot, but, other things… Chris, it just didn't feel right—"

"What does Four say?"

"Why is that relevant? It should be what I say!" she exalts as I hear Gertie make some weird noise of triumph from somewhere in the depths of this place.

"Okay, okay," I concede. "You're right. So, how are things with you two?" I ask although I know she'll be scant on the details. My speculations ring loud and clear as I watch her do the 'ole Tris humin' and hoin'.

"I need to be more… I feel like I'm not what he…"

"Tris, babe, spit it out."

"Zeke came into the bar to clarify that I'm doing what's best for Tobias. He literally asked me or, reading between the lines, _told me_ that I need to watch out for him."

"Zeke…said that?" I ask in annoyance seeing as I would love to introduce Zeke to his counterpart—the kettle.

"I said that I was. But, I don't know. Maybe I'm not? Honestly, Chris, Tobias is _not_ very happy right now…with me or because of me. I don't think he's happy, in general. And I don't know…how to…"

I don't know if it's the bam bam that's taken over, but I'm suddenly pissed and can't get past it. "Seriously?! ZEKE had the gonads to say that to you?! As if Four has always done what's best for _you_? And as if _ZEKE_ was Yoda when it came to Four's baffling lack of mental capacity—"

"Christina. Don't go there with Tobias. I mean it," she predictably defends.

"And it's none of Zeke's damned business! And, what the hell does he know about it? His perceptions are usually just slightly less than ridiculous."

Again, maybe it's the ecstasy Gertie puts in the coffee, but I would swear a light bulb just appeared over Tris's head—something just clicked.

She narrows her eyes and chews the side of her lip. "Do you tell me everything about you and Will…or, maybe not everything, but, a lot?"

I sense the underlying tone in her voice—she's talking about personal shit. "No. Well, not really."

"How much do you tell me?"

"Ummmm, I don't really know how to answer because we haven't had the _hurtles,_ for lack of a _way_ better word, that you and Four have had. So…I pretty much just have _way less_ to share. But…no, not everything. Why?"

"Well, now that I think about it, when Zeke came into the bar, he _did_ make it sound like Tobias has been confiding in him…a lot. And, I don't know, I was always under the impression that he and I were more private."

"Do you think he betrayed your confidence? Whatever _confidence_ that may be?"

"I don't _think_ so, but, I never thought I even had to have that discussion with him. I just always thought things were confidential."

"Yeah, you are definitely more closed off than me. I hate that you aren't more open about shit. But, that's only because I'm selfish and want to know everything!" I poke her with my finger hoping she'll laugh. She doesn't.

"It's hard for me," she whispers.

"I know that," I reassure. "And I get it." I can't even begin to understand how she is still able to trust _anyone._ When the rug was pulled out from under feet from basically everyone of importance in her childhood, aside from Caleb. "I think I just miss being your sounding board, ya know?" I stop and a wave of sadness bringing on near nausea hits me…hard.

"I know. But, hopefully, things will go back to normal—"

"So, is Four your sounding board?" I interrupt, not wanting to hear what was about to come out of her mouth.

The sadness deepens on her face. "On some things. But, mostly…no."

 _Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no._

"I don't feel like he can handle it. But then when I _do_ keep things from him, he deals with that equally as poorly. So, I'm fairly screwed either way."

"That's rough," I mutter, although, I'm actually talking to myself.

"But, he does _want_ to be."

"Rough?" I ask without missing a beat.

"Stop," she laughs. "Don't even get me started on that. Seriously, don't." She rolls her eyes and takes a large sip of her coffee.

"Please?" I ask raising my eyebrows in jest. I know she won't tell me anything.

"No. I feel bad enough telling you about freezing up last week. That was…" She shakes her head and crosses her arms. "It affected him just as much as me."

"Don't feel bad about that," I interject looking her straight in the eyes. "Tris, that happened to _you…_ not him. If it were reversed and you told me he couldn't complete the transaction because of his own trauma, then, yes, that would be incredibly shitty. Wait, you don't think… Four wouldn't have told Zeke that that happened, right?"

"No," she states immediately. "Definitely not. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know guys talk about…sex and whatever, and were it a normal situation, I wouldn't mind. Ya know, only if he said good things."

"Which I'm sure he would," I encourage.

"Yeah, okay… Anyway, with this situation, that is a line Tobias would never cross."

"I agree. Don't get me wrong; Four drives me bat shit. But he's not that guy. Especially knowing what you've been through. Like, your shit's out there enough as it is!" _Doh!_ I watch, really wishing I could cover my eyes and peek, instead, as Tris loses the last bit of color in her cheeks.

"Do, do people talk about me a lot?"

I purse my lips and decide to shoot straight. "Yes."

"Great." She sniffs and shakes her head trying to hold back tears.

"It's human nature, Tris. And, it's not out of malice. No one knows what's going on with you, so they speculate."

I sense a snooty Western European presence around the corner, so I decide to change course…the course I've been veering off of.

"So, can we talk about the house?"

"Shit," she sighs. "I know I owe you rent. My checkbook is in the top drawer of my side table. Just forge my signature." She waves her hand in the defeated way she's been doing for most of this conversation.

"Uh, it's not that." _I should throw Four so far under the bus, right now!_ "Our lease. It's up."

"Oh, fuck! I…okay…um, do you want me to re-sign or—"

"No."

"Oh."

"Tris," I breathe out her name and then collect myself before she notices. "I just figured with everything that happened and...well, do you really want to live there again?"

"I guess I was…working toward it, but… Ya know what? No. Hell, no," she says with finality as if she had just made that decision, like, that very second. "So what do you want to do? Do you want to look for a new place?"

"Yes," I eek out.

"Okay. I love our neighborhood, but maybe more towards Wicker Park? Or…Zeke and Shauna live in Uptown. It's by the lake so that might be cool—"

"Tris," I cut her off, and it immediately dawns on her.

"Oh, shit," she says quietly. "Um, sorry. I didn't mean to, ah, assume. So, what? You want to move in with Will? I completely understand—"

"No."

"You…want…to live alone?"

"I want to take a job offer in New York." I exhale and open my eyes, not having realized I had closed them, and unclench my fists in the same manner.

"You're…leaving?"

The look on her face is like, I don't know, awe or surprise or….no, worse…shock.

"I think so…" I whine. _Why am I whining?_ I clear my voice, knowing that I have to own this shit. "No, I know so. I hate it, but I love it too. I mean, I don't want to leave you and don't even get me started on Will because I may just turn into a puddle of sappiness, but… It's such a good opportunity. This girl wants to hire me, and she wants me like…now."

" _Now_?! What about school?"

"I'm done with classes. The next semester would be just internship experience. And, well, she wants to hire me…without it."

"Um…okay. I'm sorry…I just… So, what happened to 'things not being what you thought they were'? I thought you didn't like these people!" she says angrily.

"I don't love the designers! Hey, are you _mad_?"

"No," she sighs. "I'm surprised and…"

"She's the only girl I actually liked in the last two weeks. Her name is Brielle, and she's a buyer for Sachs. She's really funny with a dry sense of humor but really sophisticated too. She refers to herself as an 'import' in New York because she's originally from Nebraska. She's a damned Midwesterner! A Midwest-west-erner!" I joke trying to sell Brielle big time to Tris.

"What about December graduation? Will you come back? Is this…permanent?" Her voice is quickly changing to panicked, and I don't know how to respond.

"It's…yeah, I think… I mean, no one can tell the future, but…"

"What about Will? Are you going to try to make things work?"

 **Flashback**

I'm sitting—just sitting. _Does this look natural?_ I look down and see that my legs are crossed, and I'm sitting up straight as a board—most likely looking crazy. So I shimmy my shoulders a bit and hunch over, which does nothing for the acid that seems to be building up in my stomach.

 _How do I tell him? Do I ask him? No…you don't ask! You're a grown woman! But, you have admitted to yourself that he may be the guy. Then if he is the guy, why are you even considering leaving? Because it's an amazing opportunity! You'd be an assistant buyer for Sachs…along with many other assistant buyers, but, who gives a damn! This is the kind of job I've always wanted! And I still do…right?! Right?!_

"Hey, gorgeous—"

"Shit!" I practically jump out of my skin upon Will's sweet lips on my cheek.

"Whoa, sorry?! Did ya… _not_ see me come in the door…that one…right there?" he points cheekily. I love how he makes fun of people in the least condescending, sweetest way. Swoon…

"No, I…saw. Or I…sorta saw…"

"Okay," he laughs lightly and pulls his suit coat off hanging it on the back of the chair. "How was your day?" He pulls me up to standing and wraps his arms around my waist pulling me in for a hug that suggests a little more than just a greeting. _Swoon…again._ "I miss you…very much." He pushes my hair off my neck and lands his sweet lips right on the sweet spot between my neck and shoulders, pressing my lower back closer to him. "And I very, very much…don't want to let you go, right now."

My tummy warms and I close my eyes, feeding into his seduction, especially when I feel his own very manly response against me. _Abort!_

"Sorry," I rest my hands on his chest and push him away slightly, receiving an instant pouty-lip from hi. "I've been…busy. But, I…um…I've missed you too. Really, I have. I promise, really." It's so true. But, I have been avoiding this conversation for what feels like eternity!

"Okaaaay, I believe you. So…" He back-ups and walks toward the kitchen, having gotten the hint that no-sexiness is a happenin'. "…tell me about these people who have stolen my girlfriend from me."

"Um…" _Good start. This is good._ "Some are rude and awful and just awful and rude, but then others are…nice and normal and…" I roll my eyes at myself for chickening out about giving him more information about Brielle.

"Okay, again. But, I mean, what _all_ have you been doing? I mean, specifically. I want to hear everything—"

"I got a job offer in New York, and I want to take it!"

I hadn't even noticed that he opened a bottle of wine, but he stops half-way, his hand still mid-handoff…face a blank slate.

"Uh."

"Sorry…oh, God, I'm sorry. I had to Band-aid that shit. I didn't know what else to do. I want the job. I really want the job. It's perfect. But, I really want you too. You're perfect. And, I'm torn, and I'm freaking out, and I've been running this over and over in my head, and I think if I don't take it, I'd…" I stop mid-flip and see that he pulled the wine glass back and is officially double fisting the glasses, face still the same. "You're not saying anything."

"I'm…a little stunned. I need to…process this. Um…"

"What if you came with?! I know you could find a job! Amar and Four would write you a glowing recommendation! Like a crazy good one, I'm sure! Grammatically perfect, knowing Four and with Amar's flare—"

"No."

I stand perfectly still as the chill of his words hits me.

"I'm going to tell you the first thing that came into my head after you told me that. That's fair, right?" he asks in a very, very, very even tone.

"Yes."

"You already made the decision you're going. It wasn't even a conversation between the two of us." He swallows and looks away from me, taking a large sip of wine. "That says something, Chris. So, no, I'm not going."

"Will, it's not that I didn't want to have a discussion—"

"Well, you may have wanted it…" He walks toward the kitchen and puts the glass that was for me on the counter. "…but, subconsciously, you knew it would have been irrelevant."

"I don't want to break up," I choke out as a tear slips down my face. _How does he not see that I'm dying here?!_

"Ha! I didn't either," he shrugs as he finishes off his glass.

 **End Flashback**

My heart is racing, and I glance at Tris, who I hadn't even seen had gotten up to search out a napkin from behind the counter.

"You can't just self-serve you, know!" Gertie shouts as Tris hands me the napkin and smiles softly.

I wipe under my eyes, seeing the black from the shitty mascara I hastily put on this morning. _Seriously, where is my good stuff?_ "I want to _try_ to make things work… _we_ want to. He's more…guarded than me about it. But, his family is here, and he's got a great set-up at ALG, and he's lived here his whole life and—"

"So have you," she snarks.

"I thought you'd be happier for me," I comment pitifully. "This has been something I've been… Look, it's been weighing on me for two weeks!"

"Two weeks?" she repeats as if that's incredible.

"That's why I've been semi-MIA. I didn't know how to…well, you have your own shit going on and—"

"Stop. Don't ever feel like you can't tell me things just because I may have some…stuff. I'm pretty sure I'll always have stuff, so… Anyway, I _am_...happy for you. It's just…I never thought… It never occurred to me that… Jesus, Chris, you were kind of a life saver for me. I was goin' downhill real fast, and you pulled me back up. That's the dumbest way to express what you did for me, but it's all I've got, so…" She looks away and wipes her eyes, really making me wish I was more like her and just went without make-up.

"Hey!" I slap her hand. "Look at the bright side, chiquita! Now you can stay with Four and not have to worry about leaving me in a lurch! Yay!" I clap my hands lightly and quickly hoping for an ounce of relief. I don't get it. All I get is a frown and another damned tear!

But, then she nods her head, and I'm a tad bit reassured. "Okay."

"Tris, you will stay with him, right? You know he wants you to."

"Yeah, he does. At least, I think so. I'm not at my best lately, so…"

"He understands."

"Understanding isn't enough, Chris. I think he may feel…trapped. He stayed at the office last night because he needed time…and sleep."

"He _said_ that?"

"Worse. He texted it, which means…"

"…it took forethought, and he meant it." I may have just put my foot in my mouth, but that is a pretty selfish thing to say to someone who experiences night terrors. _What a shithead!_

"Christina, he's not sleeping. And it's because of me! This has all… _not_ been good for him. I know I keep saying that, but colloquialism isn't my thing, right now."

We sit, not talking…at all, for a few moments and I try, for, like, the millionth time, to put myself in her shoes. If I had even a doubt that Will may not want me to move in, there's no way in hell I would do it. _But maybeeee…._

"What if you just gave it a shot with him? Ya know, a couple more weeks? You can put most of your stuff in storage seeing as he already has a sweet set-up. And then, if it doesn't work out, you have an easy exit." I realize what I just said is wrong on so many levels. But, I just don't want her to give up, yet. She needs someone. She needs him. "Hey! This could be a good thing! Maybe it's what you two need—some permanency."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"So, you'll talk to him?"

She takes down the last of her coffee. "No, time like the present."

* * *

 **AN:** I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! I actually have the next chapter written. I just need to go back and add the goods.

Find me at **/nitewriter4** on Facebook if you want to join in on the private page, or search for **Kris Daniels** and "like" the fan page.


	16. Admissions Pt 1

**Chapter 16 -** Admissions Pt. 1

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I hang up with the moving company and immediately listen to Tobias's Voicemail—

"Hey, I'm, uh, just checking in. Please call me, or at least, text me. Just so I know you're okay. Um, please. Okay…bye."

Then, I listen to the consecutive one, even though, I know exactly what it says—

"I love you," in his grumbly tone.

I wipe the lone tear that escapes upon hearing his weary voice. So, I decide to text him, knowing I would absolutely lose it if I had to endure a conversation.

 **Me:** I'm fine. We'll talk when you're done with work.

I've tried to run how that conversation is going to go through my mind, but I keep coming up with a blank.

 _Do I tell him what I heard? Does it make a difference that I did? It's fuckin' embarrassing. I know that much! And, I know exactly what he'd say if I bring it up—he'd deny it because he'd know it would break me!_

He texts me back instantly.

 **Tobias:** K

 **Tobias:** Just so you know, I would rather hear your voice.

"I would rather hear yours too," I whisper to no one.

I turn my phone off, resisting the temptation to review and scrutinize the texts and voicemails from Tobias for the last day-and-a-half.

I look down at my glass, swishing around the contents, wondering why I'm even up here. I should be looking for apartments. That was my excuse for missing work, after all. The worried tone of Tori's voice reached right through the phone, making me nauseous _._

 _So sick of people feeling sorry for me. So, I'm moving out! Who the hell cares?! Tobias may…or may not give a damn! I'm giving him space, an out. He definitely wants one. Fuck, I thought I knew what he wanted…and I would have put everything on the line that it was for me to stay. I mean, he loves me. He does. But…you can love someone, yet, not see a future with them, right? I mean, look at Christina and Will. She loves him, and she's LEAVING!_

I wonder what Tobias is thinking, as in, right at this moment, what he's thinking. Hell, he may not be thinking anything—going about his day, being smart and amazing, knowing he's done his job by calling and texting—the dutiful Tobias routine.

And here's the humiliation, again—the reason I didn't come home last night. The coldness and sincerity of the words, leaving mental scars every time I run them over in my mind.

 **Flashback:**

The whole Gertie Christina introduction didn't play out as poorly as I thought. I saw Gertie peeking around the corner and, basically, lingering, in general, throughout my and Chris's exchange. If she thoroughly disapproved, she would have said something. Although, when Christina asked for permission to come back, Gertie's response of, "Not without accompany," along with Christina's correction of the phrase, didn't do Chris any favors.

I can't believe she's leaving, for good—moving! Another wave of emotion hits me while I quickly look away from people as they pass by me getting off the elevator.

Holding it together for Christina was one of the more painful things I've had to do recently, speaking in relative terms. She's the second person I met when I got here. And she has put up with my disaster-mine of a life ever since day one. Next to Tobias, she's helped me more than anyone in my life. A lonely feeling travels through me, although I know it's ridiculous. I know I'm not alone. I have other friends: Shauna and I have become closer, and I have Tori and Marlene. Shit, even Lynn! Along with Matthew and, well, hopefully still Will. I'll be fine! Because, above all, I still have Tobias. Even though, it feels like things are slipping away—last night being the huge wake-up call that it was. I know we had a fight, but…staying at the office? So he could think and sleep? Zeke's comment rings true in my head _again_ —"looking out for him."

Christina _did_ make a valid point with the whole 'making things more permanent' idea. Maybe that's what holding me back? Maybe this step would steady things? Tobias hasn't mentioned me living with him in almost three weeks, but maybe that's just because he's not pressuring me. I wonder if there is someplace deep down inside me that needs reassurance that Tobias is in this for the long haul.

 _Geez, how insecure can a person be? Think of all the things he endured to be with you, idiot! Okay, you're here to apologize for not being forthcoming. You're going to tell him you love him and will try not to be focused so much on yourself—No, don't say that! There has to be a way around that! Um…suggest spending more time together. Dinners? Maybe let him come into the bar more? I will be more…honest! He would definitely want to hear that. Okay. Go, Tris!_

I practically trip out of the elevator, righting myself immediately as to pull off a smooth entrance, which is so not needed because…no one's paying attention to me, thank God. So I tip toe, don't ask me why, past Will's office, peeking in to see that he's not there, and then I walk straight to Tobias's office.

I can hear Matthew's boisterous laughter from somewhere across the floor, followed by the more hushed laughter of some other associates. "Tell me you did _not_ say that!" a female employee says. I don't catch the rest of the conversation, but I still smile at the sound of Matthew's voice. Although, I kind of want to murder him for spilling the beans to Tobias—something I would have rather done on my own when I could figure out a way to reign in Tobias's short fuse.

I stop short of his office and take a deep breath, craning my neck around the door only to see—

"Will?" I clarify. And I only clarify because it's kind of funny—He's making Tobias's bed. But then I'm sad because, well, that's where Tobias slept.

"Shit…hey," Will responds weakly as he sits on the bed. "Laugh all you want, get it all out."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, not able to resist taking him up on his offer of laughter.

"Because he's an ass," he chuckles along with me, but not with as much enthusiasm.

"I, um, had coffee with Christina," I mention with a frown. "How are you holding up?"

He sighs and stretches his arms over his head, trying to cover up the emotion in his face. "I'm in denial."

"Will—"

"I have to track down my team before Matthew causes too much of a ruckus."

"Yeah, well…he's half-way there." I smile, accepting that the topic of Christina is off limits.

"Four's in the conference room."

"Oh," I respond, disappointed. "He has a meeting?"

"Yeah, but maybe you can catch him before it starts. Don't know what happened between you guys, but he feels like a schmuck."

"Well, he shouldn't. I'm the reason he—Shit, I'm the reason you're doing this!" I gesture to him as he throws his wrinkled tie, which I recognize as Tobias's, over his shoulder and wipes out the sink with a paper towel. "Did he make you wear that tie too?"

"Yeah, something about tangling hogs."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna head down—"

"Oh, and tell him to look up toiletries and coconut oil on his own time."

I pause momentarily, as Will continues with his coerced custodial duties. "Did I hear that correctly? _Toiletries_ and _coconut oil_?"

"Yeah, why?" he asks as if he didn't just ask me to pass on the most random message of all times.

"Nothing," I quip in a voice that's a decibel too high as I back out of the room. "I'll be sure to do that."

 _God, they're weird together._

I make it about ten feet down the hall, half-way to the conference room, when Tobias's commanding pay-fucking-attention-to-me voice demands that whoever the hell is in that meeting call him 'Four.' _Take it down a notch, geez._

"Hi!" announces a friendly, unassuming voice as a woman bypasses me looking over her shoulder with a pot of coffee. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Hi, um, I'm looking for…Four. Is it okay if I peek my head in?" I ask in a more timid voice than I prefer. _Why am I always nervous when I'm here?_

"I don't know the rules," she whispers as if we're conspiring. "I'm just asking if I can help you because that's probably what I should do. But I can find out! Wait…" She narrows her eyes at me appraisingly. "Are you…the girlfriend? Coffee and Nutella?"

"Ayeayeaye." I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment. "In the flesh. And you must be his new assistant."

"Yeeeeah," she squeaks, acknowledging my embarrassment. "I'm Jamie."

"Tris." I reach out, and we shake hands quickly. "Sorry about yesterday…"

"Oh, God, don't be! It showed his true colors. Although, I _true_ -ly have never seen that many shades of red on a man's face."

I laugh lightly at her play on words as she scoots ahead of me and enters the boardroom. But, I stop short, as I see Tobias's handsome face through the slot between the window and the blinds. He is looking intently at someone, almost to the point of boring holes in their head.

 _"… … … …_ keeping things together quite well around here. Business is booming! People are lining up to work with you ever since Mr. Ghadi, here, scooped you up," I hear an older gentleman who is out of my vantage point say, congenially.

The voices are a little muffled, but I can still hear them clearly, and I can't help but smile at Tobias's brilliance. I'm thrilled that he gets to hear it from other people, not just me, who he claims is biased.

"He earned my 'scoop,' I assure you."

I freeze up at Amar's voice and back away. _How could I NOT have anticipated running into him? Shit! Is what I'm doing, right now, unprofessional? I need to get the hell out of here!_

I turn, ready to leave Gertie's coffee on Tobias's desk with a very friendly, very, very, very professional note and maybe a—

"…I hear there's a girl in your life."

I reverse my exit a couple of steps because, well, I'm human, and they are talking about me. _Aren't they? Why isn't Tobias answering? Maybe this guy's talking to someone else?_

I flatten my back against the wall and crane my neck to see that the man is still directing his attention to Tobias, who is flitting his eyes elsewhere.

"She must be special if she caught your eye. I don't remember you being quite the ladies man."

"I'm not," Tobias answers in his grave voice—the one that's slow and purposeful, yet, not intimidating.

"So, things _are_ serious then?" he chides. "Do I hear wedding bells in your future?"

My face warms and I bite my lips between my teeth wondering how Tobias is going to play this one off. I can see the blush creep up his neck, and I can't help but giggle a little.

"Did someone say wedding bells? Are you engaged?"

I cover my mouth and look away, so I don't bust a gut in wait for Tobias's fumbling response to this woman. So, I have to imagine the redness creeping up into his cheeks as he tries to swallow a smile and—

"No." The blunt edge to his voice makes my heart sink just a little. _Why? We're NOT engaged. You're being an idiot._

"But he has a girl," the man carries on as I sneak a peek and watch Tobias search the room for an escape. "And I bet with this man…that _means_ something."

I'm scrutinizing his face, and I can't tear my eyes away. One glance in my direction by his wandering eyes and I'd be caught. I may be the only person in the world to catch it, but the slight movement in his eyes, prove that he's opened some compartment in the back of his mind—most likely one he's never disclosed to anyone.

Suddenly he presents a slight smirk and light expression. "And why would you think that?" His voice is riddled with sarcasm.

I suddenly find myself pressed against the wall again, the back of my head flush with the drywall. _Don't read into that. Don't read into that. Don't read into that._ The voices become more muddled, as the shuffling of bodies seems to migrate away, unless, that's just the result of my equally as muddled mind.

"Sorry, if I touched on a sensitive subject," the man comments. "The engagement question is a very common thing to ask people in serious relationships."

"Well, it's a good thing I have absolutely _no_ plans of future engagement. Now … …. …"

I feel like my feet are glued to the floor, as his words sink in—the coldness of them as if even the thought of a future together chilled him to the bone. My body is screaming to get the hell out of there, but my mind is filing through everything—every moment I've questioned from the time I awoke in the hospital, the unsure looks, things left unsaid, personal stories never shared, sideways glances, communication gaps, physical disinterest… … …

 **End Flashback**

"Jesus, suck it up, Prior," I announce, aggravated at myself for running over that scenario, yet again.

It wasn't the fact that he has no plans for us being _engaged_ (honestly, the thought scares the hell out of me, for his sake), it was the way he said it—he has "absolutely _no_ future plans for engagement." I also took it as a sign. I was making the trek to his office to inform him of what I thought would be good news to him, the news of my staying permanently—turns out I avoided a hell of a lot of humiliation. I would have been able to read it on his face, the feigned look of excitement—because of course, he wouldn't turn me down; he wouldn't be able to.

"There is no way you are drinking alone, sister!" I just about lose my breath as Shauna plows into me, nearly knocking me off the lounger I'm pouting on into the planter on my left. "Especially not up here! Woooooeeeeee!" she exalts as her head does a 180 of the surrounding buildings.

"What the…?! What are you doing here—"

"Spilled the beans." Lynn plops down on the chair next to me, immediately taking her shirt off, revealing her may-as-well-be-naked upper torso as she reclines back to sun herself.

"Why even wear a bra, Lynn?!" Christina shouts from the entrance.

"You told them?!" I accuse, smacking Lynn's arm.

"You crash at my place; I crash your rooftop. S'only fair." She shrugs. "Plus, your last text—the one saying you're 'drinking…alone…on a roof-top.' Slightly disturbing. Didn't want you to jump—big 'ole mess on the sidewalk. Saving you the embarrassment and saving Four the clean-up."

Christina kicks Lynn's legs out of the way and sits on the end of the lounger, several bottles clinking together from the bag she's carrying. A bag that looks suspiciously like the one's Tobias keeps under his sink.

"Yeah, Tris babe, that text. Not cool," Shauna remarks, pinching my leg.

I turn to look at Lynn, again, ready to accuse her of letting nosey people reads my texts.

"Stop fucking staring, Prior. That text sounded suicidal. Now, someone get me a cocktail. Need a pick-me-up."

"Pick your lazy ass up…out of my _chairs!_ "

"Oh, so now they're _your_ chairs? 'Cause last night you were ready to make a break for it."

I deliver her a death glare.

"Your demon daggers don't affect me."

"How the…hell did you guys get up here?!" Then a wave of nervousness hits me at the idea that Tobias is just floors below me. "Is...Four…is he…is he home—"

"Nah, I stole the key," Christina jumps in as she starts rummaging around in the bag, pulling out the several brands of good vodka Tobias bought for me when he found out I like a Vodka Soda every now and then. "Alright, Lynny Lynn Lynn—Belvidere, Grey Goose, Tito's, Effen, Crystal Head—"

"You…what?! And don't drink my booze!" I exalt as I grab the skull-shaped bottle from her.

"Oh, so now it's _your_ boose—"

"Shut-up, Lynn."

"Yeah," Christina continues as she hands Lynn a bottle of Tito's. "…from the front desk!"

"How?!"

"Hahaha! That Jonathan kid was there. Oh, he is so, so, precious—"

"I distracted him with my boobs," Shauna interjects factually. "Like this."

I look down as Shauna, who is wearing a low V-neck tank top, shrugs her shoulder in and props her breasts on her crossed arms.

"And I just snuck right up behind him and cha-ching! Got the key, raided the apartment for alcohol and got the pool card. We're awesome," Christina quips laughing at their antics.

"Don't…tell…Four…you did that," I warn. "Ever. Ever, ever."

"Chillax, Tris. I'll take the blame," Shauna reassures.

"Hey, ya'll!" I hear the token Marlene screech which is even worse when she adds her cowgirl accent. "What?" She stops in her tracks, noticing the distaste on my face. "Isn't that how _ya'll_ say it in Wisconsin?"

"No."

"Sure you do! You know what they say…" Christina adds, cheekily. "…the further North you go; the further South you go."

"No one says that," I deadpan.

"I've heard it," Lynn droles, lazily.

"Shit, we don't have any mixers," Christina mutters, handing Marlene the bottle of Belvidere. "Jooooonaaaaathaaaannnn," she coos." Get your cute little tush over here," she beckons as he just about trips over himself to come running—most likely at the sight of Lynn.

"Ugh! You guys… I'm fine! You all need to leave! Now! Like, right now!"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

 **Flashback:**

I pace while Amar makes idle chit chat with the remaining associates and now official clients. _WE GOT THE FUCKING ACCOUNT NOW LET THEM LEAVE!_

"Hey, pal. Here's your phone," Will strolls in and tosses me my phone, which I catch without taking my eyes off of Amar. "Nice catch. Tris tell you what I said?"

"And how would that have been possible, William?" I grumble still attempting my telepathy with Amar.

"Uuuuhhhh…'Cause she was here? I sent her down to come see you."

"She was…here?" And now my attention has been 100% diverted. "What did you say? What did she say? Why didn't she stay? When—"

"Will, my friend," Amar interrupts, suddenly appearing behind Will as if he teleported across the room. "I need to speak with Four," he states in his voice that says he means business.

"Sure thing."

"Wait, don't go!"

Will stops his retreat and delivers me an eyebrow raise in response to my uncharacteristic reaction.

"I just…want to know..."

My mind is momentarily reeling _. She was here! Thank God, she was here. Wait… Why was she here? To tell me off? I can take it. I deserve that. Well, at least, some of it. She still kept it from me that she saw Marcus—_

"Tobias."

I look up to see that Will had excused himself before I completed a coherent sentence.

"You deserve an explanation for my conduct."

I rub my eyes, finally relaxing for a moment seeing as Amar and I are the only ones present. "Only if you feel it's necessary," I breathe out, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms.

"Oh, it's necessary," he chuckles raising his eyebrows in definite annoyance with himself. He shakes his head and gazes out the window as I count the seconds—seconds of my life I will never get back and should be putting to good use, trying to get a hold of Tris.

"Amar, I really need to—"

"Sometimes, I let my emotions get the better of me," he jumps in before I can deter him. "It doesn't happen often, but when it does, there is always somehow who takes the brunt of it. Ask George," he laughs. "Sometimes I can't believe he agreed to marry me." He zones in on a water mark on the table and traces it idly with his pointer finger while pausing for a horrifically long…several…seconds. "What I'm about to tell you is in no way, shape, or form an excuse for how I acted." He looks at me pointedly.

"Amar, enough with the dramatic pauses. For the love of God—"

"My father died late Sunday night. Had a stroke in the bathtub and drowned."

I close my eyes as the heat of pure guilt takes over my face. "Shit," I breathe out. "Amar—"

He holds his hand up, cutting me off. "I'm not to be pitied. Do we have an understanding?"

I know all too well where he's coming from. I don't even want to be associated with the last name Eaton because of the pity on people's faces who remember my mother, or who know my father is scum. I somehow turned out okay, in spite of my shitty childhood. I'm not the one who was beaten both physically and emotionally, provided with drugs, driven to an early grave…or any other heinous things Marcus did to my mother. I'm not one to be pitied.

"Yes."

"My father was not a man to be respected, particularly how he handled himself upon his demise. I disliked him almost as much as you do yours. There was not much love lost between the two of us. And he made that very, very, well known upon the distinctive request written in his last will and testament—that his 'eldest son, Amar Lal Ghadi, not be in attendance at his funeral.'"

I give Amar a moment to collect himself and also to digest that information myself. A mix of emotions that I can't grasp overcomes me at the idea of Marcus not wanting me at his funeral—namely anger and relief.

"He always blamed me for Ravi's death. Which is rich because it was _my father's_ stupidity that caused a certain dangerous criminal to retaliate."

"What exactly did he do?" I cringe at my terrible lack of timing with that question. "I'm sorry, that was _not_ the right moment to ask that."

"Indeed it was not, my friend. Tact has never been your strong suit. But, I'll answer anyway."

"Sorry," I mumble.

"My father made a deal with a buyer for more than Carlos had authorized, and he pocketed the surplus coin in offshore accounts…using the same banker as Carlos."

I nod my head, not wanting to make light of his father's beyond idiotic maneuver, seeing as it caused the death of his brother.

"In any case, my father being my father, needed someone to blame. And seeing that he wouldn't admit that he caused the repercussions, he decided to blame me for the act itself—for _how_ it actually happened."

"I don't understand."

"Ravi died a slow death." Amar stops and clenches his jaw, a technique I use when trying to hold back emotion that is threatening me. "They tied his hands, so they wrapped around his backside, and then tethered him to a tree, hiding the ropes under his shirt. Then they tied string around his neck, professional fishing line, looped the wire over a very high tree branch and weighted it," he explains, detached—as if he's already replayed this scenario countless times, to the point he is completely desensitized. "So, every move Ravi made, every swallow or too harsh of a breath, any squirming, tightened the string around his neck…until it killed him. It probably took hours."

"Jesus, Amar—"

"You know what the sick bastard used to leverage the string?"

He looks at me, finally, and I see the redness in his eyes that he has absolutely no chance of hiding.

"A fuckin' Tommy Gun! A 1918, mint-condition, Thompson Submachine Gun. One that John T. Thompson probably held in his own damned hands!"

I furrow my eyebrows in curiosity at the choice of weaponry, having an extensive knowledge of guns myself, but not wanting to ask any more questions than necessary.

"My father handled the antique end of Carlos's arms business," he informs, sensing my confusion. "This particular model being the one with which my father made his blunder."

I flex my jaws trying to hold back my own selfish anger at my mother—the fact that she would choose to be with, choose to love, a man who murders innocent kids. A sadist—no, two sadists, one as a husband and another as her lover. _I didn't know her…at all._

"… … walked by him so many times throughout that day."

I focus back on Amar, praying he didn't notice my self-centered moment.

"I even kicked his leg! Not even looking up to see his face! I just thought he was being…Ravi! My brother was lazy! That was the tree he slept under! And I was pissed that, yet again, he was 'resting' while I was working! So, I decided to fucking ignore him!" he seethes in anger at himself as the first tear breaks free. "I very well may have been able to prevent Ravi's death—"

"Amar—"

"Do not argue with me on this account!"

Amar has sat back and listened to me, without judgment or comment, during my rare, uncharacteristic outbursts, so I owe him the same courtesy. Placing blame can be relieving, even when you're blaming yourself.

"I know how I sound! Self-deprecating, off-putting, weak—the gamut of adjectives that repulse me in others, I find in myself. It's quite ironic."

"You're none of those things, and I don't give a shit if you disagree with me," I state as if I just recited a passage from an encyclopedia.

He nods his head after a moment accepting the fact that I won't tolerate him berating himself.

"My father needed someone to take his anger out on. And it was me…until the day he died, and after, it turns out."

"Sounds to me like your atypical behavior this week, was pretty damned warranted, Amar. No one in their right mind would blame you for acting even _slightly_ erratic after that," I reassure.

"Wow, my friend. That is _beyond_ understanding considering your deep affections. I plan to speak to Tris as soon as possible. I can only assume she's quite angry with me."

I frown at his exaggeration. "No, not at all. She's mad at herself," I sigh. "She's embarrassed that she came into the office at all, that day—all things considered. She knows coming up here when she was…well, the way she was, wasn't the wisest choice and—"

"I didn't give her much choice. Damn it." He runs his hands down his face in regret as an unsettling realization makes itself know to me.

"Nobody makes choices for that woman, so what the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, she wasn't quite herself, so, this time…she did. And apparently, she has been less than candid with you."

"Continue," I utter slowly as he looks at me sideways.

"She called me first, knowing she was out of sorts. She asked to reschedule our meeting, and I denied her. She even offered to meet in the damned coffee shop, but I made her come into the office. She knew what she looked like, but she still came in—her head not held as high as I'm used to seeing. I used her demeanor and appearance…and exploited it. She didn't want to let me down. I was the one who let her down."

I bite my lips between my teeth to keep myself in check. The utter shame in his admission makes me want to admonish him of guilt, but the protective side of me, when it comes to Tris, is riding high as well.

The words I presented Tris with, last night, resonate. The snide remark I made, in reference to Jonathan's special errand, dripping with underlying meaning—" _If I wasn't one of the owners of the company it may have been. But, otherwise, it was pretty unprofessional. Do you understand the meaning of that word?"_

I just about groan aloud at the amount of temporary pleasure that one comment gave me. I remember her brow furrowing in embarrassment—her mind, most likely, recalling the conversation she had right here in this room with Amar, and then the amount of strength it took for her to take that comment in stride and walk away. I have to bite down on my thumbnail (something I never do), so I don't lose my shit right there.

"Okay," I clear my throat and remain calm. "I'm sure she'll understand or maintain a level of compassion once you explain it—"

"I was quite unkind to her, as well."

"How unkind?" I growl.

"I treated her like a child, talked down to her, wouldn't even take a second look at the fucking pro-bono work she did for us." He pushes himself away from the table and stands, walking toward the window.

I wipe the sweat accumulating off my brow just thinking about the amount of hours she put into those houses—one in particular.

"Honestly, it felt great at the time—talking down to someone, making myself feel more important. I've come a long way since I left my family—I've worked hard and created a thriving company out of nothing. Apparently, there is a festering part of me that wanted to make that known—not to her, to myself. She was just my vessel." He pauses and then turns to look at me. "Tobias?"

My stare reflects my acknowledgment.

"I chastised her for using my 'good name…'" He uses air quotes to add sarcasm. "…and made it very clear that I will no longer vouch for her talent."

"Amar," I say in as even-toned of a voice as I'm capable of. But, I have no words to give him beyond that because I'm dumbfounded and torn between two worlds.

Tris already lacked so much confidence in herself when it comes to her artistry. Now with the scene at Dalilah's and Amar's words—no wonder she was too embarrassed to tell me about it, her self-assurance having been stamped out.

"I'm so sorry," Amar adds as I stand, unable to give him the reassuring look I'm sure he's craving. "I plan to speak to her right away."

I nod my head and move towards the door.

"And, I was… …. to comment …. …," he mutters barely audibly.

"Didn't quite catch that," I remark stopping at the door.

"I was too quick to comment about Dalilah!" he repeats in an elevated voice. "Truth be told, she's fairly ruthless. She has excellent taste in art, is a successful gallery owner with many connections, but, truthfully, she can be quite atrocious."

"Are you speaking of the same woman to whom you referred as a…'dear…friend,'" I clarify dryly.

Amar's lack of response is all I need.

"Excuse me."

A twinge of guilt makes itself known as I exit the conference room. I understand Amar is going through his own shit, and he was certainly there for me at a time when I needed him most, but Amar isn't alone in this, he has George. Tris needs me.

Unclenching my hands from my phone is the hardest part, seeing as my body doesn't want to do what I'm asking it to. But somehow I manage it, along with walking on the elevator as it seems to be waiting for me.

I see that I missed a call from Tris, and I let out a sigh of relief as I bring the phone up to my ear to call her back.

"Hello?" she answers immediately as if she'd been waiting for the call.

"Hey," I say softer than I intend, probably sounding like a wuss.

"Hi."

"Fuck, I'm so glad you answered," I breathe out. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Are you okay?" I mumble. The pause is too long in between my question and her answer, so I nervously start rambling. "I, um, tried to call this morning, but my phone died, so I had Will call. Did you…did you see that he called? Because, technically, or not technically, it was me."

"Mmm hmm." Her response is hi-pitched and shaky.

"Okay…" I wrack my brain on what else to say because there's just too damned much. "And then I had a meeting and… Fuck, I have so much to talk to you about. Will said you came by the office. Why did you leave?"

"Your meeting had started."

"Okay. Where are you?" I ask taking note of the sudden detachment in her tone. "Can I meet you somewhere? Please don't say 'no.'"

I hear a deep sigh on the other end of the line.

"Tris, some of the things I said to you last night, were…just hurtful and wrong. I was angry, and I handled it…as expected. I'm pretty damned predictable," I chuckle.

She doesn't find it funny because I hear absolutely no comment back from her.

"I never should have stayed at the office. I… _did_ text you back last night, well, technically, I texted _Zeke_ back." I take a beat, letting that hopeful information sink in. "Hey! I can send you a screenshot—"

"Tobias—"

"I just talked to Amar," I interrupt before she can give me a reason not to stay on the phone. "He told me what he said to you. He was wrong, so wrong, and he knows it. He wants to apologize—"

"That's not necessary," she gets out hastily.

"I wish you had told me…more about that conversation." I exit the elevator, the business in the lobby making it hard to hear, but that seems to be fine because she's not _talking._

"But…I mean, it's okay. I just… Hey, can you tell me where you are? I miss you."

"I…"

"Tris?"

"Yeah?" she answers in the same higher-pitched tone as before.

"What are you doing? Are you…busy? I'm just leaving work."

"Ah… Yeah, yes, yes. I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

I hear her clear her throat and suck in a breath. "Looking at apartments."

I stop in my tracks as my heart sinks into the sidewalk. I drove her to move out.

"You said you'd talk to me first," I say, surprising myself that _that_ was the first thing out of my mouth.

"I am. I mean I would have. I…haven't signed anything, yet—"

"Well, I'll meet you," I suggest, a plan forming in my head. Maybe if I 'help' her, I can subtly prove to her that this is a terrible idea, and she should stay with me. "I can help—"

"No, I'm fine."

 _Or…not…_

"I want to do it, myself," she remarks proudly, but I hear underlying hesitation.

"Please don't sign a lease, yet. Shit, are you sure about this? Can we talk about it first? Please don't jump into anything. Fuck…is this…because of me? Because of last night? Or—"

"No, it's because of me."

 **End Flashback**

I toss my glasses on the table and groan into my hands—an unintentional routine each time Tris crossed my mind today. Thank God for being a new partner at ALG. I had enough to do, and plenty more where that came from, to adequately distract me from Tris's absence. Which means, she crossed my mind every ten minutes, versus every five minutes.

Last night, I got a taste of what it feels like to make dinner (which means I got fancy take out but had it ready to go on plates with silverware, napkins, and red wine) and have it go uneaten. It left a rock in my gut, not out of pity for myself, but having put Tris through that several times—except she actually _made_ the fucking dinner.

She didn't come back to the apartment last night, her text being the following—

 **Tris:** Found a place. Didn't sign a lease. Heading out for drinks with Lynn. We'll talk later.

And then the consecutive text at 11:00 PM.

 **Tris:** Goonna crash here. Not drunk. Don worry. Well talk ltr. _Yeah, okay, Tris…_

 _And Lynn…of all fuckin' people! Why, why and why?!_

I glance at the clock, seeing that it's 3:00. _I can go home now, right? Did I just ask myself that? I can go to my apartment anytime I damn well please!_

I stand and march out of my office, not even cleaning up my desk, nor turning the light off because right now I just don't give a fuck. I make it to the elevator as the impending doom seeps its way into my brain—the conversation I have absolutely no interest in having—Tris moving out. Maybe if I just keep repeating the word "No" each time she tries to mention it, she'll get the hint that, as far as I'm concerned, in my opinion, if it were up to me, if I had any damn say in any of this, she'd stay! Permanently.

Maybe I should go to the gym, first…or go for a run, first…or just stay here. None of those options sound particularly appealing at the moment. Honestly, the only thing that does sound enticing is alcohol.

 _So, I should get coffee, instead._

* * *

I stop outside Gertie's door and realize I have my hands shoved in my jeans pockets, and I'm actually kicking at the sidewalk like a kid who doesn't know what to do with themselves. I shake my head and enter just as someone attempts to come out at the same time. We make eye contact, and I recognize her, quite accurately, as the inappropriate face-toucher from Dalilah's gallery.

"Mr. Handsome?" she asks with as surprised of a look as myself. "Right?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that."

"Forgive me…I just never found out your name. From the gallery? You're Tris's…I don't really know, boyfriend?"

All I hear is the word gallery, and I'm suddenly both intrigued and on my guard at the same time. But, her kind, concerned eyes make me trust her, which is odd for me.

"Yes," I answer still on my guard.

"Um…well," she fumbles nervously, so I soften my unintentionally severe demeanor, which seems to relax her. "We were never properly introduced. I'm Sofi."

"Four," I respond warily, reaching out and returning her very delicate handshake. It's not the distasteful dead fish shake some people give, nor is it the hard assured handshake most Midwesterners approve of. It's purposefully delicate, reminding me of the first time I met a certain other French lady, although _she_ was loath to shake my hand. I take note of Sofi's odd accent and make the connection. _No…shit…_

"Oh, so _you're_ the infamous 'Four?' My how my aunt raves about you—and she raves about very few. Wow. This is…very strange," she laughs uncomfortably as I return the gesture. "How, how…is Tris? Is she…? I'm sorry, my accent gets…even more annoying…when I'm…upset. Chicago and French…could there be a…worse combination—"

"SOFIA! Who are you talking to?!" The ever crabby voice of Gertie rings loud and clear. "Never mind, I don't care! Tell them to leave!"

" _Shall_ we?" I usher her back in with a stern (Although, I try to play it off as kind, which means it's still stern.) expression. Having been presented with new knowledge from Amar, I need to find out what the hell happened at the gallery. And, also, Sofi is visibly upset, and the last thing I need is to console a random, near-tears woman in an alley.

 _What the hell would I say? "Don't cry," with an awkward pat on the back?_

"Thank you, yes," she accepts as she passes through the door.

"Sofia! I told you—Ohhhh!" Gertie chides changing her tune from angry to sarcastic. "Gorgeous is back to bring his face back in here again?"

"Afternoon, Gertie," I grunt, not even trying to decrypt what she just said.

"You come for coffee or information?"

Gertie is not the kind of woman who you can say "both" to, so the more strategic part of my brain, which seems to have laid dormant for the past few days, kicks in—Gertie only likes people who drink her coffee.

"Coffee, and to keep your, apparently, niece, company," I reply in my sweetest tone as I pull a chair out for Sofi to sit in.

"Sofi? What's happening with your face? What's going on here?"

"I'm fine, Tatie," she sighs sinking into the chair, dabbing under her eyes with a handkerchief. "It seems as though we have a mutual acquaintance."

"I doubt that! Who?"

"Oh, lá lá, Tatie," Sofi groans. "Four." She gestures to me stating the obvious.

"Oh. And how have you become mutual?"

"His girlfriend displays...or displayed…" She glances at me guiltily. "…at Dalilah's. The piece that you bought is actually her work."

My attention is drawn to the picture of North Beach. It should warm my heart, as almost all of Tris's pictures do, however, at this moment, it does nothing but fuel my possible hate fire.

"No! C'est n'importe quoi! Ma petite would have told me! You're saying she's the anonymous American dumbass?"

"Yes, she is that dumbass," I respond, nodding my head slowly.

"Wait, Tris is…'ta petite'!?" Sofi exclaims.

"Oui."

"This is too much! Do you know Tris is the only other person, apart from you, who my aunt speaks fondly of? Well, as fondly as she's capable."

"Don't make jokes about my high standards! Your standards are the ones that need to be worked!"

Sofi flits her hand, dismissing her Aunt. "She doesn't approve of my girlfriend."

"I don't care." It's out of my mouth before I can think twice. "Sorry."

She shrugs her shoulders. "You shouldn't. I don't, either."

Gertie scoffs and walks toward the back. "Coffee, Mon Cheri?!"

"Please," I respond, in wonder at how she makes a term of endearment sound lethal.

"I must tell you how sorry I am with how things played out the other day…Monday, I mean."

"Monday," I sigh, running my hands down my face, acutely aware that my emotions are betraying my façade.

"You don't have to say a word about it. Don't waste your breath on that horrendous woman. She is truly a beastly individual and, frankly, I had quite enough of making excuses for her lack of compassion. I wasn't getting paid enough to be her social watchdog. And then with what she said to Tris—I quit that very same day."

I reflect on the word 'horrendous,' as Tris had used a very similar word to describe Dalilah. I need to be gentle about this because I don't want any more tears. Also, I need her not to be on her guard.

"What the _hell_ happened?" I ask.

"She…she didn't tell you…?"

"Tris isn't exactly a detailed storyteller," I grumble, toying with a napkin on the table—a used one nonetheless. _What the fuck is wrong with me these days?_ "She tends to leave things out if she feels they're impertinent." I'm also very aware of the fact that I may not have been asking the right questions, seeing as I have no idea what those are.

"Ah, well… I'm not sure of I'm overstepping…"

"Overstep."

She chuckles, "You should be French. No wonder my Auntie loves you."

"I don't love him, right now!" Gertie shouts followed up by French mumbling with a mix of 'Ma Petite' and 'ungrateful donkey' and whatever the hell other expression she's botching.

"In my opinion, Dalilah…" Sofi exhales, dramatically. "…making Tris retrieve her work in twenty minutes—she had no chance… _no…chance_. She was setting her up to fail so it would _look_ like she gave poor Tris a chance—"

"Don't call her 'poor Tris,'" I interrupt, on the defense. "Sorry," I just about whisper. "She's just, too strong to pity—"

"Don't be sorry for that," Gertie deadpans. "You're right. Don't apologize for being right. Your too much of a man for that horse shit." She just about slams the coffee down, somehow not spilling a drop.

"And aside from that," Sofi continues, ignoring her aunt. "Just how flippantly she treated Tris, to begin with—as if she didn't give a shit about what she had been through."

"Tris…told her?" The idea of Tris relaying her trauma when she can barely talk about it with me is unbelievable…unless she felt she had…no…choice. _WHAT…THE…FUCK…_

"Yes. My heart broke for her. She almost choked on her words when she said it. I was…shocked! Shocked! I wish I had known; I could have defended her had I been more prepared. And then…and then…"

I observe a tear trail down Sofi's cheek, but I'm too detached from her to care—my own thoughts and worries about Tris taking complete control.

"…I gave Dali a piece of my mind. Shit! I set her off. I put her in a mood," she whines in self-deprecation. "And when Tris returned—"

"Returned?"

"From…her home? Is my English too formal? Sometimes I come across…and it's… ….too much…to… … … … …"

 _Tell me this woman is delusional. Please tell me I didn't just hear that. Please tell me. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please—_

I feel something on my hand and realize it's another hand—Sofi's. I pull mine away, roughly, and stand.

"Her home?" I just about gag on the words as I retreat across the room, several times only noticing the silence when I catch Gertie's eye and see her mouth slightly agape. "You didn't know?"

"She...she…she failed to mention—But no! She doesn't need to share everything!" she adds defiantly. "Now, sit, sit now! You look like a psychotic hyena!"

"Tais-toi, Tatie! He's upset."

"You think I don't know this. Sofia?!"

"Four." A hand lands on my arm as Sofi invades my space. "Is it too personal?" Sofi places her hand on my face for me to look at her, but I flinch away and back up giving Gertie a knowing glare.

"This one needs his space, Sofia."

I wish Will were here to slap me so I could concentrate, while at the same time grateful that he's not so I can exist in my little bubble of denial.

"So…so, she went…fuck, she went back there?!" I run my hands through my hair, trying to put the fire out.

"Yes," Sofi responds intently. "That fucking bitch _made_ her go back there."

"That red-lighted cunt!" Gertie yells, striking her finger in the air as she comes around the counter.

"Tatie! Don't use that word so freely."

"I don't!"

"She was…keeping her work…" I trail off making eye contact with Sofi. "She wasn't… It wasn't at the gallery? In the basement?! I saw it in the basement. It was in the basement!"

"At one time…yes. Ah, the day you were there! Yes, yes, it was," she consoles looking at me with pity. "Dalilah needed to evaluate her work in proper lighting, but she can't store all of her contracted artists' work—"

"Excuse…me."

I'm out in the alley as a wave of nausea hits me harder than waking up with a hangover. I trip several steps until the urge to vomit threatens me. But I push it away—deserving to keep the poison in my body. I lean my back against the brick of the building and smack my head against it.

All the incredulous looks Tris has given me, the pleading expressions, the helplessness, her nightmares…

...

 _"Tobias," she starts slowly, clearly trying…and FAILING to sound passive. "I only called him because he was down the block and I only had twenty minutes. You're always telling me I need to be smart and ask for help. Well, I did. I knew I couldn't handle it alone. Trust me. I would rather it have been you."_

 _"I am still at such a fuckin loss over this whole 'twenty-minute' thing. How could it possibly have taken you so long? It's not like they were on another damned planet, Tris!"_

 _The look of confusion on her face is almost enraging. I know I need to calm down, but I just don't fucking get it!_

 _"I know I sound like an insensitive prick because I'm sure they invoke a lot of…memories for you, but—"_

 _"They were in the back of the damned closet! What are you not understanding here? And how are you not…?"_

 _I watch her eyes fill with tears and for the first time, my thirst for understanding trumps my compassion for her. And it doesn't help that she's looking at me like I'm a fucking idiot! Am I supposed to know anything about a basement I've never been in? A closet I've never been in?_

 _"Not what?!" I ask with my voice rising in decibel and unintended sarcasm._

 _"More sympathetic?" She practically chokes on her words and I realize how hard that probably was to say and how much a subject change is needed._

 _"Tris, I'm trying to be. I really am—"_

 _"Never mind, I've never had any use for anyone's sympathy, and I sure as hell don't need to start with yours. Forget those words ever came out of my mouth."_

 _I walk toward the balcony, gazing out at the awful view. It's preferential to carrying on this pointless conversation seeing as she won't even LET me try to understand._

 _"Talk to me about what happened on the sidewalk. Not at Dalilah's. We need to seriously move on from that," I retort this time with an excessive amount of intended sarcasm._

…..

I pull on the neck of my t-shirt to prevent it from choking me, but I soon realize that it isn't my shirt, it's the guilt. And, it's not choking me; it's consuming me.

I envision the look on Tris's face, now that I have seen it in its purest form, as she stood in her apartment—the look of all-encompassing fear—the fight or flight at war with each other.

I was so fucking busy trying to _comprehend_ the logistics...that I totally _missed_ the logistics. I wanted to rationalize her behavior in the easiest way possible—the shortest distance between two points. I heard her, but I didn't listen to her. The girl I say I know so well… The one who deflects when things are truly upsetting. How did I NOT pick up on it this time? The shortened sentences, the walking away, the taking 100% of the blame… _HOW THE FUCK DIDN'T I KNOW?! Am I that disconnected?_

You know what the worst part is? She sure as shit listens to me! She read right through the riot act of bullshit I gave her the other night because she… knows…ME! I saw the way she looked at me—how she turned away when I said anything cruel, rather than telling me off. How all it took was for her to look me in the eye to see that I knew I was being cruel, and that I hated it! One look for her to know that if she didn't leave, I would have said something I regret. She prevented _me_ from making a damned mistake!

I take off down the alley, but then screech to a stop with a loud growl and jog backward toward Gertie's. I stick my desperate head in the door. "Tell me the basement, at least, has a closet."

* * *

 **Shauna's POV:**

"I mean, seriously, I still can't believe you _read_ that shit!" I state to Christina, having just found out the mass amount of Erotica she reads.

Tris sips way-too-loudly on her vodka and nods in agreement giving me a thumbs up with one eye closed, apparently, having gotten over the fact that we crashed her pity party.

"Yep. And I love it! Show of hands, ladies?" Christina orders, wanting us to own up.

Marlene's hand shoots up in the air like a rocket, Tris shakes her head, and Lynn doesn't seem to give a shit, but, I get a challenging look from Christina.

"Alright, me too," I admit remembering the last book I read and exactly how lucky Zeke got after I read one scene, in particular. "I've read my fair share. But, I'm getting more critical of my literature as I age," I add very proud of my evolution.

"Ahhhh…" Christina responds knowingly. "Turnin' into a smut snob. I get it. Don't get me wrong; I read it—all of it, but sometimes I squirm a little, and not in the good way."

"Agreed. I can no longer stand reading the word 'loin'—"

"Reminds me of pork," Lynn comments dryly.

"Also, 'succulent,' 'plunge,' and 'plunder.' And let me tell you, the skin of a penis is not _velvety_ , and, good God, women do NOT like to be _impaled_ by a cock! Also, the phrase 'blow his load' is just…so not-sexy."

"Yeah… 'love juices.' That's a bad one," Tris adds sucking on a lime.

"I knew you were reading my books!" Christina squeals throwing her lemon at Tris. _"'The fruit of her loins squeezed him like a vice, and the subsequent love juices that overflowed_ —'"

"Blech. Stop, stop and stop," Tris whines with a hiccup.

"I can dig it," Lynn responds.

"Well, I'm with Tris. I can't get through sex scenes without laughing! Who the hell wants to get pile-drived by a throbbing cock?! Don't look at me like that, Chris!" I acknowledge her eyebrow raise. "You can't honestly tell us you say Will's name like a prayer."

She taps her cheek with her straw looking out toward the lake. "No, praying is the last thing on my mind when I'm being penetrated. But, I will say, some things are off my roster."

"Such as?" Tris laughs, not believing Christina even _has_ standards.

"Anal sex and incest."

A chorus of groans, yikes, and yucks takes over all of us as I get a case of the heebie-jeebies.

"Well, I'm all about the cheese-factor," Marlene pauses waggling her eyebrows as if she's about to say something amazing. "If you gals know what I mean."

We sit waiting for a good five seconds until finally Lynn answers, still flipping through her magazine. "They do."

"Like, 'he shoots her with his love arrow,' or 'he pollinates her with his floral nectar,' or 'his molten member makes her tumble over the edge like lava,'" Marlene recites dramatically.

"Good ones," Christina adds.

"Or 'she swallows his wanker whiskey like a drunken sailor,'" Marlene continues as if that's at all arousing. "Hmmm…. Oh! Here's a good one—He scavenges her like a starved turkey vulture!"

"What the hell—"

"Crapola… There's a couple more… Ummmm... Ummmmm… Oh! My personal favorite—his shark shank devoured her trembling chum bucket—"

"God, Marleeeeene," Tris groans. "Put a lid on it. I'm a puker."

"She definitely is. And Four is not here to hold her hair back."

I pick up on a quick flinch from Tris, but maybe I'm full of it.

"However...I will add…." Chris takes a long drag of her cocktail as visions of chum buckets bounce around in my brain, making me want to yak. "…the terminology of female genitalia is a little weird. Like, ' _womanhood.'_ What the hell is up with that?"

"Or, _'core,'_ " I suggest.

"Reminds me of an apple," Lynn comments.

"I mean, what does that mean anyway? Last I heard, your core was this area of muscle right around here." I circle my arms around my very fit (if I do say so myself) core. "Not your vag!"

"Or… _'heated center?'_ " Christina offers. "Never quite understood that one."

"Or…" Marlene dumps a significant amount of Belvidere into her glass. "…luscious labia."

"Yuck. Oh, and don't get me started on the clitoris. If I have to hear the word _nubbin_ or _love button_ one more time—"

"What the hell are they supposed to call it, Shauna? _Snatch, cunt, pussy_?"

We all stop short and think about Lynn's nasty suggestions, but nobody seems to have anything to contribute.

"Yeah, downside of smut— no good word for vagina," Christina sighs in disappointment.

"And what about orgasms?" I offer up because I have many opinions on this topic. "Seriously, I want to know which one of you has ever milked your partner's orgasm?"

"Reminds me of cow utters," Lynn mumbles.

Marlene's hand goes up as if she wants me to call on her.

"Oh, Lord," I plead. "Tell me we don't have to check you into the nearest dairy farm."

"Me? No, I've never milked Uri," she remarks. "But, how about some of the nutty animal noises? Like…who legitimately growls?"

"Dogs."

"Or when it says she made a 'feral noise' or a 'mewl.' I mean, who the fuck mewls?" I ask.

"Cats."

"Lynn! Enough with the one-word answers." I throw a cube of ice in her direction. "If you're going to contribute, then contribute."

"Nah."

"Wait, what? Like…mule? M-u-l-e?" Marlene asks me, confused.

"No, like a cat sound."

"Isn't that a ' _meow_?'"

"Cats can make more than one sound—"

"Or what about shouting the guy's name? Or even just saying his name!" Christina interjects, jumping back into the conversation. She seems to be distracted by Tris; I think we all are. "I don't know, maybe I'm selfish, but that's kind of my moment, ya know? And saying Will's name? Awkward. I think I'd be more inclined to say my own damned name."

"Well, I shouted Zeke's name once."

"Really?" both Mar and Christina ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, well my head slammed against the headboard mid-milking." I remember the pain shooting down my spine, followed by the empty feeling in my gut from an unfulfilled orgasm. "That was a huge disappointment. But, Zeke's reaction? Priceless."

"Continue…," Christina encourages.

"He said…"Wrong hole?" I use my very best Zeke-out-of-breath-mid-sex voice.

Marlene and Christina just about fall off their chairs from laughter, and I even see Lynn grin at her dumb future-brother-in-law…but Tris…nothin'.

"Tris! Participate!" Marlene shouts way-too-loudly as she rights herself in her chair.

"What? I don't read that shit," she mutters, apparently having missed my amazing Zeke humiliation story.

"But you can comment! Unless… Oh, God. Tell me Four doesn't growl."

"Four doesn't growl," Tris states in a monotone voice. "Well, ya know, he didn't before—As in before he turned into my roommate."

"You guys…don't sleep in the same…bed? Wait, you don't even share a room?!" Marlene asks with wide eyes.

"No, we do."

We all wait for her to continue as she pours herself more Effen.

"We sleep. Ha! Sort of! Anyway, ya know what Shau-na-na-na-na—"

"Don't call me that—"

"I love that you have a yard. I miss yards! I want a yard. How did you score your place?"

I roll my eyes at her obvious subject change but then smile at my and Zeke's luck, and how we stumbled upon the place. "Zeke wanted to live close to the precinct, and I wanted to be close to the beach, so Uptown made the most sense. We actually stumbled on it by accident. We were going for a walk after hitting up Club Blue, and this couple was sitting on the stoop arguing, as in yelling, about Florida real estate and how they don't want to part with this place, etc. So, Zeke being Zeke said, 'Hell, we'll live here!' They were older and had raised their family in that place. Also, they still needed a place to live when they come back for the summer, so Zeke made a deal with the guy—He and I pay for the renovation to convert this place into a two story apartment and they'll prorate the rent to cover the expenses for it. It was kind of a no-brainer because Zeke is really handy, so he and Four did a lot of work on it themselves…saved us a ton on labor—"

"Add it to the list of shit I didn't know about my boyfriend! He moonlights as a sexy carpenter! Dirty white T-shirt, dusty jeans, grumbling at Zeke because he demo-ed the drywall wrong or something."

"Accurate," I agree as I remember the daily ration of bullshit between those two that I had to deal with.

I watch as Tris reclines back in her chair and keeps chuckling at herself; not to herself, _at_ herself. I can tell by the way she is no longer nursing her cocktails, and how she is definitely more chilled than before, that she is primed for interrogation.

"So, Miss Tris?"

"Mmm," she grunts.

"Now that you're sufficiently buzzed…"

"No, I'm not."

"Well, I am!"

"Me too!"

Marlene and Christina cheers while I give the throat-cutting motion. I need them to tone it the fuck down.

"Why are you up here moping like a…mope?"

"Uuuuuuuuugh…" she growls if that's what is considered a growl. "I was just thinkin' 'bout stuff. Ya know…" She sits up suddenly, sloshing her cocktail and grabbing some more fruit. "I jus' need to get out of this neighborhood! Be on my own! It's time."

I narrow my eyes, knowing there's more to it than that, but I figure I'll agree just to keep her talking.

"Yeah, this place is a hole." Although that _is_ fairly true.

"It's a fuckin' death trap. There should be a sign—"Welcome to The Loop! Where culture goes to die!"

"I know. When Four was looking at apartments in Near North, I thought he was nuts. But, his job is right there." I squeeze my right eye, pointing toward the ALG hi-rise. "So…"

"I'm painfully aware of the exact location of his awesome-beyond-belief job."

"Well, I'm cool with it. Especially when we have a whole patio of happiness up here!" Christina grandly waves her arms around the rooftop.

"Does Will have a rooftop haven?" I ask.

Not one second ago Christina had her happy-go-lucky face on, but it has now changed quicker than a mid-western weather forecast. "Yeah, but…not like this. He moved to be closer to work too. See?! People move to be closer to work! It happens all the fuckin' time, right?! You get a job—your dream job—and you move…for work. People do that! Agree with me!"

"I agree with you, crazy lady." _What the hell was that about?_

"Thank you, Shauna. Now, back to happiness…Jonathan!"

"Uh…yeah?"

I see the cute little high schooler peer out from behind a plant.

"Don't be scared," Christina scolds. "Just get ice."

"Okay, but, that's it, right?"

"Aw! Jonathan! I just love ya!" Tris yells to him. "He's a good kid, right?!" she asks all of us for approval, and we all agree—he is an excellent errand boy. "He delivers inappropriate messages like a champ!"

"Oh, and a cutting board! I just about sliced my hand open."

"Just get it from the apartment, you handsome little thing!" Marlene says flirtatiously.

"I don't think Mr. Eaton would want me in his apartment…again," the poor kid pleads.

This would be the third time we've sent him on a mission—first, to the store to buy limes and lemons, second, to get the fun squiggly straws Tris hid in Four's liquor cabinet. She thought it would be funny to make Four use them and get a nice picture to bribe him with, but, must have given up on that one.

"What the hell time is it? Who cares?! Anyway, I guarantee he's _'lost'_ in his work—seems to forget the world functions. But here's a little trick you lil' stud muffin—just flick his nipple if he shows up. Gets him every time," Tris gives the kid a wink as she sips on her drink and shoves a slice of lemon in her mouth.

"Yeah…I'm not gonna do…that."

"Your loss. It's pure comedy."

"Okay, well. Yeah…" Jonathan scurries away as I zone in on Tris again, unrelenting as I am.

"Why…are…you… _looking_ at me…like…that? Tell me! Because you've been doing it all day! I can't ignore your glaring glares anymore! From any of you! I'm too semi-intoxicated for it!"

"Toldja you were tipsy," I respond smugly.

"Don't throw stones at houses, Shaunster!"

"Glass houses. And don't call me that, Marleenie!"

"Seriously? _Glass_ houses? Do you ever hear yourself—"

"So, yeeeeeaaaaah…" Tris stands, swaying a little. "I'm just gonna elephant-in-the-room this shit."

"Can someone, please, explain that phrase—"

"Marlene, shh!" I scold.

"I was abused by my ex-boyfriend for about a year-and-a-half, like the bad kind—ya know, all the –AL words."

"What –AL words—"

"Marlene!"

"Then my parents died without airbags. My brother blamed himself. And now he's crazy and very hungry. Anyway, I got the fuck out of there after one last hurrah with the psychoneurotic sycophant and ended up…here. That's my past. Ya'll _seem_ to know my present!"

 _Yes! Finally, we get to talk about it!_

"You said ya'll! Ha, ha, ha, ha…haaaa!" Marlene jokes as if this is a good time for that.

"Questions?" Tris asks sarcastically and quite on her guard. _Maybe this isn't the best time to talk about things._

"Oh, me, me! Pick me!" Marlene volunteers.

"This should be good."

I give my sister a knowing look, for once, agreeing with her.

"So," Marlene places her hands on her knees, leaning toward Tris, who sits down cautiously. "Do you really eat as much cheese in Wisconsin as everyone says you do?"

We all pause as a surprised look crosses Tris's face, followed by a smirk.

"Yeah! And are bratwursts served at every meal?" Christina adds.

Lynn even jumps on the train. "Do you really call us FIBs?"

"Hmmm…" Tris begins. "I think the cheese thing is a bit over-the-top—we drink more beer than we eat cheese. Bratwursts are not _served_ at every meal, but they are almost always a secondary option no matter where you are, and yes, we hate you…because you drive like assholes."

"Ya know, you can't exactly say 'we' anymore. You've come over to the dark side," I joke, thankful for the lightened mood.

"I have developed quite the devotion. _We…"_ she emphasizes. "...kind of have everything here, ya know? Drive two hours one way and it's like you're in a different time zone. If you drive two hours in Wisconsin, you're still in Wisconsin." She takes a gulp of her drink. "Ah… But I do love me some cheese curds."

Based on my and Zeke's conversation last night. He says the only way he can get anything out of Four is to badger him. And we concluded that maybe Tris is the same. Four doesn't usually know that he needs a friend when he needs a friend. So…maybe…

"So…um. Anything else? I mean, we've barely seen you, so—"

"Why are you acting weird?" Tris blatantly asks me, catching me off guard.

"I'm not."

"You are. Jesus, Shauna, if you have a question, just ask me. I feel like people are talking behind my back, and no one has had the balls to just fucking ask me!"

For once in my life, I stutter because the right words won't come out of me. I know some things, but I want to hear them from her. _Yeah! Say that!_

"The rape test was inconclusive," Tris all but chokes it out before I can even ask her. She grabs for her sunglasses and puts them on upside down, not even noticing.

"What does inconclusive mean?" Marlene asks, her attention being drawn back to this conversation as we all stare at Tris. "Like the actual word."

"Did it happen? Did it not happen? Could go either way!" Tris chuckles waving her hands in the air. She does it like a pro, but I see her look to the left and wipe under her eyes.

Last night's conversation with Zeke—he was uncomfortable talking to me about Tris. He felt like he was betraying Four and he wasn't sure how much was off the record. Which pissed me off because we are in a different place in our relationship now, and secrets are off the table. So, I told him maybe I would talk to Tris—she may just come right out and tell me, then everyone will be off the hook!

"You don't seem shocked by that," Tris comments warily.

"I…well, I was going to ask…I mean, hearing it from you would be the better call, right?"

"The better call? So, you _did_ already know."

 _Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit!_

"Zeke told me," I blurt out. "I'm sorry! He's sorry! We're doing this whole not-keeping-secrets thing, and I pried it out of him after… Um… Well, Four was _upset,_ to put it lightly, at the gym, so I asked Zeke and, dear God, don't be mad at him, please! It's my fault! Wait, don't be mad at either of them!"

She narrows her eyes at me, frowning. "When did you find out?"

"Two days ago."

She clears her throat and swishes her glass. I'm trying to read her as she nods her head like all this is kosher.

"So, things aren't great with you guys?" I ask softly as I lean in. I'm working on my more tender side—Zeke says I need to let it out more.

"Sounds like you already know."

"Well, it's not like I know everything."

I, actually, think I may know quite a bit. Zeke filled me in about his and Four's conversation at the gym. I also heard all about Four's dad, and mom, for that matter. I'm aware of exactly what happened to Tris with the most recent attack, seeing as Zeke got her statement. And mostly, how hard this has all been on Four. But, Tris needs people to support her too, and I'm here for her.

"What do you know?" Tris asks with the same expression as before.

"Only that you're having a tough time. It sounds like you both are."

"Hmmph," Tris laughs through her nose and keeps nodding her head.

"Four just needed someone to talk to, ya know?"

"And, we're here for you too!" Marlene states, inappropriately excited.

"What kind of 'tough time' was Zeke referring to?" Christina asks suddenly very coldly.

"Well, he said… Damn it. I'm screwing this up," I mumble. "Um… What's off limits here? Is this open-book time?" I laugh nervously wishing I could turn back time, just the last couple minutes, and keep my mouth shut.

"Shauna," Tris whispers looking at me seriously.

"Zeke said that you're havin' trouble with the whole sexy time thing."

"And, um, how much trouble does Zeke say I'm having?" She looks away, and I can feel Lynn's eyes boring a hole in my head, but I'm steering clear of her inappropriate commentary. "Shauna, tell me."

"I heard there was an…incident?" I answer trying to use my soft eyes.

Christina whispers what I can only assume is a swear under her breath as she nudges Tris's toe with hers to get her attention. But, Tris is suddenly pale. _But, this is…pale, pale…nope…now it's red. Oh, did I screw up or what?!_

"Tris, I'm no expert. But, isn't that a normal reaction? You don't need to be embarrassed or—"

I stop short as Tris strips out of her jean shorts faster than I get Zeke out of his pants and dives into the pool.

"What is she doing?" I ask, confused and guilty all at once.

"She's going in the pool."

"Thank you, Madelynn."

I look over at Marlene and Christina. Marlene, unfazed by all drama, follows suit and tosses her pants to the side, diving in after Tris.

"Yipeee!"

"Did I screw up?" I whisper desperately.

"Yep," Lynn remarks adding emphasis on the 'p.'

"I'm not used to dealing with people who are…private!"

"Shauna. Learn to lie."

"Christina?" I plead, hoping for a different response.

"You didn't screw up. She prefers honesty. Four screwed up."

"He just needed to get things off his chest. He doesn't know what to do."

"Shauna," Christina looks at me intently. "This didn't happen to him."

"I think he _feels_ it just as much as she does!"

"No, no and no, no, no. No matter what he thinks; he doesn't. This happened to her. She lives with it—the memories…every day. That information should have come from her mouth…on her terms."

Lynn scoots out of her chair and strips down to her thong, heading for the pool.

"Seriously, Lynn?" Christina asks.

"I have no shame."

"Come on girls!" Marlene pulls herself out of the pool and walks over to grab some pool rafts. "Get the Vodkeeee!"

"Ya wanna?" I suggest as Marlene screeches and dives into the pool.

"Sure, why not. Shit! I'm not wearing panties!"

"Are you kidding?" I ask as I step out of my shorts.

"Try it sometime! It's life altering."

Jonathan sets an ice bucket in front of us as Christina smiles coyly "Hey, Jonathan. Sweetie pie? I need a favor."

* * *

 **AN:**

The girls' conversation about Erotica is based on an actual conversation I had with some of my friends. I was taking mental notes the whole time unbeknownst to them! Haha! I added some extras of my own, of course. Making fun of myself is actually kind of fun!

Lynn uses the acronym, FIB. What is it? It means Fucking Illinois Bastards. And it's a very real thing.

Thank you for reading!


	17. Admissions Pt 2

**Chapter 17** \- Admissions Pt. 2

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I'm on my way back to the apartment for the third time, having been there twice already to check in with Stephen—no sign of Tris. I've called everyone whom I deemed appropriate, the ones who wouldn't think I'm psycho for not knowing exactly where she is. The only person I have gotten ahold of is Tori, who informed me that Tris took the night off "for personal reasons."

I have run through every conversation I've had with Tris since Monday and I am now living in my own personal prison cell of anger…at myself.

I can't even wrap my brain around the hell she went through—kicked out of the apartment, humiliated by Dalilah, traumatized by her own memories, accosted by my father, shouldering the blame while being berated by Amar…and then…HER…MEDICAL…BILLS!

I stop in my tracks, just now remembering how I dismissed the fact that she owes ten grand for her first payment. _Totally blew that shit off! What the fuck?! Yep! Just kept at it—taking out my frustrations on her! And then I left her! I just left her—to sleep alone. I doubt she slept much. But me? Pssshhh…I slept great because I'm the fucking asshole who thought he needed a break. I needed a break?! She needs a break! From me! Shit, does she want a break from me? Is that what this is the start of? No…way…in…hell…is…that…happening—_

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and grab for it with an indescribably accelerated heart rate. It's Zeke.

"Fuck you, Zeke!" I yell as I kick at a piece of garbage.

"Hey, man! I wasn't hurtin' nobody!" I step on a small amount of change and watch it rolls down the street, realizing it came from the cup I just kicked.

"Sorry," I mutter as I crouch down and help the seemingly homeless man collect his donations.

"'S'all right. That's just life happenin'."

I toss a handful of coins back in the cup, trying not puke as my hands scrape a piece of chewed gum on the pavement. I notice that he's sweating profusely, wearing multiple layers of shirts, a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt on the top—most likely not his choice of team, no wonder his donations have been minimal.

"You okay? You look a little hot." I pull out my wallet and slip a bill in the cup without him noticing.

"Piece a junk sweatshirt—great for winter, hotter than a jungle monkey's ball sack in the summer. Plus, gotta double up—'Ole Sal likes to steal my properties."

"'Ole Sal, huh?"

"Nasty lil' bitch. Dunno what her problem is. I keep my spot clean. I don't hurt no one. Just tryna save up 'nough change for a damned T-shirt! 'S'alright, 's'alright…don't pity me. I'm the dirty bastard beggin'."

I sigh and reach into my messenger bag, pulling out the spare T-shirt I keep in there for the gym. But then I look down at my much more respectable shirt and give a double-sigh. I look both right and left, seeing about a million people passing by. _Fuck it._ I quickly unbutton it, the mass amount of stares and chuckling not going at all unnoticed, and toss it to him quickly pulling the wrinkled t-shirt over my head.

"You sure 'bout this?" he asks with wide eyes as he clutches the shirt.

"This shirt cost $100.00. Don't keep it. Sell it. Don't take less than $40 for it. Take the cash and go to Good Will. Buy as many more shirts as you can along with a pair of pants. Sell half of those shirts and buy a watch—one with an alarm. Now you have a new wardrobe, a watch, and if you were really good, maybe a little bit of cash left over."

"What am I gonna do with all that?"

"It's up to you from there."

He nods his head, and I see the gears turning with possibilities. "Well, I do thank you."

I nod my head and pull out $5.00 Jimmy John's gift card out of my wallet, tossing him that as well. "Keep that away from 'Ole Sal."

"Will do! God bless you, God bless you."

"Yeah."

I walk down the street ignoring those still staring and check my text, even though I know it's just from Zeke.

 **Zeke:** 3 words. Panties, pool party, rooftop

My mind immediately goes into Zeke's-a-fuckin'-dipshit mode. _I thought he had semi-evolved! Back to the same old shit again! Along with his poor math skills._

 **Will:** That's 4 words.

I stifle a quick laugh at Will's response.

 **Uriah:** 3 words. When, where, what time

 _Of course, Uriah would be in! What the hell happened to being whipped? He willingly wants to go to a panty pool party?! And how did these fuckers pass first-grade math?_

 **Will:** Still 4 words.

Then a picture comes through of Shauna taking a selfie in a pool. Lynn is lounging on a raft balancing a drink on her stomach, Marlene is behind her holding up a cocktail in cheers to the camera, Christina is dangling her legs in the water blowing a kiss. They are…seemingly fully clothed. I sigh, seeing no sign of Tris, until…

Facing away…in the background…out of the pool…gazing out over the garden wall toward the lake is…Tris.

She's wearing a light blue, cotton, tank top that clings to her wet backside perfectly. It's coupled with the most pleasing shot of her butt cheeks that peek out under her skimpy, white, lace panties that ride up fairly high. She told me once that she wears them because she can't stand thongs and these don't show underwear lines. I told her she shouldn't give a shit about panty lines when the only person checking out her ass should be— _Wait, what?_

Suddenly I'm typing furiously.

 **Me:** Delete that shit.

 **Me:** Right the fuck now.

 **Me:** Now, asshole!

I save the picture to my phone as another text comes through.

 **Zeke:** Whoops. Didn't see her back there. Cute cheeks! Just thought of a new nickname!

 **Uriah:** I saw her. Right away.

 _I can just hear the shithead laughing away at that comment!_

 **Me:** Fuck you.

 **Will:** I've seen her bare ass twice. Doesn't faze me anymore.

"Well, that's just friggin' wonderful, William."

 **Me:** Where the hell are they?

I squint my eyes to try to figure out where they are as the upset hits me that Tris is at a damned spur-of-the-moment pool party, without me.

 **Zeke:** Your rooftop Mr Observant.

I look closely at the foliage and the chairs, along with the buildings that stand out in relief to the waters of the lake. I've only been up there once, but the orientation of the surrounding buildings alone, tells me they are, with 100% accuracy, on my rooftop.

 **Me:** 15 minutes. My lobby.

* * *

 **Will's POV:**

I walk into Four's apartment building, admiring the lobby—it's pretty swanky. _God, who says swanky? Good thing I have a filter._

The first thing I hear, after the buzz of the city street filters out, is Four's demeanor. And, yes, I know how odd that sounds.

"Because I can't handle your voice, right now."

"You just apologized for being a dick, and now you can't handle my voice?! That's messed up," Uriah says as I watch him stand back and cross his arms, pouting.

"Hey, fellas—"

"Let's go," Four states and immediately gets in the elevator he was holding open with his body.

"Afternoon to you, too."

I get nothing but a grunt in acknowledgment as we all file in.

"Why are we meeting in the lobby when I have a damned key, and our names are on your dumb visitors list?" Zeke asks.

"They're stricter now about who gets up there. No one gets by anymore. Plus, I changed the locks," he mutters.

"Bullshit. You just don't want to go into the lion's den alone. You need back up. Am I right?"

Four's cold stare at Zeke makes the temperature drop a few degrees.

"Fine, don't admit it. But these supposed heightened security measures wouldn't be necessary if you hadn't gotten all flirty-pants with a certain Latina lady!" Zeke doubles over in laughter and Four levels him with his glare. "What? Too soon?"

"What the hell is he talking about?" I laugh.

Four looks at me, of course, assessing my level of knowledge. It's pretty high, but I want to hear it from him.

"Well, I know absolutely nothing. Like always!"

"Trust me, Uri." Zeke claps his brother on the back. "Ignorance is ridiculously blissful."

"The doorman was working for my father, passing him surveillance footage of my girlfriend and me, along with other poor choices I made in our interim. In addition, Nita decided to perform sub-par fellatio, on said doorman and then sneak into my apartment naked and accost me."

Okay, turns out I may not have known _all_ of that. "There are so many things that are amazingly wrong with that."

"Am I missing something? What the hell is fellatio?"

"Dick suckin', little brother."

"Oh."

"And how, my friend, do you know it was _sub-par_?" I ask, picking up on his unnecessary use of the phrase, although I'm quite sure I already know the answer. "Unless this personal information is from your personal experience?"

Four closes his eyes as shakes his head as if reliving the memory is torture as we all laugh at his expense—Four rarely admits to anything.

"Wow! And she's smokin' hot to boot! Must have been real bad!" Uriah rests his hand on Four's shoulder in mock sympathy.

Four smacks it away. "Or she's just a heinous individual which, in and of itself, is a total turn-off."

"And is there _really_ such a thing as sub-par foccacio?"

"Fellatio, idiot!"

"Teeth," I add. "Ruins it."

We all nod our head, sharing a brief moment of entirely uncomfortable silence—high school memories of braces and pure fear, hormones winning out over fear, often times leading to disastrous consequences.

"So are we gonna, like, boxer this shit?" I ask as I realize we're headed straight for the roof. "'Cause I plan on joining the fun." I want to fit in as much time as I can with Chris, trying to beat down my real feelings on the painful topic of her _FUCKING_ moving.

Zeke suddenly pushes the button for the 16th floor.

"What the fuck are you doing? I don't have extra suits. And I need to get to the damned roof—"

"I'm free-ballin,' okay?" Zeke grits out desperately.

"Are you _serious_?!" Four exalts as the elevator door opens and he blocks our exit.

"How is that comfortable?" I ask not being able to imagine the ergonomics behind that. "Don't you get, like, nut sack rug burn?"

"Yeah, do you have calluses on your balls? Poor Shauna has to grab those things! It's gotta be like fondling toes!"

"Nah," He shakes his head at his brother. "It's not so much my balls as my dick. It's like to the side and—"

"Jesus! Stop…talking! All of you!"

Realizing Four is already in his apartment, the three of us take our ridiculous conversation and follow after him. Then a roar that I haven't heard since the night David was in Tris's apartment rips through all three of us as we stop in our tracks.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

We all run in, the three of us getting stuck in the door just as Four throws some kid across the room right into the wall.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the kid screeches as Four grabs him up by the shirt collar. "I'm just doing my job!"

I know I should stop him, especially since I recognize him as the kid who delivered Four his 'message.' But, this kid is obviously a perv seeing as he's in Four's apartment holding—

"You have my girlfriend's underwear in your hand! How is this your job, you sick little fuck?!"

"That's messed up, kid," Uriah agrees.

"I didn't know which ones she likes!"

"Are you…are you FUCKING kidding me!" I cringe as Four lifts him up like he weighs nothing and holds him against the wall while he squirms.

"Only because she didn't tell me! I'm here…because she asked! I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear, Mr. Eaton. She's very…persuasive."

"Who?!"

"Tr, Tr, Tris," he chokes. "The…other one…is too. She's the worst!"

I sigh and shake my head, knowing that whatever is happening here, has Christina written all over it.

"Please…help me," the kid pleads looking toward us.

I hear Zeke and Uriah laugh as I step up and put my hand on Four's very firm shoulder. "Buddy? Uh, maybe we should let him explain. Think about it—he used the word 'persuasive' and 'Tris' in the same sentence."

Four literally drops him on his ass and storms across the room while the kid scrambles up and continues to blubber.

"And then, well, their very…very…um…"

"Whaaaaatttt?" I ask, trying to encourage the little freak.

"Hot."

"Wrong answer!"

Zeke grabs Four's arm before he can round on the kid again.

"I'll be honest," he whines. "It's the hair. I have a thing for blonds. And she's very, very, very…well, it's her shirt… It's everything. I can see…everything—AH!" He screams like a panicked monkey just as Zeke loses Four. Thank God, Uri steps up to the plate driving his shoulder into Four's chest.

"Kid, he will kill you! Shut the fuck up!" Uriah warns.

"Not Tris! Not Tris! Not Tris!" Jonathan shrieks.

The look of confusion that crosses Four's face is kind of funny, as if no other hot blond could possibly exist and how dare this little asshole think otherwise.

"But she's hot too! Don't tell her I said that!"

"So then…" Uriah puts two and two together. "What the fuck?! Marlene? What's she doin'? What's she wearin'? Is she—"

"And, I couldn't say 'no' because I'm seventeen, and there's a pool full of hot girls in their panties. Not just girls—cougars. That's so awesome," he blunders out of breath as we all crack up at his verbiage. "And I don't know what to do! I'm so sorry. This is your apartment, and you're like a nice, but super, super, scary dude and I think I pissed myself and—"

He's babbling…so badly. And crying…and he did, in fact, pee his pants.

"Why are you getting them panties?" Four rubs his hand down his face trying not to join the laughter, but he has a definite smirk.

"The one with dark hair, um…wasn't…or didn't…she was… Well, is 'going commando' disrespectful—"

"Shauna?!"

"It's Christina," I deadpan to Zeke.

"For real?" Uriah and Zeke ask in-synch.

"Trust me. It is very, very, very real." The amount of easy access my girlfriend gives me is…something special. God, she's the hottest thing ever—

"Please, don't hurt me," Jonathan begs, even though he has had every opportunity to hit the road at this point.

Four reaches for his wallet and pulls out a $100 bill, handing it to him. "Sorry, Jonathan."

"Women are evil," he responds with wide eyes.

" _Our_ women…are evil," I add.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes, please," Four ushers him out, pushing him slightly harder than necessary.

"Thank, thank you."

"Lemme just…take these from you." Zeke rips the panties out of Jonathan's iron clutch as he passes, tossing them to Four.

"Mr. Eaton, am I in trouble?" Jonathan stutters, a last ditch attempt at redemption.

"No."

"So, you're not going to tell Ms. Ghertrude—"

"Jonathan. There are cameras…everywhere. She already knows. And I guarantee you; she's laughing at your expense. This is better than any telenovela."

"Whatever that is," Jonathan mumbles as he finally makes his exit.

Four and I make eye contact, shaking our heads in exasperation.

"What the fuck?" His attention being drawn right to Zeke, as he grabs a pair of boxer briefs out of his dresser. "You're not wearing my underwear!"

"Why? You afraid they'll be too tight on me? Make you look bad?" Zeke waggles his eyebrows like a cocky bastard. _Good thing I didn't say that out loud._

"Not in the least. It's because it's fuckin' weird!"

"Then give me your bathing suit!"

"And how is that different?! I don't need your dick rubbing up against where mine will be in the future!"

"You're a freak show germaphobe!"

"Get the hell out of my shit!" Four pushes him away as Zeke finally backs up.

"I need some drawers! Ya know what? Fuck it! I can helicopter with the best of them!" Zeke makes a gyrating hip motion as Uriah joins in his ridiculous laughter. "The girls'll love it!"

"Can we skip the junk show? Four, give him...something, for the love of God," I plead.

Four whips a pair of boxers at Zeke, hitting him square in the face. Zeke feels the material and looks at the brand. "Hey! These are nice!"

"Take 'em all," Four sighs in defeat as he gestures toward his drawer, finally giving Zeke free-reign.

"Seriously?" both brothers ask.

"Just the boxers. And hurry the fuck up!"

"Oh! Lemme at 'em!" Uriah lunges for the drawer, nudging Zeke out of the way as Four wanders over to me to look at the display of weirdness.

"Uh… You're giving away your underwear?"

"Tris doesn't like boxers." He shrugs. "Want any?"

"I'm okay." I frown as the boxers fly onto the floor. "There is something not right about those two."

"Yep."

"Hey, so…if things are weird between Chris and I. Can you just…not make light of anything. Not that you would, but, you're one of the more observant people I know, so, I'm covering my bases."

"Of course." He frowns, turning to me. "But, you overestimate my powers of observation as of late. What's up?"

"She's moving to New York," I remark lightly, trying not to lose my resolve. "Didn't even include me in the decision. Not on purpose. She can just be very, very, blunt and how it came out was…not great. Are you…SMILING?" I yell, making Uriah and Zeke look over.

"No! Shit, was I? Fuck. That was…unintentional." He waves his hand to the idiots, motioning for them to hurry the hell up. "I just…maybe Tris will be more inclined to stay _here_ if she doesn't have a roommate. She's, um, apparently, looking for another apartment. I just assumed it was with Christina. Sorry if I just made that all about me, when we're most definitely talking about you."

"I get it." I know Four really wants Tris to stay permanently. But, ironically, it was Tris who was holding _me_ back from asking Chris to move in. I didn't want to put unnecessary pressure on her.

"I'm sorry, pal." Four puts his hand on my shoulder shaking me, ya know, in a manly way. "Are you guys gonna try to…stay together? Wait, you're not leaving are you?!" He turns to me furrowing his brows switching to professional mode.

"I would have considered it," I answer honestly. "Had she considered letting me in on her decision. But, as it turns out…" I trail off, not wanting to rehash at the moment. "Anyway, maybe we just weren't on the same page, to begin with. I don't think I would ever be able to leave her. And it just fuckin' hurts that she could so easily."

"I told Tris I would never leave her," he mumbles looking toward the door. "And I meant it." I know what he's thinking—he's wondering if Tris would ever do the same. "Anyway, I get it. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Thanks, buddy."

"Shall we?!" Zeke and Uriah pass by us, both stripped down to their "new" boxers.

"You are not walking through the halls of my building in your fucking underwear!"

* * *

We hear shrieking and high-pitched laughter all through the last flight of stairs leading up to the roof. At first, I smile because I haven't heard Tris's unabashed laughter in what feels like ages, but then frustration hits as I wonder how she can be having so much fun. I haven't seen her in two days, and I'm miserable. _How is she not?_

I slide my card and hold the door open for the guys. We walk out toward the pool, all stopping short to take in quite the scene. Marlene is pouring shots, balancing them on a pool raft rather sloppily, wasting a shit ton of good vodka. Lynn is in the same position as the picture—floating on a raft with a drink balancing on her stomach. I notice Shauna walk out from the garden area, slipping a little at the edge of the pool.

"Gals, I just peed in that plant!" she announces before she jumps into the pool without an ounce of grace.

"Oh, good Lord," Zeke mutters.

"Nasty," Uriah whispers.

I hear the cackle of Christina and see that she's half-on, half-off a raft.

"Where's Tris?" I ask as I scan the pool—no sign of her.

"Apparently, I was wrong to assume Chris was the one who needed panties?" Will remarks, seeing Christina in the water.

My eye catches movement behind Christina, and suddenly a small body appears like a pixy mermaid. And then in a flash, that body is gone, and in its wake, is Christina…with the bottom hem of her tank top pulled up over the back of her head, resting securely over her face, providing all present company with a bare-as-bare-can-be ass shot.

"Ah! Beatrice!" Christina claws at her shirt to get it off her head where Tris has it pulled tautly.

Tris's lithe body appears out of the water as Marlene hands her a shot and a lime.

"Stop checking out her ass," Will moans, even though he makes no move to stop the shenanigans.

"Kinda hard not to, my friend," Zeke coughs.

"Truth."

I, personally, don't give a shit. But, of course, I have to raze Will. "Great butt," I comment, mimicking his words from when he and Chris walked in on Tris and I. I tighten my lips at the memory, not allowing my mind to wander.

"Shut up."

"Yeah," I sigh, slinging my arm around his shoulders. "How does it feel, buddy?"

"Not…great."

"Yep."

"Cannon Baaaaall!" The Pedrad brothers try their best to synchronize a cannon ball. 'Try' being the operative word as Uriah, being the idiot he is, didn't take into account that the shallow end starts at four feet deep.

"Ah, shit! Oh, my ass, my ass, my ass, my ass!"

The scene in front of me continues to play out with excessive banter, shouting, laughing, splashing, greeting and all around motherfuckin' glee. But it's as if nothing else matters because I lock eyes with Tris, who has taken taken purchase of the bottle of Effen, cradling it to her protectively from the splashing waters. I mouth the words, "Hi" and she returns it.

We gravitate toward each other, and, to me, it feels magnetic—both of us making for the edge of the pool, but she stops a bit short. She's just out of my reach, biting her lip nervously, but staring as intently as me. Her eyes look ethereal—her light blue tank top and the azure blue water bringing out the most striking aspects of them. _God, I wish we were alone._ I crouch down while she stays still yet follows me with her eyes.

"Can we talk?"

She shakes her head no.

"No?"

"I don't think you…want me…to talk to you…right now." It's just then that the setting sun shades us slightly, and I see how bloodshot her eyes are, and how she's barely getting words out.

"No," I whisper, reaching for her hand. "I absolutely do. Let's go back to the apartment." I look toward the other end of the pool watching Marlene stand on Zeke's shoulders while Shauna throws limes at her head to knock her off balance. Christina and Will are cozying up at the other end of the pool and, well, fuck everyone else. "They all seem occupied. Let's sneak out of here."

Her fingers seem to float toward my outstretched arm until they're in my grasp. I tug on her to come closer, but she's still resisting me.

"Shit," I breathe out. "I'm sorry about the other night. The things I said, the way I…acted. I… Fuck, I have so much to tell you, and I don't even know where to start. Come here. Please?"

She finally closes the distance, letting me reach out and cradle her face, running my thumb along her cheekbone.

"I love you," I blurt out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere. God knows, I love her, but saying it at that moment was an uncontrollable impulse. "Sorry, I just…apparently, needed to say that," I explain as she quirks her head almost curiously at me. "I didn't know the paintings were at your house," I sigh out in ashamed exasperation. My face is on fire, and I can barely look at her. "I thought they were in the _basement_ at Dalilah's because—well, yet another thing I hadn't told you—I actually went _in_ to Dalilah's because Will said those were your pictures in the window, and I just…fuck, I just _had_ to see them. And they were amazing. Damn it... You're so talented. You still know that, right? How talented you are?" I glance up only to catch her part her lips slightly, but I can't bring myself to look her in the eyes. "Well, just don't second guess that. Anyway, I walked in and…and…" I pause, momentarily wondering if I should tell her about the painting I purchased. _Not now, you dumbfuck._ "…you were crying on the floor. It broke my heart. But that nice Sofi chick, who is actually Gertie's niece, as if this world could get any smaller, didn't think my presence would help, so I watched you and like I said, it broke my heart to see you cry, and I hated myself. Shit, I'm rambling. Sorry, um…" I swallow even though it just makes my throat burn. "But I saw the rest of your paintings all around you and that's why I thought you got them from the basement." I take another chance and remove my eyes from where my fingers are fumbling with hers, up to her face.

She almost looks like she's trying to laugh—to cover up some other emotion she doesn't want me to see. So, I look down again, taking that as my cue.

"Sofi was at Gertie's, and she told me all the shit Dalilah said to you. She was so out of line, and, like you said, horrific. And I'm horrific for not seeing that there was more to this story. I was so busy trying to figure out _what the fuck happened_ that I didn't see… _you_! You wouldn't have reacted like that unless you were, honest to God, provoked and I can't believe you went to the apartment alone, and I can't even get a handle on how that must have felt for you and I can't believe I wasn't there. I should have figured it out, especially after all of your nightmares and then… I slept at the office, and I shouldn't have! Fuck, I was _terrible_ to you the other night…predictably so. I was so mad that you didn't tell me about Marcus, but I understand it, sort of, now. I still don't know why you said what you did, but I can be rational and talk about it now, and you were right that the other night, I wouldn't have been rational. You just _took_ my verbal carnage and then _left_ …and you didn't even seem mad! Then I fucked up dinner, and I hate myself. Not that how I feel matters—

"It does," she interrupts in a murmur. We make eye contact, and I can tell she didn't intend for me to hear that because her face becomes unreadable again.

 _Okay, she responded, keep talking!_

"And…what else, what else, what else, what else…? Amar! He's…going through something right now, but he wants to talk to you about it. He shouldn't have reacted the way he did, but he had a reason, and you were his scapegoat, and it's not right. I'm not sure it's my place to say, and hearing it from him would probably be better—"

She pulls her fingers out of my mine and backs up about a step, before resting her hands on the concrete on either side of me leaning in casually. The look on her face is sarcastic and challenging and, if I'm honest, a bit scary. _Shit, is this what I look like?_

"Oookay, and I…well, like I said on the phone—I texted you back but sent it to Zeke… I don't know how the fuck that happened. But, it was a nice text! A nice _drunk_ text. Here, I have a screen shot," I mumble, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I select the picture and hold the phone in front of her face, but she barely even looks at it. "Uhhh, so then I woke up yesterday morning and just…my phone died, and then Will was there, and he tried to call you, and then he helped me get dressed, and then I had a meeting, and I… I've been so worried about you, and, what the hell, why aren't you—"

I stop short just realizing how silent the pool is, and how loudly and animatedly I had been talking, most likely in a manner no one else has seen apart from Tris.

"Will helped you get _dressed_?" Uriah starts up the barrage of remarks I'm now anticipating.

"Always there for ya buddy!"

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

I feel Tris's pruned hands on both sides of my face. "Oh, don't worry, baby! No secrets from our friends, right? Everything out in the open, yeah?" she offers with a very confusing wink. "Unless, apparently, it's Amar…and then, well, that shit's on lock down. Am I right?" she whispers conspiratorially.

"Well, it is kind of a…big thing. I can tell you; I just didn't want to—"

"No worries. Not my business," she shrugs and pulls herself out of the pool, wincing from the pain as I move in to support her side.

"Stop counting my damned ribs."

 _-three, four, five—_ I stop short, not even realizing I was doing it as she walks away leaving me on my knees, poolside.

"Hey." I'm on my feet before I know it, pulling her back into me by her hips. I see our friends have otherwise occupied themselves and are chatting the fuckin' night away. "What do you mean, 'everything out in the open?'" I ask in her ear, noticing the goosebumps traveling up her arm.

"Well, as it turns out, _I…_ am an open book…and _you_ are the lector." She grips my hands and pushes them down her body and away. Then grabs a bottle of water and starts chugging it. _What is she talking about?_

"Can you clarify, please?" I ask softly as I maneuver behind her to keep her ass out of view from wandering male eyes. "You should definitely be mad at me. I just thought it would be for a different reason than…well, whatever this is—"

She smacks my hands away, and I have to stifle a laugh as I realize I had unintentionally run my fingers under the hem of her lace panties to pull them over her cheeks, adding more coverage.

"I'm not mad!" she grits out through a clenched jaw turning toward me. "I'm embarrassed. I'm fuckin'… There is no _word_ to describe how I'm feeling."

"Okay, okay," I respond quickly, looking toward the exit, trying to figure out what she's embarrassed about…besides her butt hanging out. "Let's go talk. We can figure it out—"

"We?" She laughs gesturing back and forth between the two of us. "Like, you and I?"

"Yes…"

"It doesn't seem like ' _we_ ' is enough to figure me out."

"What? Who made you feel that way—"

"Everyone's opinion should be had!" she states with her hands in the air walking away as I close in on her ass again. "It's like fuckin' Parliament up in this bitch! It's a Rooftop Parliament Pool Panty Party!"

"Yeah! A Rooftop Party-mint Pool…Pantry…Panty…Party…" Marlene slurs, hanging on Uriah.

"How about a no-panty party?!" Zeke whoops.

"I'm in, baby!"

"Anyway, I'm going to have fun!" Tris reels around and smacks me on the chest as I bite my tongue to hold back the sting. "Do you want to have fun, _Four_?"

I look away at her use of my nickname as a personal dig.

"Because there's the door if you don't. Oh, wait, sorry…this is your place, not mine. Don't worry, I'm aware. No breaking out into a cold sweat over any 'future plans,'" she snarks.

I shake my head at her words, wondering why the fuck she would say that. "What—"

"So, are you going to have fun?" she challenges with her hands on her hips.

"Probably not," Uriah adds.

"I…probably not—"

"Toldja—"

"Shut-up, Uri." I grip Tris's elbow, leading her toward the door. "Let's go. We need to talk… _alone._ Now," I order, immediately regretting it because I just egged her on.

"Alone? Nope. I have no _secrets!_ " she grunts, ripping her arm away. "Everyone seems to know everything about me already!"

"Right, everyone? Right, Zeke? Shauna?" she asks poignantly, with her hands on her hips.

Shauna looks away, and I try to lock eyes with Zeke, now knowing _EXACTLY_ what the _HELL_ happened—visions of my outburst at the gym plaguing me. _Oh…fuck. I'm so dead…_ But Zeke is enjoying himself way too much to give a shit, nor even pick up on what Tris is talking about.

"You got it sweet cheeks!" Zeke answers with a wink. "That's your new nickname, by the way."

"I like it," Tris nods her head as she takes another drag of her bottle of water walking toward a chair.

I grab a towel and hover behind her as she bends over to move the ice bucket.

"No need to block my ass from our friends, Four. Just about everyone has seen it!"

"We haven't!"

I turn around to murder Zeke and Uriah with my eyes as theirs go wide. So, I turn back to Tris to see that she had effectively mooned everyone in the pool.

"Nice tush, Tris!" Marlene shouts with everyone agreeing.

"Tris, stop—"

"Shit! Or, my boobs! In fact, every person in this pool has seen my 'great little titties!' Right, Uri?"

"Uh—"

"Maybe I should just take this off—"

"No," I deadpan holding the hem of her shirt down forcefully. "Stop it," I grit out. "Please."

"Aw, come on roomie."

I stop and stare as a quick bolt of anger hits me at the word 'roomie.' _How short is her short term memory?!_ A flash of guilt crosses her eyes and she better not think for one second that I didn't catch it.

"So…," she continues pulling a lounger up to the edge of the pool. She pats a spot next to her for me to sit down, and even though she's being awful…I deserve it, so I nod my head and sink next to her. "What were ya'll talkin' 'bout?"

"Ha ha ha! _Ya'll!_ " Marlene echoes with a hiccup. _She is…plastered._

"Zeke and Shauna say they are soooooo secure in their relationship…" Uriah offers up sarcastically."…that they know everything about each other."

"Oh, got it, got it, got it. Well, don't expect us to chime in." Tris links arms with me. "We cannot relate. But…please continue."

I want to rip my arm away from her and storm out, but I know I won't. I can endure this. I make accidental eye contact with Christina, but she just shakes her head and looks away leaving me to wonder if she's upset with Tris...or me.

"Ready for the heat, oh brother of mine?"

"Lay it on thick, little shithead."

"Shauna… How many people has Zeke slept with?"

Shauna smirks at Zeke as if she's asking his permission to respond. Right now, my tolerance for couples who can communicate without words is very, very small.

"Have at it, baby!"

"Eleven. As have I!" she quips as if she's so fuckin' proud. _Who gives a shit how many people you've boned?!_

"That's 'cause you _are_ an eleven." Zeke pulls Shauna in for a sloppy nauseating kiss that makes me want to jump ship.

"Well, _I've_ slept with two-and-a-half," Tris retorts matching Shauna in the pride department as my body goes cold from where this may be headed. "Hey, loosen up the grip, pal." She shakes her arm that I hadn't realized I was squeezing. _And did she seriously just call me 'pal'?_

"How is…that possible?" Will inquires as I shake my head at him to abort this conversation. I notice the redness in Christina's eyes as she wipes at them pretending she got too much chlorine in them from the pool.

"Well, when you…ha… _try_ …to lose your v-card with your high school boyfriend—let's put it this way, it ended for him and never really began for me." She makes a very graphic insert-finger-in-hole-once motion that I really wish I had never seen as I let my arm drop and pull it away from her. And then, well, we all know about Eric. But, don't worry…" She links her arm again with my retreating one and leans her head on my shoulder. "You spoiled me. He gave me my first orgasm!" She kisses my cheek and I'm pretty sure my face lights on fire.

"Whoa. This is hard for me to say, but…TMI!" Uriah announces.

"Oooohhh! How was it?" Marlene asks.

 _And…here it comes…_

"It was… _great_."

Zeke just about spits out his drink as he laughs. "Great?! Oh, man. That's it?"

 _Do not react, Tobias. Do not react._

"What about you, kiddo?" She squeezes my arm. "No, wait! Four's life stays private."

As much as I should be happy that I dodged that bullet, I would have rather given up my somewhat average number of nine rather than be the brunt of Tris's slew of sarcasm. I know what she's doing…and she's right—my life has always been off limits to other people. And she has respected that. I didn't. _I fucking hate you, ZEKE!_

"Anyone else? Chris? Will?"

Neither of them answers, and I see a flash of something behind Christina's eyes.

"Uriah? Marlene?"

"32!"

Every mouth drops at the high-pitched voice of Marlene, shouting her magic number. Silence. We are all silent. No one is talking. I've never wanted to laugh harder in my life. It may just stop my heart. The laughter. Bite your tongue. Bite your tongue.

"WHAT?!" Uriah shrieks sliding off his raft.

"What?" Marlene retorts chewing on an ice cube.

"You… We… We… You made me… We waited!"

"Oh, relax," she waves him off. "We didn't wait that long. And it was worth it, right? Ya know…after the first time?"

"Oh, my GAWD!" The loudest laugh ever comes out of Zeke, thank God, because I don't think I could have held it any longer as we all join in.

Uriah goes to get out of the pool as Marlene follows. "You…guuuuuyyyyssss! You made him feel bad!" she whines as she jumps on his back to hold him in place.

"That, my friends, is pure Karma. Uriah, man-whore extraordinaire, possibly outnumbered by his own girlfriend."

I notice that Tris is the only one not laughing and that she's pulled her arm away from me. I now regret the Marlene-Uriah distraction, although it felt good to laugh freely for a minute.

"Alright, come on! Will, Chris?"

"I prefer not have this discussion in front of everyone, Tris," Christina responds icily.

"Well, this way…no one will talk behind your back! Ya know, everything out in the open. Trust me. It's better this way."

"Well, if that's how we're rollin'… We're engaged!" Zeke yells at the top of his lungs.

My mouth drops open for the second time tonight, along with everyone else's. But it's replaced by an instant grin along with an eruption of screams and Uriah's change-of-heart dive-bomb right into Zeke. I just smile at him in approval, getting a nod in return from him. I look over at Tris, hoping for some sort of knowing eye contact but she seems to be just…taking in the scene. I feel that familiar pain in my chest, so I sit up straighter to relieve it.

"ZEKE!" Shauna just about explodes as she splashes water at his face.

"Agh! I don't like…Chlorine…in my eyes! And Sweet Cheeks is right. Everything out in the open. Ahhhhh…." He hops on a raft leaning back. "Feels good, right baby?"

"Mmmm…it kinda does," Shauna agrees as she looks around at the still-shell-shocked crowd.

Although I want to punch Zeke for calling Tris 'Sweet Cheeks,' I put that to the side. "Congratulations, guys. That's amazing news."

"I must be truthful and thank your girl for this one," Zeke nods in appreciation.

"Don't know what I did. But you're welcome," Tris acknowledges.

"Your total-death experience gave me some serious perspective. I just blurted it out! Vomit style—all over my lady! I was awesome."

"Yuck," Lynn quips floating by on a raft. "Congrats."

"Thanks, sis. And you definitely were awesome, hon." She whispers something in his ear, definitely sexual in nature based on the look on his face.

I glance at Tris and she's still stoic. _What is going through her mind?_ I want to get the hell out of here and find out, but my best friend just announced his engagement! _Damn you, Zeke!_

"Details! Details! Details!" Christina claps bouncing up and down. "And where's your damned ring?"

 _And this is where they're gonna lose me…_

"Well, 'spur of the moment' doesn't even describe how he asked me, so we haven't gotten that far yet."

"How did he ask you?" Will questions with an underlying note of sadness in his voice.

I see Christina shift her weight in discomfort. _Good. She should be uncomfortable. She's leaving him._

"Well, I thought something happened to Zeke, so I went to the hospital all freakin' out. But as it turned out, it was Tris! Which was awful! But she was, at that point, undead, so Zeke just ran at me and… _asked_! Like right then and there—"

"What the fuck did you just say?" The words fall out of my mouth involuntarily—wanting to be assured I didn't just hear what I think I did.

The dead silence, along with the deer-in-headlights looks I'm getting, answers my question.

"So let me get this straight," I begin leaning in toward Zeke. "My girlfriend was dead on the table…for twelve _fucking_ minutes…having her chest beat on…while you were getting…engaged?"

"Technically, it was after," Zeke informs as if that fucking matters.

"You really are the most one-track son-of-a-bitch I've ever met."

"Four—"

"So," I interject Shauna's bullshit warning tone. "While I was going through hell—"

" _We,_ " Christina adds.

"—the sound of the flat-line still ringing in my ears, vomiting in a bucket because my body couldn't handle what was going through my mind, not knowing whether Tris was even going to have a quality of life beyond the beeping of a heart monitor, trying to sort out if _I_ would have a quality of life if she didn't—you decided _that_ was the fuckin' time?"

Recognizing the familiar tingling sensation that goes through my body when I can feel Tris staring at me, I grab her right hand roughly with my left, kissing the back of it quickly before enclosing it between my hands, not giving a damn if she even attempts to pull it away. The emotion of that day, the emotion I haven't let back into my head since I left it behind in the ER after they wheeled Tris out, is now right in front of me—In front of everyone.

"You okay, man?" Uriah asks.

I breathe through my mouth to avoid my nasal passage and will the fog in my eyes to dissipate because I had just figured out the extent of what I'm displaying.

"You've never told me that. How you felt," Tris mumbles.

"It's not easy to talk about," I snap, squeezing her hand in a quick apology.

Everyone seems to stand around idly, swishing the water with their hands, not knowing what to say. But, I'm too lost in my own mind to care. The never-ending monotone sound playing like white noise in my head, running my thumb across Tris's cheek as the mud from… _his…_ shoe crumbles off onto my hands, the uncertainty of a future mixed with the joy of the possibility canceling each other out, so I was left nearly void of feeling.

"But I am?"

"What?" I ask, not understanding nor knowing if I missed anything else she said. "You are, what?"

"Easy to talk about. How _you_ feel on any given day, about any given subject, is anyone's guess. But, what's going on with me—that's common knowledge?" She's not saying it with sarcasm or attitude. She really wants to know how in the world that would be okay with me. And I have no idea what to tell her. I run my thumb over her knuckle wishing I had a word magician—

"Tris, what the hell? He's just worried."

Tris and I both flinch at Christina's words, having, for a moment, forgotten we have an audience.

"We all are. And it's not like we're talking shit. Now, I love you, and this may be in poor form, but, we all know what you're doing right now—"

"We don't," Uriah and Marlene comment.

I look at Christina both curious as to what the hell she's going to say but wishing she would shut the hell up and let _me_ deal with this.

"Four spilled the beans. He's emotionally idiotic, and he fucked up. That shit's between you two. So, your display of anger is ridiculous, and you're dragging us into it. Don't be so closed-off and people may be less inclined to draw at straws."

I catch Will's eye as he shakes his head and sighs, knowing Christina just called Tris out at the worst possible moment and in the worst possible way.

I let go of Tris's hand and wrap my arm around her shoulder, prompting her up. "Let's go—"

"Jesus, don't leave—"

"Christina, enough," I growl with more intention than I've ever given her.

"No, she's right." Tris shrugs my arm off her and stands. "Spot on, in fact. Well, everyone…ask away! This is your chance."

"Tris, you don't have to—"

"No. I'd rather them hear it from me than you," she responds honestly.

"Tris, he didn't 'spill the beans,' as Christina so eloquently put it. It wasn't like that—"

"Shauna, don't," I interrupt, not wanting to be defended.

I try, again, to pull Tris to the side, but she holds strong waiting for an interrogation. I open my eyes at the sound of Marlene's voice.

"Did he do _that?!_ " She points right at the suddenly very noticeable fingerprints on Tris's inner thighs.

Tris looks down, staring at her legs as if they're detached from her body. No one is saying a word, not that they need to—their wide eyes speak for them.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Marlene apologizes. "I din't see 'em before. But now you're standin'. And…wow… Wait, wazn't this…question time?"

I notice Tris's body relax a little too much, so I'm instantly in front of her gripping her shoulders, seeing her eyes out of focus.

"Tris," I whisper, my cheek pressed against hers.

She lifts her head and backs up, looking me straight on. I see it coming—her bottom lip trembling and the tears building up but not quite spilling over.

"We're going… _now._ "

She makes a break for the door, not even arguing with me as I follow close behind.

"Four—"

"No!" I stop and turn, pointing my finger directly at Zeke. "Don't say a God-damned word to me!"

The last thing I hear is Lynn. "Never seen a pool with so many assholes in it."

I follow Tris down flight after flight of stairs, hearing her sniffling and trying to hold back from crying the whole way.

"Please, don't talk to me," she begs, launching herself through the stairwell door into the hallway.

"Hell, no. We've had enough of the whole 'not talking' thing. I'm going to explain. And you're going to listen." I jog up next to her and force my hand into hers, clinging tightly even though she doesn't reciprocate.

We stop at the door, and she looks at me sheepishly. "I don't have my key."

"And why is that, Tris?" I ask quirking my head, waiting for the bullshit to pour out of her mouth. By the third time she opens her mouth to speak, I shove my hands in my pocket grabbing both my keys and the pair of navy and white polka dot panties. "These…" I push them into her hand. "…are one of my favorites. And, I guarantee you, they wouldn't have looked as good on Christina as they do on you."

She looks away as I open the door. But, I detect a hint of a smirk on her face as I hold the door open, and the blush that follows gives me hope for a peaceful conversation. But as I close the door she walks directly into the bedroom, kneeling in the closet to go through her duffel bag that is completely packed.

"So, you're really leaving?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah," she sniffs and wipes under her eyes. "I, uh, found a place."

"Where?! Fuck, don't even answer that! Tris, you don't have to find…a new place—"

"Yes, I do. This is not working! You know it's not working! But, you're too chicken shit to just flat out tell me. I'm saving us both, here, okay?"

"Hmm. Number one—don't know what you're talking about. Number two—not okay with me. Number three— apparently, I don't have a say."

"Nope. You don't."

I turn to walk out of the closet but do a 360 instead. I need to fix this.

"I didn't confide in Zeke. I mean, I did, but, not intentionally. After I had found out about you and Marcus, I was angry. I was pissed that you didn't tell me. Zeke knew I was mad, and he was asking…questions."

"So that was you...what… _retaliating_?" She stands, looking at me in disbelief.

"No! He was making _assumptions_ about…you and I. And I just wanted to clarify…to _him…_ that he has no fuckin' clue—"

"What kind of assumptions? Assumptions about our sex life? Or lack thereof!" She breezes past me, throwing whatever clothes she has on the floor. "I'm sure you complained about how deprived you are! How many cold showers you take! Well, boo fucking hoo, Tobias!"

"I wasn't complaining about a damned thing! Do you really think I'd be _that_ cavalier?!"

"Just out of curiosity, how many details _did_ he get? Does he know how close we've gotten? That we were just about there…" She pinches her fingers together in description. "…but I had to go and get all _frigid_ on you! What's a guy supposed to do, right? Ask his buddy! I can only imagine what Zeke had to say about it! He always gives the sagest advice—'Just stick it in her and see what happens!'"

She looks at me, apparently expecting a response. "If you think I'm going to respond to even an iota of that load of shit, then you are out of your mind, Tris."

"Did you tell him how you push me away? How I can't even run my fingers down your chest without you grabbing my hands to stop me? Did you tell him that you don't look at me anymore—"

"I look at you…constantly—"

"Or that if you do, you see some fucked up version of me that you've concocted? You see the fallout!"

I back up incrementally as she walks toward me, but I look away not wanting her to be able to read my face—my words to Zeke ringing so true in my ears, betraying what Tris and I have.

…..

 _"She looked at me like I was…him. And it's not a look I'll be forgetting anytime soon. It's funny, never in a million years did I think I'd get a limp dick by looking at Tris's face…"_

 _….._

"Oh, God. You did, didn't you?" she breathes out, with a look on her face that says her fears were just realized.

I grab her hands, pulling her to me as she tries to back up. "I didn't use those words." _Yeah, I used worse._ "And I _don't_ feel that way all the time! You have to believe me. But after last week—it was the way you looked at me…" I look down squeezing her knuckles. "It's in my head—"

"Did you tell him…you don't want me?"

" _What_?! Damn it—"

"Don't even answer that. I know you won't tell me the truth. Let go of my fingers!"

I do as requested, grabbing her wrists instead. But she twists them inward like a pro, pushing them down hard and fast to disengage me. I'm beyond thankful she doesn't complete the maneuver with the suggested follow-up kick to the gut, groin or shin. The knowing look she gives me, tells me she stopped short.

I add an obligatory eye roll before continuing. "I told Zeke the exact opposite, in fact! Jesus, Tris, I want you…" I stop and try to collect my words. "You're… You're all I think about—"

"I'm fucking humiliated!" she shouts. "Those were my moments! _Our_ moments! I would never…do that to you. Never ever! I don't tell Christina what you struggle with! I don't tell her about your nightmares. About how they're about your mother and me."

"How do you know they're about-"

"Because you talk in your fucking sleep!"

"I… I didn't even know I do that!" _Holy shit… What do I say?_

"And I _definitely_ I don't tell her the reasons you don't share parts of your life with me!"

"Well, can you, at least, inform me? Because I certainly don't know those reasons either!" I yell back, knowing I have no right to be upset.

"One word, Tobias. Ther-a-py," she points out each syllable like a snot and then walks away to the kitchen.

"Where the hell did that come from? I already told you! I'll go…to… _ther-a-py_!"

"Well, now it doesn't count!"

"What the fuck?" I say to myself. "What does that even mean?! '"It doesn't count?'" I ask as she comes out of the kitchen with a glass of water, bypassing me. I remember a time when, no matter how mad she was, she used to be unintentionally considerate—getting me a glass of water as well, whether I deserved it or not. I've been picking up on a lot of these bullshit details lately.

"Never mind," she grumbles setting the glass of water on the bedside table.

"So you can honestly tell me, you told _no one_ about that morning?" I inquire. "I'm not trying to go on the defense here, but, I know you talk to Christina. And—"

"That happened to me, Tobias! Not you!"

"It happened to me too!" I growl, the memory of that morning still fresh—my girlfriend looking at me as if I had just raped her.

"God damn it! You told ZEKE about the results of MY rape test! MINE! That is beyond private information. It's, it's… It's mine!"

I take a breath and walk closer to her. "You're right. It is. And I'm sorry. I didn't tell him any details about it; It just came out because I was getting defensive. All I said was 'you didn't know if you were raped or not,' in response to him pushing the subject of…us…not…" I really don't want to finish that sentence.

Her demeanor suddenly does a 180, and she looks at the floor, switching her weight from right to left and back again. "Is that another reason…you won't…um…" She's twisting her fingers and avoiding all eye contact. "Or, is that why you don't want to…be with me? Because…he may have? Or because…" she trails off.

"Finish…that…remark," I say, controlling my temper as much I can seeing as I know exactly where she's going with this.

"Look, I…the tests all came back…um, negative. They were negative. I don't have any STDs, and I'm not pregnant, and I'm still on birth control, and…"

I wait for the word to come…the one that will put me over the edge.

"I'm not contaminated!"

I can handle a lot when it comes to Tris. But, her thinking for one moment, that I don't want to sleep with her because she's damaged or tainted or whatever word she makes up makes me angry beyond comprehension.

"JESUS CHRIST, TRIS! How many times do I have to tell you how much I want you?! You need to stop this! Stop thinking the worst!" I plead. "You just about had a meltdown last week! That is the only reason I haven't been getting as close to you! From the beginning, when we got home from the hospital, I wanted you to take the lead!"

"I tried! But...you were…or you didn't seem…interested."

"No. No. No. And deep down, you _know_ that! Stop letting your mind take over your damned heart Tris! And that, very well, could have been the corniest thing I've ever said! Shit, I've been so damned nervous that I would hurt you or remind you of…what he did! And then when I _did_ let you take control, you pushed yourself…literally to the brink!"

We're about five feet apart, and it seems as if nothing I just said made any sort of sense or had any effect on her whatsoever.

"What do you want me to do? Just throw down and fuck your brains out? That's what you want?!"

"Yep."

I furrow my eyebrows at her and wonder if she really even knows what she's asking for. She couldn't even handle it when _she_ had control. I am in love with the most stubborn woman on the planet. Why is it that the only way to get through to her is to confront her with reality? As unideal as the situation with Dalilah was, I'm certain she _still,_ at some point, would have gone into that house, honest to God thinking she could handle it. It wouldn't have been until she was confronted face-to-face with the bitter memories that she would actually learn.

I look over her body—her thin cotton tank, still damp from the pool, hanging loosely over her subtle curves, her nipples erect from the cold of the air conditioning, her thighs parted shoulder width along with her damp hair hanging in tighter curls than usual from the humidity. She still hasn't cut it, so it's reaches half-way down her back.

I'm at her mouth, not even begging entrance, but demanding it as I kiss her with the desperation she had asked for—moving my tongue roughly over hers, practically devouring her plush lips. She responds with equal fervor pulling me to her roughly by my shirt and matching me stroke for stroke with her tongue.

As I knew would happen, I'm hard for her before my hands even reach her ass to wrench her panties down—which I do post haste. She sucks in a surprised breath but then smiles in my mouth as I step on them once they're at her ankles and then push her toward the wall.

Her hands are on my belt, fumbling with it as I hit my hands against the wall bracing them next to her head. I watch, trying to control my visceral reactions, which just causes me to breathe heavily. I watch because I can't fucking help myself, her fingers busy at work with my belt, and then the button and zipper of my jeans. Before I can stop her, she plunges her hand under the waistband of my briefs, stroking me just the way she knows I like it. I bite down on my lip trying to hold my resolve, but—screw it, I can enjoy this for a moment. Once, twice, three… _foooooouuuuur_ …fuck… _fiiiiive_ —I feel her thumb swirl over my tip and I back up knowing the teasing will officially push me to the point of no return.

Her nipples have serious voyeurism issues because they seem to be staring at me, and I need them to stop. So, of course, I pull her to me by her ass and palm one breast in my hand, moving my thumb over her nipple back and forth harshly—not holding back one bit as she whimpers. _Yeah, that noise… She needs to stop that._ I yank her shirt up stopping just below her breasts, running my hands up her back just to feel her smooth skin. I smile as goose bumps erupt, knowing that happens when she feels the electricity and passion between the two of us. She pushes my briefs down, and they catch on my erection, which brings me back to reality. I was just about to unclasp her bra and rip her shirt off, but foreplay isn't happening—not when you 'fuck someone's brains out.'

"Sorry," she mutters as she lifts them up over my dick and pushes them down, the same way I did with her. But I don't even bother stepping out of them. I just keep my mind on the end game—but her expert hands are fondling my balls as if they're dice, and she's a professional craps player…if there were such a thing. I groan and look down at her because…because…damn it, I love her. And for just one moment, I want to see her face. The look of love makes me think twice about my goal as I run my hands down her head, feeling her long thick hair between my fingers. She lets go of me and melts her entire soft body into mine, running her hands up my chest as I run my palms slowly over the plump curve of her ass, grinding her into me—the underside of my shaft pressing against the flesh of her lower abdomen. I can't help but groan in agony, especially when she looks up at me through hooded eyelids and thick lashes.

"I love you," she whispers shakily. There it is. I detect it—that wasn't for me, that was for her. She was reassuring herself. She loves me, and she wants this because and 'that's just what people who love each other do.' And I'm grateful for it—grateful because it snaps me out of it.

She reaches between us, but I take her hands and push them at her sides, making her tense up. I lift her up without even testing if she's ready. Not that I need to—I know her body; she's aroused physically. But, oh, how I want to. Feeling her need for _me_ on my fingers is soooo… _Mmmmmmgh!_ At that discontinued thought, I pin her to the wall with my form, waiting for the reaction. This isn't anything she wouldn't have been comfortable with before she was attacked—quickies weren't uncommon between the two us and I know she used to like it when I'd dominate the situation. But, right now, things are different. I hope it won't always be this way. But she needs to know I can control myself—I want her, and I…will…wait.

I grip her legs, not kissing her—just like when I took her up against the wall in my office—pure sex, want and need. But, there was love too. _Fuck!_

I shake my head and hike her up, taking myself in my hand and aligning us at the right angle, as she tightens her legs around my waist painfully. _Her legs are fucking strong!_ I feel her squirm as I brace myself to thrust, stopping just short. I back my head up—her eyes are closed and she's digging her nails into me.

"Is this how you want it?" I ask more roughly than I meant to.

Her trembling lip and dilated pupils provide me with my answer.

"Me neither." I back us up and set her down gently, taking a trembling breath and then pulling her into me protectively. "I…love…you. I want to make…love to you."

"Then why don't you?" she whispers through tears as she leans back against the wall.

"Because you're not ready." My forehead hits the wall with a purposeful thud, and I kiss the top of her head, inhaling. Her scent is tainted by the chlorine, but still prevalent. "And it's okay. I'll wait. I don't want angry, make-up sex. At least, not right now," I amend.

She nods her head. And we stay there like that—her arms at her side and me holding her tightly.

* * *

I feel my knees buckle as I just about lose Tris to the floor.

"Whoa," she whispers, looking at me as she rights herself. "Sorry."

I laugh lightly, kissing her quickly on the forehead. "Did we just pass out against a wall?"

She returns my laughter with a small smirk and looks down, seeing her shirt still hiked up and caught under her bra, the one I had purposefully not taken off, and she is nude from the waist down. I'm also still standing with my pants around my ankles. She quickly pulls her shirt out, tugging it down as low as possible and rushes over to get clothes off the floor. I sigh, just about to apologize because I know she's embarrassed. But, the truth is, I'm not sorry. So, I pull up my briefs and kick out of my jeans and socks, tossing them into the laundry hamper. I see Tris wipe under her eyes as she pulls on her pajamas, and I'm just about to ask her exactly what's on her mind when a text comes through.

Tris walks right by me and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her while I drag myself to the kitchen to get my phone. Another small thing I've noticed—she always closes the bathroom door now.

I meander to the kitchen, wondering if Tris is hungry. My stomach has been in knots, so food is the last thing on my mind. I hear the reminder buzz of an unread text, making me look down at my phone on the breakfast bar.

 **Zeke:** So, I'm a dick.

The anger I feel toward him is still fresh and in my face, so I don't even bother to select the message, I just turn off my phone. However, the temptation to throw it against the wall is so incredibly prevalent. A benefit of having Tris here—she reigns in my unnecessary and unproductive temper tantrums.

Once I hear the blankets rustle in the bedroom, I can only assume Tris isn't hungry and is heading to bed. We did after all, just fall asleep against a wall—pure exhaustion having taken over. So, I pour myself a glass of water, turning off the kitchen lights along with the rest in the apartment. The lights of the city, mesmerize me as I pull the chain on the door. For once, I migrate toward the irritating light, my eyes going out of focus as I seem to stare at absolutely nothing—just the blur of white light against darkness. I shake my head at the analogy—

"You know, you don't live inside my head."

I turn at the quiet voice of Tris. I can't help but smirk at seeing her in one of my T-shirts again—something she hasn't regularly done since she's been home from the hospital. But then her words resonate, along with the monotone sound of her voice.

"You don't carry this burden, this feeling of the unknown." She holds her palm to her forehead , looking up at the ceiling.

"I know," I say softly, taking a step toward her.

"He may have been INSIDE ME!" she screams as tears literally spring out of her eyes.

I stop short in shock. That was honesty in its entirety.

"I know you wonder why I take such long showers. It's because I lose track of time. I stand there and stare at myself, at these bruises that _won't go away._ It's like they're…torturing…me," she whines in grief. "I see the _madness_ in your eyes when I use the word 'contaminated.' But, you know what? It's how I FEEL! I don't know If he touched me!" she sobs. "How he touched me! For how long! Did I enjoy it? Did I participate?" She's crying, harder than I've ever seen, shaking her hands as if she's trying to rid her fingers of something vile that is stuck to them.

And I can't even move…not a muscle in my body functions because I'm stunned.

"I want to take my body off like a damned jacket half the time! Or have a moment of…solace." She covers her face and shakes her head, talking into her hands. "But, it's always there…lingering—tapping me on the…shoulder in case, for…just one moment, I happen to…to forget. Tobias…" she chokes out. "It's pushing me over…the…edge—"

And I'm in front of her, picking her up. She wraps her legs around me limply while I walk us to my room, sitting down on the edge of my bed with her straddling my lap.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I mumble into her shoulder as I smooth her hair down. I'm horrified at myself, but my self-deprecation is not relevant. "I…words cannot even describe… I… I'm just so confused and worried and so many other things I can't put words to right now. This past week, I didn't know what was going on and now that I do… _fuck_ ," I sigh, running my hands up her back the rest on her shoulders. "I thought, maybe at the time, Zeke could help…because I just didn't understand. Tris, you've never explained it to me like that. I knew it was bad—the uncertainty, not knowing. But, baby, you have to tell me these things if you want me to help."

"I didn't want your help. I just…wanted you."

"You have me," I state, pulling her even closer than before. "I can't be sorry for…wanting to help. I see you in misery and it makes me want to take it away. To make it—"

"Better."

I swallow thickly at her words, knowing it's futile to deny it—that's exactly what I was going to say. "I'm sorry. I know that's not enough. Right now I don't even know what else to say." I turn my head and kiss her neck. "Are you going to shut down on me now?" I mutter. "Please don't."

She runs her hands up from the back of my neck, into my scalp, one hand lands on the right side of my face, holding our cheeks together.

"I want you to know, the only time I did forget…or feel at all better…was when I was with you—when we were just being…us."

I smile at that until my heart starts to race, she must sense it because she suddenly holds me tighter. "Why did you say that in the past tense?"

"I'm just…" she lets me go and crawls off my toward the turned down covers. "I'm exhausted. I'm… I need to go to bed. Haven't really slept…so…"

"I shouldn't have…stayed at the office," I respond, pushing her wording out of my mind. I rub her legs after she settled herself, rolling onto her side and pulling the blankets up under her chin. "I don't know about you, but I don't sleep all that well without you, so—"

"Yes. You should've. It was the right thing to do. For you. You needed it."

"I never _need_ to be away from you."

She closes her eyes, giving me a quick nod.

I reach in and tuck a stray hair behind her ear before standing and leaning over her. "I'm gonna take a quick shower, okay?"

She hums, barely, and I can tell she's on the brink of deep sleep. I leave her a chaste kiss and head into the bathroom, closing the door behind me as to not wake her. I walk toward the shower and then think better of it, as much as I want to gather my thoughts, having Tris in my arms outweighs…everything. So, I quickly brush my teeth, leaving the water running knowing I'm not going to give it my best effort. I laugh lightly, realizing I'm in my briefs, the old T-shirt from my messenger bag, and socks. _Geez, am I going to be one of those cliché sitcom dads who walk around in their underwear, horrifying their childrennnnnnnnn…_ I look at myself, toothpaste bubbling onto my lips and immediately spit it out, splashing cold water on my face that has suddenly broken out into a cold sweat. _What the fuck, Tobias?!_ I stomp those thoughts like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum, (ironic as that is) ridding them from re-entry into my brain.

Then I exit the bathroom, scratching the back of my head as if I have Chicken Pox. I bend down to switch off Tris's bedside lamp, and smile because I've never been happier to hear someone snore. Tris never snores, which means she's out like a light. But my smile is instantly gone, as I see the large outline of what I can only guess was a mass amount of tears. I feel the pillow and it's still freshly wet. _Shit, she must have been bawling!_

 _….._

 _"I want to take my body off like a damned jacket half the time! Or have a moment of…solace. … But, it's always there…lingering—tapping me on the…shoulder, in case, for…just one moment, I happen to…to forget. Tobias…it's pushing me over…the…edge."_

 _..._

I grip my phone, suddenly out on the balcony of all places.

"Man, I'm so sorry," Zeke answers without even saying "hello."

I shake my head to clear it. "I can't even form proper words with you, right now," I grind my teeth as I speak, not even sure if he can understand me. "Tomorrow. You will get me a copy of her statement."

"Dude, I can't—"

"Find a way."

I hang up the phone and select my next contact.

"Hello? This is Dr. Reynolds," Cara answers her own personal cell in the most bullshit voice ever.

"Get me into Masonic. Tomorrow afternoon."

"You're not authorized—"

"Do you owe me?"

"Well, I—"

"Do you _fucking_ owe me?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

I hang up the phone, feeling the need to go for a run to cool my jets. But, I decide the meat-head route is better, so I drop and do 40 push-ups, pushing through the ache in my shoulder. Then, channeling George, I actually perform 10 ujjayi breaths.

"Well, that just happened," I murmur once I'm done. Then I make my way through the sliding door into my bedroom. I slip under the covers, curling my body around Tris's. I bury my face in her neck, sliding my right arm up between her breasts to rest my hand over her heart. I smirk, as it seems to work a little harder for a few seconds until the beats even out again.

I briefly run through the events tomorrow may bring, until sleep starts to overtake me. Backing my head up so Tris's hair doesn't suffocate me, I'm hit hard by the scent of more than Tris's shampoo as I lay my head on the pillow—it's what I like to call "her."

So I fall asleep, the last thought in my mind leaving a smile on my face.

 _She switched pillows._

* * *

 **AN:**

Part of Tris's very honest admission to Tobias was directly quoted from the sexual assault survivor at Stanford University. It was in the testimony she read to her attacker in court. Everyone should read it, if you haven't. It hit so close to home because that is how Tris is feeling, having no memory of what happened, the next thing she knows she's awake in the hospital. How the real-life victim describes her interactions with the people she's closest to is very much like Tris as well.

Again, I want to thank all the very very loyal readers!

The Facebook Page is alive and well. 33 notifications today! May not sound like much in the big picture considering Twitter and Tumblr and whatever the hell else. But, it's awesome for me! Search **Kris Daniels** (Chicago, IL)


	18. For Her

**Chapter 18** – For Her

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

There's banging, a lot of it. And it's loud. It's so loud.

"Maaaaakkkkkke…iiiiiiit…stoooooooop…" Tris groans as I flop onto my back. My left arm is asleep in the best way—that means I hadn't moved a muscle…all…night. No…nightmares.

"Did you sleep okay—"

"Maaaaakkkkkke…iiiiiiit…stoooooooop…"

"Okay, okay, okay, okay. Wait…what the hell is it?"

"I don't…fucking…care."

I laugh, rubbing my eyes. Then I lean over and kiss my little crab-ass on the cheek. "Such a grouch—"

"Good morning, sunshines! We know you're home! We know you're pissed! We don't care!" It's the awful voice of a very peppy Shauna, who must be screaming seeing as we can hear everything she says. Then more banging ensues.

"Are they…fucking…serious?!" I grunt sitting up, but then freeze immediately because I'm having a bit of an issue.

"Four! Four! Four! Four! Four! Four! Four—"

"Tobias!" I feel a pillow hit me in the face. "That number? Coming out of his mouth. That's your name."

"I…can't…get up."

"Ugh…" Tris rolls onto her back and pushes herself up on her elbows, looking at me with one eye open. "Why?"

"Morning issues."

"Huh?"

"Male morning…issues!"

"What the hell are you talking about—"

"I have a huge boner! Now get the damned door before Gertie raises my rent!"

"Tris and Four! Tris and Four! Tris and Four!" Zeke and Shauna shout like cheerleaders.

I watch with both pleasure and humiliation the look of surprise and then pure hilarity cross Tris's face as she snorts then covers her mouth…snorting again to hold in her laughter. Then she sits up to sneak a peek, waggling her eyebrows, but I roll onto my side facing away from her, moaning in embarrassment.

I hear her snicker as she pushes herself off the bed, shuffling to the living room.

"It's normal, you know!" I whisper to her as loud as I can. "It's because of REM sleep! It goes rogue!" I roll onto my back and sigh, trying to acclimate my cock to the day. "You need to calm the fuck down! Right now! Like, now, now!" I state through clenched teeth as I listen to what's about to play out at the door.

"Hey, Miss Tris! Wow! Morning does some crazy shit to your hair!" Zeke says boisterously. "Where's my main man?"

I can just picture Zeke pushing right past a very sleepy Tris, not giving a shit in the least—

"Pretty sure he's talking to his penis," she yawns.

I sit up straight as an arrow at Tris's words, eyes wide as I hear her suddenly shriek along with Shauna's hi-pitched laugh.

"Put me the FUCK down!"

Suddenly Zeke is at my door with Tris thrown over his shoulder.

"Put a pillow over that shit, man! And is your girl wearing underwear? I swear I didn't look!"

I frantically grab a pillow, covering myself as Shauna appears in the door. But then I face the predicament that there is nothing I can do about Tris's thankfully underwear-clad butt, inches away from Zeke's face.

"Put her down…NOW!"

Tris is still shrieking and trying to cover her ass along with smacking Zeke on the back.

"Woman?" He turns to face Shauna. "We got coverage?"

"Yep! Oooo! And they're cute!"

"Really? Lemme see!"

I launch myself off the bed to grab Tris just as Zeke fakes a peak, tossing her on the bed instead and then running out of the room.

"Oh, my God!" Shauna screams running after Zeke. "I didn't need to see that!"

I just stand there, momentarily stunned at what just took place—my dick finally deciding it's time to tone it down a bit, post the Shauna-front-row-seat-to-my-morning-wood fiasco. I turn to Tris to see her curled up into a ball on the bed. "Jesus, I'm sorry. They're the fuckin' worst." I rub her back as she shakes from embarrassment. Wait… Is she— "Are you…laughing?" I push her onto her back to see her face red, but she's not even making a sound. She's just convulsing—trying _not_ to laugh.

"Great," I mutter, pushing myself up and making my way to the bathroom giving Zeke and Shauna the finger as I see them briefly before entering the en suite. I brace myself on the sink and scrub at my face, not loving that everyone is laughing at my expense.

"Lucky lady, Tris!" Shauna yells loudly from the kitchen.

"Shauna!" Zeke exasperates.

I wait for a moment, hoping to hear a positive response from Tris…praying to hear a positive response from Tris. But, nothing comes but her clearing her voice and the door to the hall bath shutting. I sigh, knowing I shouldn't have expected a comment—it's just the dumb guy in me.

I take my time in the bathroom, doing a better job brushing my teeth along with peeing like Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own" seeing as I didn't last night—being too eager to hop into bed with Tris. It gives me plenty of time to go over exactly what I'm going to say to the two numb nuts who showed up at my door.

 _I can't believe, for the LIFE of me, that Zeke would ask Shauna to marry him…at THAT moment! And what the hell, Shauna? I can't totally blame you, but what happened to the rational woman who should have said, "Hey asshole, maybe now isn't the best time!" Jesus, it was seconds after Tris's heart literally skipped a beat! What the hell am I talking about? The average 24-year-old female who is in excellent shape has a heart that beats between 56-61 times per minute. I'll just average that out at a good 58.5 beats. She was dead for twelve minutes and 24 seconds, therefore her heart missed…_

I storm out of the bathroom slamming into Tris's back and gripping her by the shoulders so she doesn't go flying. "726.61 BEATS! 726.61 fucking beats—"

Tris and I both just about stumble into the kitchen and stand…dumbfounded. There are stupid balloons, some huge banner thing, bagels, coffee and a bottle of Baileys.

"Uh…" Tris breathes out as I still grasp her shoulders. "I mean… I…"

The wide-eyed, embarrassed look suddenly appearing on Shauna's face actually makes me feel validated.

"What? _Now_ your embarrassed? You sure didn't give a shit last night—"

"Read the damned banner," Tris whispers roughly in my ear.

 **-TWO SPOTS RESERVED AT THE END OF THE ISLE! WANNA FILL 'EM?-**

"What does that mean?" I mumble quietly. "Like front row seats?"

"They're asking us to be in their wedding, idiot."

"Oh, fuck," I breathe out quickly.

"Geez, Mr. Observant," Zeke sighs. "And when did you become that way, by the way? You used to notice if I didn't clean my ears properly! Or if Uri only did nineteen pull-ups, instead of twenty—even if you were across the gym."

I clear my throat acknowledging my out of characterness, and glance down at Tris as she shifts her weight. I'm fully aware of my lacking personality trait and it exasperates me as well.

"Anyway, I know you're mad," Zeke begins hoping on the excuse train. "And you should be mad. But, I need you to know, I just…asked! I didn't mean to! I mean, I meant to…but not like that—not at that moment. It's just… Sweet Cheeks was alive and, man, I saw the look on your face when you thought she was dead. I felt your pain…right here," he states, dramatically pounding his fist over his heart. "Now, I know I blamed SC last night." He points right at Tris while I roll my eyes. Although, I do appreciate SC over Sweet Cheeks.

"But, now, I'm blaming… _you._ "

"Me?!"

"Yes, sir. It was your face's fault. Your heartbroken, I-just-died-along-with-Sweet-Cheeks…face."

I detect a small head shake from Tris as I try to see her face, but she's standing in front of me just a little too far. "It's my face's fault that you're a dumb fuck with the worst timing…ever?"

"Yes. So seeing as this is all your fault..." He grandly waves to the banner and the breakfast. "…now you have to be in my wedding. Ya know, to make up for it."

I shake my head, looking down and laughing because…God, he's so stupid.

"So, what do you say, brother?"

"Yes, you piece of shit. Of course, I will."

"I knew you'd come around, asshole! C'mere!" Zeke launches himself over one of the kitchen table chairs, trying to lift me up and failing, so, settling on a slightly overpowering, yet, totally appropriate man hug, which I return wholeheartedly. "Hey, between you and I…well, us four…" He gestures between the four of us. "I would totally want you as my Best Man. I can only imagine how Uri would fuck everything up. But, I can't crush him, so we decided on no Best Man or Lady of Honor. Right, baby?"

"Uh… Yeah. Well, I mean…um… Lynn wouldn't be…well, the best choice either. So…" Shauna shifts, more nervous than I've ever seen her in my life. I watch her eyes look everywhere but at Tris's and I just realize Tris hasn't answered.

I look at her, semi-annoyed at what she's putting Shauna through. Tris obviously doesn't know what to say. Her eyes are glossy and she's biting her lip.

"Shit, Tris. I know this is pressure. And…we haven't known each other very long. And, well, I just… Wow, um…I don't have a lot of girlfriends, so—"

"No, no, no, no! I'm…" Tris is literally tearing up and I just don't feel like it's my place to comfort her. "Of course, I will. Definitely. Yes. I'm really happy for you guys. I… Yes, it's awesome."

"Are…you sure?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking me. I'm…honored." Tris, finally, makes a move to hug Shauna. And she does so, squeezing her extra tightly.

"So…you're not saying 'yes' because you feel sorry for me or because I put you on the spot? Be honest. I can take it."

"Well, only if you're honest with me about only asking because you don't have a lot of girlfriends. Are ya scrapin' the bottom of the barrel here?"

They both laugh at their wording, agreeing that is, indeed, not the case. I turn to Zeke as he lets out an exhale.

"That would have been awkward," he says out of the side of his mouth.

"Mmm hmm." I regard Tris with calculating eyes as she begins to ask all necessary questions a future bridesmaid would ask the bride. _That was…an interesting reaction._

"Well, let's chow!"

"Sounds good," Tris wipes under her eyes giving Zeke a closed-mouth smile as she sits.

"Wow, Zeke. Plates, napkins, flatware?" I comment knowing his style of bringing none of the above.

"Come on," he states, grabbing a bagel and one of the containers of cream cheese. "You know I had nothing to do with this shit. Although, I did come up with the wording for the banner and, my, _my_ , how I love bagels! So, that was my call too."

"Want some Baileys?" Tris offers Zeke after she pours quite the significant amount in her own coffee. _Yikes._

"Oh, ah, well, nah, I'm good!"

"Do you work today or something?" she inquires as she passes the bottle to me. I shake my head 'no' because I need to be 100% on my game today.

"No. I went in…um…last night."

We make knowing eye contact. He was off duty last night; He went in to get her statement.

"You went into work…after you were drinking heavily?"

"Super late night shift! Right, babe? Totally sober!" Shauna answers immediately, meaning she knows about the damned statement. _Shit!_ "But that _still_ doesn't explain why no Bailey's in the coffee, future husband." _Oh, God. Tell me I don't have to hear that shit for the next however-many months._

I take note of Shauna's taunting tone and Zeke's glare at her. _Now it get it…_

"You didn't," I deadpan. "Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?" Tris asks as she takes her turn with the cream cheese.

"Non-fat soy Caramel Macchiato with extra whipped cream and extra caramel? Right, Zeke?" I inquire trying not to laugh.

"You're kidding, right?" Tris asks as she grabs for his coffee cup, which he snags quickly. "You actually say non-fat soy?"

"So what?!"

"Non-fat means skim milk. You're literally are asking for soy skim milk."

Zeke looks frantically from me to Shauna, asking for back-up, but, he gets none. Him ordering his "coffee" like an idiot has been half the fun for Shauna and I.

"I hate you love you," he points to Shauna. "And you're a dick!" he adds with more vigor directed at me. "Can't be made at you, Sweet Cheeks."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, Tris-He says the Baileys 'taints the flavor,'" Shauna remarks using air quotes.

"Speaking of tainted," he redirects. "We tainted the evening last night. And I'm sorry."

"We agreed to be in your wedding." I take Tris's hand under the table. "I think we're over it."

"Nope." He takes a monstrosity of a bite of his bagel. "Not talkin' 'bout that."

Tris pulls her hand from mine and pretends to occupy it with her food.

"Tris, my friend. One thing you need to know about us—we are blunt as…hell."

"No shit."

"Let me speak, bro. ... It's how we show love. If we didn't give a shit about you, we wouldn't give you the time of day. Now, if my non-perceptive mind is correct—I would say you've got some trust issues. Not unlike someone else I know."

I roll my eyes, sitting back and crossing my arms.

"I trust…people-"

"Little lady, you need to know…" He interrupts her, pointing his finger, which has cream cheese all over it. "…we're here for you. Whatever you've been through…" He waves his cream cheesed fingers in the air. "…we've got your back. 'Cause we're friends. Do you understand me?" he finishes in his best impersonation of my voice.

Tris cracks a small smile and nods her head slightly.

"Progress. I like it." Zeke takes a huge sip of his non-manly coffee, while I gaze at Tris and then put my arm around her shoulders.

"So…" She leans forward as my arm slips off abruptly. "Who else are you going to ask to be in the wedding?"

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I'm making the bed while Tobias hovers in the doorway. "So, I'm just gonna go to the gym with Zeke, and then we may get a bite to eat or something. And, maybe… Well, it depends on how long…it takes. Um…are you working tonight—"

"It's fine," I reply as I pull the comforter taut. "I'll be fine."

"Please be here when I get back?"

I can hear him nervously scratch the back of his neck. I actually can't fucking believe that he's leaving when he knows I'm moving out. It just solidifies what I overheard in the office, yet, is completely contrary to his actions last night. Anyway, I'm still so fucking embarrassed from last night that I can hardly look at him, nor accept much affection, so maybe this is for the better.

"Tris? Please?" I sense his very quiet walk toward me, so I sit on the bed, knowing I can't avoid a confrontation anymore.

"I'm not going to schedule my day around you if that's what you're asking."

"I'm not…asking that," he replies quietly, sitting down next to me.

"Then what _are_ you asking? It's a Saturday. I'm going to go do…Saturday things—like, go to the beach, or to the park, or the grocery store, or take a walk, or, or… There's only a thousand things to do in this city. Um… The Farmers Market on… I think it's on Armitage. Or, I can… There's a band playing in Grant Park today. I don't know who, but…it's someone. Or, I'll go to The Studio and, and, and…watch. Or I can…maybe I'll go to the gym. Don't worry—I'll make sure to go later. Ya know, when you're gone."

 _And there's your in to invite me to the gym! Take it, please! Please!_

He just completely let me ramble, and he usually interrupts me with his own damned opinion. But, he's staying silent, so I sneak a glance. His eyes are trained on the floor, and he's practically non-reactive, just staring.

"Why don't you call someone? he mutters quietly. "Don't just…go by yourself—"

"I'll be fine."

I stare at him, purposefully. I know he knows it because he's fidgeting. "I feel… I feel bad… I really do want to—"

"You should go. Spend some time with… _Zeke,_ " I say more bitterly than intended. "He did just ask you to be in his wedding, after all."

"You got asked too, you know. It's kind of cool, right?" he says with a tentative smile, finally looking at me.

I shrug my shoulders in purposeful indifference. _Yes, it's awesome! That's why it's terrible!_

"Do you _not_ want to be in it? Shauna looked like she was about to throw up when you took so long to answer."

Shauna's face replays in my head—she looked terrified. "No, I…do."

"Then why…um…did you react like that?" He takes my hand and starts twisting each of my fingers absentmindedly.

 _Because they may be one of those couples that have like a ridiculously long engagement! I'm barely holding on, to begin with, and if you and I don't have a future? Then who the fuck knows where we'll be! So I'm going to want to stay far, far, far, far, far, far, far away from you! And then, when wedding time comes around, you will have a beautiful, sexy, exotic, date on your arm and I will show up…wearing a cat sweater, probably made out of my cat's fur because I'll have like ten cats. God, Tris, you're crazy. He loves you. He may not be sure of things. But he loves you. Well, right now he does._

"Tris?"

"Huh?"

"Did you hear me?" he chuckles.

"Oh… Yeah. I was…just surprised when she asks. That's all."

"Just surprised, huh?" he repeats skeptically.

"Yep!" I stand to make a smooth exit, but he wraps his arm around my stomach, pulling me back and onto his lap.

"Where ya goin'?"

"To get my coffee?" I sigh, giving into his embrace.

"And by coffee…you mean…straight Baileys?"

I roll my eyes at his insinuation. "I hear that tone. You're not the alcohol police. It was your dumb friend who brought it, anyway."

"Um… He made it clear that he is now _our_ dumb friend…and if I remember correctly, you agreed." He encircles his arms around my waist, turning me sideways. "Although, you may have made a grave mistake," he laughs lightly. "I love you, you know?" He nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing it softly. And I can't help but nod. "After what you told me last night—"

I sit up straight and can feel my heart rate accelerate at the memory of that admission. _Fucking weak and ridiculous—_

"Relax, okay?" He rubs my back, and I immediately sink into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm beyond thankful that you did. But, I can't help but be in high alert, now. And you've been drinking a lot lately—"

"Tobias, don't go there," I warn, communicating that I will call him out for the same reason.

"It's…different for me. I haven't been through that kind of…experience. I'm not… How do I say this? I'm not in the same place, emotionally, as you."

I have to think about that statement logically for a moment. You know, to prevent myself from exploding. _He's not being accusatory. He's concerned. He's not being accusatory. He's concerned_.

"Do you want me to keep telling you things? Telling you how I feel?"

"Of course, I do."

"Then you'd better stop talking…immediately."

"Wow." He shakes his head and laughs. "Never thought I'd hear you say those words."

I smile slightly at his light sarcasm, trying to hide what's bothering me about his comments. Does he honestly think he's _not_ an emotional drinker? I realize I have issues, and I'm very aware of the extent. But I wonder about his personal awareness sometimes.

"So, I'll make sure Zeke keeps personal interrogations at a minimum today, alright?" he asks tucking my hair behind my ear.

I shrug. "Nothin' to hide anymore, right?" The betrayal is still lingering, but I'm trying to control it because Zeke's speech this morning was, in actuality, a bit of a wake-up call. It's nice to have friends who would be there for me. I guess I'm just not used to having so many. It also woke me up to the fact that I shouldn't feel betrayed. Tobias has trust issues, and he doesn't seem to be able to talk to me about them anymore. I know I'm fucking up his life, right now. So, I should be grateful he has Zeke as a sounding board.

He groans looking up at the ceiling, exposing his very sexy Adams Apple. "I know I said it last night…many times…for many reasons, but, I just want to make sure you really heard me. I'm so sorry for not being there for you this week and for—"

Time stops for me as he suddenly looks right into my eyes. I suck in a quick breath—I haven't looked him straight on in the eyes, this closely, in…a while, I guess.

"…with Amar… … … … … …and … … …at the office…. … … …"

He's always said he's never really had anyone look him in the eyes. I suppose, for an outsider, there probably isn't anything striking about them. They aren't the true-blue color of most blue eyes. In fact, if you didn't look closely, they would almost seem dull—to be outdone by his more chiseled features. But give this man five seconds of close-up face time and holy shit, it's like a whole other universe in there. They're penetrating yet soft at the same time. _Exactly like I…drew…them…_

"… …wasn't trying… … …. …Zeke… … … …I betrayed… … … …please know you can still trust me. And I—"

I close my eyes as he rests his forehead on mine. Tightness hits me in the chest at the memory of spending so much time trying to capture his depth perfectly—attempting to portray more than just the physical impression. I didn't want the pretty face that most people can't tear their eyes from—I wanted _him._

"Shit, you're still upset."

I blink as he wipes a tear from under my eye, looking at me sadly. _Shit, what was he saying?_ _Double shit, when did I start crying? GOD, TRIS!_

"I knew I crossed a line—"

"No, I'm upset with myself," I blurt out, knowing he isn't aware of the hole in my heart, the one that I just now realize may have yet to close.

"You're not serious."

 _I am entirely serious. But how do I tell him I have no clue what the hell he just said while still making him feel appreciated because I'm certain he was just saying something important?_

"Uhhhh." _Real smooth, Tris. REAL SMOOTH!_

He lets out a breath tightening his hold on me a little. "Last night… I did that! Me! You did… _nothing_ wrong. How I… I hope you know that I was only… _aggressive_ …" He pushes me gently off of his lap and stands, running his hands down his face. That last word came out as more of a groan, and now I realize what he's talking about. But, he really needs to stop. _Please, just…stop._ "Because… Well, I just needed you to know—"

"Please, don't explain it." _Because I'm horrified enough as it is._

"Tris, I don't feel… _right_ about it anymore. Not after what you said…about how you're feeling… about the…the test—"

" _Rape…_ test." _Why the fuck can't he just say it?_

"Yeah."

I watch his forehead crinkle from squeezing his eyes shut and I just want to tell him—" _Closing your eyes doesn't make things go away!"_

"I never would have pushed you that hard. I feel like I went too far."

"Look, I was the one who said you could _fuck my brains out_ …" I cringe at the words and the subsequent repercussions they brought on last night. "…and then I didn't even stop you when—"

…. ... ...

 _The overall shock and the burning between my legs are making my head spin._

 _"Are you even FUCKING listening to me?"_

 _Suddenly, my entire body is pressed up against the wall, my arms pinned at my sides._

 _"Why do you do this?! You MAKE me do this to you! Do you think I want to be this man? I love you! I FUCKING love you! Can't you even LOVE me BACK? LOOK AT ME, DAMNIT!"_

 _He backs up slightly, and I look at his face ready to answer with whatever will make him happy. But my head is so hot. I can't even concentrate—I feel almost feverish. I put my hand to my forehead. It's sticky—it's blood._ _I feel the harsh scrape of concrete along with the crushing feeling on my shoulders—the thudding sound, over and over, and the gushing iron taste in my mouth._

 _"You can't even answer me?! I HATE you! I HATE you! I HATE you!"_

 _My legs are around him, and I'm choking… Then lightning shoots up my spine, burning me…my entire lower body…is burning. But the concrete floor feels cool against my skin—_

 _…. ... ...  
_

The side of my face feels warm, and I look up to see Tobias is now sitting next to me again, his eyes searching mine, holding my face in his hands.

"I know that look," he says with a low tone. "What were you just thinking about? Tell me. Don't try to hide it."

I shake my head to clear it, freeing myself from his grasp. "Um, when it was too much. I just…I should have stopped you."

I watch his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows. "When it was too much," he repeats.

"Yeah, I should have said something. But...I didn't and—"

He's up off the bed before I can even finish my sentence.

"So, it _did_ get to the point where it was too much?!"

"No! I mean, yeah, but, you stopped! You, obviously, had a...a… _plan._ You never intended to have sex with me. You just wanted to scare me, right? To prove that I'm not ready? Well, point taken. Now don't freak out on me! If you want me to be honest, then you have to be able to handle it—"

"To 'scare you,'" he chokes out, not being able to move past my previous words. "No, I… You were… That wasn't what I was trying to do—"

"Tobias." I stand and walk toward him, but he backs away.

"Did you…?" He's biting the hell out of the bottom lip that I'm quite fond of. "Did you have a…a flashback…while I was pinning you up against _that_ wall!" He points to the exact location as if I needed to be reminded of the embarrassment.

"Well…no—"

"The TRUTH would be helpful!"

"Fine, it was…a memory! Just a very vivid memory!"

"One and the fuckin' same, Tris."

"God!" I pull on my ponytail holder to release my hair, the messy mass that is piled on my head suddenly feeling like a ten-pound weight. "The smallest things can set me off. You know this! Jesus, one whiff at the Farmer's Market and it all…comes…back…to…me." I yank on my knotted up mess between syllables.

"Well, then you sure as shit aren't going to the Farmers Market today. Gimme that!" Tobias turns me by my shoulders and takes over the job of unknotting my mess.

"I'm SAYING…I deal with it. Daily. Ow! Take it easy!"

"I'm trying! Have you seen your hair today? And, you shouldn't have to deal with it because of something I did!" He sets my hair free, tossing it over my shoulder.

But before my hair can even settle I turn and reach up, placing my hands on either side of his face. His eyes dart around the room avoiding mine, but I'm unrelenting. Tobias is so affected by guilt—it's one of his constants. Sometimes I think it may even be part of the reason he stays with me whether he knows it or not. "Tobias, I need you to look at me."

After a moment he finally looks down at me, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"I'm _not_ dealing with it because of something _you_ did. I'm dealing with it because of something _he_ did." The furrowed brow and how he isn't even trying to search my eyes for the truth proves he's barely listening. "And there isn't a damned thing _you_ can do about it! It is what it is!" I take a breath hoping I, at least, made some sort of impression—unclouding his judgment. My comment must resonate because he's searching my eyes again at a rapid pace. "So just…stop taking credit. I think you overestimate the effect you have on me," I state jokingly, trying to recover and getting him to calm down. I pull on the hem of his t-shirt expecting, at least, a smirk or a soft laugh. But his expression is unchanged. "That was a joke," I deadpan.

"Oh. Yeah. I know," he replies, giving me a tight-lipped smile and a quick kiss on the head before walking straight into the closet.

I walk toward the balcony window and sigh, hating the 180s he always pulls. I frown for a moment, turning my ear to listen to his grumbling and muttering, but I hear none, which is incredibly odd. I walk toward the closet still hearing silence—well, only silence in the aspect that he's not talking to himself under his breath. But I sense movement and—

"Whoa, ow!" Tobias's chest makes contact with my face, but he's almost unfazed as he delivers me a curt, "Sorry."

"What are you doing?" I ask observing the garment bag he carries almost stoically into the kitchen.

He pours himself a very large glass of water as I wait for his response. Once he's gulped it all down, he takes a deep breath before walking toward me and giving me a flat kiss on the forehead. "Taking my suit to the cleaners."

"Oh—"

"Then Zeke's meeting me at the gym."

"Hey." I grab his bicep roughly. "Why are you all Domo-Arigato-Mr-Roboto all of a sudden?"

"Sorry," he replies, not even laughing at my horrendous Styx reference, nor making eye contact. "I'll be back—"

"Bye." I turn on my heel, not giving a shit about an explanation, and grab the bottle of Baileys feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I don't forget to slam the balcony door behind me.

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

Because of the spectacularly amazing way Shauna and I asked those two crazy birds to participate in our niptuals (I think that's how you say it…), I'm in a fantastic mood. Except…I am holding a very, very, very, very, illegal copy of Tris's statement and the results of the rape test. I have decided to be the better man and not sneak a peek at the full results of the test. All Four actually said was that she didn't know if she was raped or not. I don't quite know how that's possible, and I didn't have time to ask. Then it turns out Shauna got me a one-way ticket to Deep-shitville with Four. Don't get me wrong; I understand the whole we-don't-keep-secrets-from-each-other thing." And it's actually been alright! But could she NOT JUST KEEP HER MOUTH SHUT?! Fuck it! I'm just pissed at _myself_ for not picking up on the very, very, obvious cues Four was throwing my way at the pool. Then I just had to go and spout my mouth off. My mom always said my ignorant honesty keeps people in check and avoids conflict in the long run. But I'm not so sure anymore.

"Hey." A very stiff, overly dressed presence, appears by my side at the lake.

"Dude, what the fuck are you wearing? Do you have a meeting? Do NOT read this and go into—"

"Not your concern. Give me the statement."

"And why are we meeting here? Are you CIA? What the…? And all this time! I knew there had to be a logical reason for your switcheroo personality defect!" I expect...I don't know, maybe a smile? Especially after the great morning we had! Although, the tension between Tris and him was palatable (I think that's how you say it…).

"It will lessen the chances of me losing my mind if there are others here to file a report against me."

"Ahhhhhh… Disturbing the peace and all that shit. I got it. You have always been the smarter one. Although the whole controlling-your-temper thing is a new development."

"It has been pointed out to me, on more than one occasion, that compulsive behavior is…for children."

"Damn! She said it like that?"

"Indeed."

"Women are cruel."

"Indeed."

"Speaking of cruel… Enjoy!" I pass the folder to him, the suddenly icy expression on his face…ehhhh…pretty much gives me frostbite. _What did I say? What did I say? Oooooh. There is no way he will enjoy this._ "Sorry."

He rips it out of my hand, and I stand, taking that as my cue to leave.

"Stay." He grabs my arms with more force than usual (And that's saying something), making me sit.

"You sure—"

"Stay."

I watch him open and scan over my chicken scratches, and I swear I can see weird blue lights coming out of his pupils—like he's a computer scanner or, a laser printer or a—

"Back up," he mutters, putting me in check.

I hadn't even realized I had leaned forward that much. Ha ha! I was totally checking out his eyes. I sit back up casually, pretending I don't know what the hell he's talking about. Then, to my shock, he turns the page way more quickly than he should.

"That's it?"

He sighs and closes his eyes. "You think I don't have that particular moment in time committed to memory? Each word she spoke, the inflection in her voice, each syllable she choked on, how she was trying to, literally, swallow air because, in her tormented mind, her lungs were failing her. I could tell you the exact spots on her head where each bead of sweat started forming. I can remember, the exact amount of pressure she used when she was crushing my fingers. She shed ten tears out of her left and six out of her right before she started sobbing and I couldn't keep track. So, yes, Zeke. That's it—no need to read on."

"Got it." I stare straight ahead barely able to process everything he just said. Even pushing aside the fact that he's acting like Robo Cop, I still just don't understand how his mind works. Shit, I don't even know what the hell Shauna was wearing the day I asked her to marry me! _Do not bring that up!_

I side-look him (I don't even know if that's a word) several times before I finally give in and look over at him with all of my attention. He has a blank look and he's staring down at Tris's medical report. His eyes aren't moving—he's not reading it.

Then he rips it in half, and then half again, and then half again, and then half again, and again, etc., etc., etc., over and over until it's in itty bits. Then he gets up and walks the short distance across the Path, tossing the pieces in the water. I stand back about a foot behind him, with my hands shoved in my pockets, rocking from my heels to my toes nervously.

"Always knew you were a litterbug," I mumble, kicking him in the heel.

"It didn't feel right—reading that. She, uh, wouldn't want me to…see that. Her… _body…_ being reduced, dissected, like a fucking science experiment."

"Yeah." I nod, respecting the fact that he stopped reading, but also knowing the other motive was because he couldn't handle it.

"Thanks for this."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." I watch him fold up the rest of the statement and slide it into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

"I, um…" For a quick second here, he removes his fackade (I think that's the word). "This could have cost you your job, so..."

"I know this whole thing has been killing you. But, uh, if you get a chance—read the second page of that statement. Then you'll know—I did it for her too."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

For the last hour, I've been only marginally focused on what's been going on around me. The last two things that hit my emotional core being Tris's words _—"…I'm dealing with it because of something he did, and there isn't a damned thing you can do about it! It is what it is!"_ That, along with the resigned you're-so-fucking-predictable look on her face as she walked away from me—my eyes lingering as she unceremoniously slammed the balcony door so hard I can't believe the glass didn't shatter.

Reading, or scanning, Tris's statement brought me back. I knew I had to read it beforehand, not allowing my emotions to betray me upon the true confrontation. But as it turns out, it was, basically, Tris's exact words I was reading. What I didn't expect, was an attached copy of her Rape Test. Seeing her full name, along with her patient I.D.—the number the report continuously referred to her as—and then the detached scientifically and anatomically proper lexicon that reduced her body to a meaningless pile of limbs and cells made me nauseous. I barely got past one-fourth of it when it suddenly felt like an invasion and just wrong altogether. Unfortunately, my mental screen shot will most likely never dissipate.

"Always knew you were a litter bug." I feel a nudge on the back of my shoe, so I turn, knowing Zeke deserves some sort of explanation.

"It didn't feel right—reading that. She, uh, wouldn't want me to…see that. Her… _body…_ being reduced, dissected, like a fucking science experiment," I spit out bitterly.

"Yeah."

"Thanks for this." I fold the statement in thirds, placing it protectively in my suit coat. I know I'll need it for the proper wording. Also someday, when Tris is ready, she may want to read it.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"I, um…" I let down my guard a little more, in appreciation of Zeke's friendship. The only reason he's here is basically because I didn't want to be alone. "This could have cost you your job, so..."

"I know this whole thing has been killing you. But, uh, if you get a chance—read the second page of that statement. Then you'll know—I did it for her too."

I search Zeke's face for some sign of emotions—something I rarely do because he wears them on his sleeve, so there's no need. But, for the first time, I have to actually read him. And if I'm correct, the words, "You think you know, but you have no idea," are running through his mind.

But before I can answer, _he_ walks past me with a clap on the shoulder, heading straight to his very illegally parked cop car—right in the grass on LSD. I narrow my eyes, partially because the stoic-walk-away is my move, and the other part is because I don't know what the hell he's talking about.

"Second page?" I mumble to myself as I make my way back to the bench, pulling the paper out from my jacket. I see that there is indeed another statement—responding officer Ezequiel Pedrad. My eyes scan through the myriad of checked boxes, dates, times, addresses, and random codes that essentially mean nothing to anybody. Until my eyes arrive at the anecdotal portion—

 _…I was dispatched to 4509 Parkland in The Bucktown neighborhood of Chicago, about an aggravated assault and possible sexual assault claim. Upon arrival, I was met by a female neighbor, explaining she heard screams and then a period of quiet, in which case she thought there was no longer an issue. (Upon later questioning, she claimed this period was an approximate 30 minutes.) She then claimed to hear more screams, a loud crash, and crying. The woman directed me toward a man lying unconscious on the stairs, who she said was the perpetrator. I checked his pulse to confirm survival and handcuffed him to the stairs. Once I reached the landing,_ _the neighbor's husband had been tending to the victim for a short amount of time (Upon later questioning, he claimed this period was an approximate 5-7 minutes, his wife agreed.). He informed me he had moved her to a supine position as her torso had previously been forward facing and hanging over the edge of the rail. He also said he had covered her lower extremities, which had been completely exposed…_

I take a huge gulp of air, clutching the papers in my hand, squeezing them as tightly as possible along with my eyes. I know what Tris would say—"Closing your eyes doesn't make it go away, idiot!" She's right. So I take a marginally less intense breath, before continuing the torture.

…..

 _While checking for signs of external injury, the victim communicated that she was unable to breathe properly. My assumption was a possible airway restriction or punctured lung. Upon checking her ribcage, I observed no deep cuts or lacerations. However severe bruising had taken effect. The victim became panicked so I advised her to practice small shallow breathing and that panicking may worsen her situation. I continued my assessment, noting that her breathing was only labored on her right side, also noting the large cut on her shin. Upon further notification from the male neighbor that he had covered up her exposed lower half, her breathing became slow to the point of ineffectiveness. Trying to calm the victim became very difficult. I then noted a very large contusion on the right side of her hea_ _d. Her breathing stopped entirely. I made the choice to perform CPR, knowing the risk of further lung damage was imminent, yet keeping her alive was the priority. I stand by my decision._

 _….._

I slump backward onto the bench—every word of Zeke's statement sinking in, inking itself into my brain. There is still a significant amount left to read, but I don't have the strength, and I can't tap into my reserves right now. I'm saving that for later.

I can only imagine that the difficulty of reading that is nothing compared to the difficulty of writing it—Zeke having to detach himself and write a professional statement. I'm in awe of my best friend right now. And, what the hell, that didn't even sound like him. I realize it's irrelevant, but I would never have thought half of those words were in his vocabulary nor that he could use them in sentences.

The technical nature of his statement is relieving to me—my having the specifics of what he walked into, without the burden of sentiment—a clear picture. And I am so grateful for that seeing as my memory of what took place in front of her house is entirely too skewed. I haven't even allowed myself to think about it. But I know it's there, just like all of the memories I choose to compartmentalize—coping at its finest.

I stand, wiping the sweat off my brown that has nothing to do with the heat, fold the wrinkled statement up, inserting it neatly into my jacket pocket, and stare out at the lake. My mother crosses my mind, as she always does when I look out over the dark blue water. It reminds me of her eyes. Now that enough time has passed, I have the ability to filter through my memories like a flip book. I can nearly see the light drain from her eyes as the years went by. I did nothing. I refuse to see the same thing happen to Tris. I'm doing this for her.

* * *

 **AN:**

 *** LSD is an acronym for Lake Shore Drive.**

 **Thanks for reading, guys! You're amazing!  
**


	19. Consumed

**AN:** I'm taking a chance on this one…with Eric's POV. I had two alpha readers- A non-fan fic friend and avid reader who shrugged her shoulders saying, "He's pyscho. He's vile. You wrote him as a vile psycho. Post it." My other friend who reads Divergent fan fic, said, "You're posting…that?" with a squeamish quivery voice. So, fan fickers, put your big girl panties on and pretend you aren't reading a fan fic—just a testimony of a vile individual from a novel. The secondary characters are a large role in this story, and I had to do Eric's character 'justice.' He is a sick fuck with delusional perversions of Tris. I had originally planned to make Eric's POV fairly brief. However, it wouldn't make sense based on his obsession with her along with his Bipolar diagnosis, in addition to his psychotic personality. So, he babbles. And because of that, it took 6 days to write his POV alone. Also, he uses words that are entirely unsuitable for the English language. I condone NO SUCH usage of any of those words! And his disrespect and ignorance toward other cultures/countries is staggering.

 **Chapter 19** \- Consumed

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I drop the mountain's worth of groceries onto the floor as Jonathan files in behind me doing the same. Suddenly, it began to rain like a motherfucker and cabs were few and far between. Sometimes I think they do that shit on purpose. So, I hoofed it back from Whole Foods and just about collapsed through the main doors of the building.

"Geez, I don't mind grocery shopping, but this whole dragging-groceries-home thing…sucks."

He shrugs. "Why don't you take Mr. Eaton's car next time? I'd meet you in the basement to carry them up."

I smile, pleased that Jonathan's finally speaking to me. He wouldn't take my apology calls down to the desk this morning, and it took an entire elevator ride to get him to smile. I knew I had him when I said, "Just think of Marlene's boobs." But my return smile is forced because I'm not going to be here long enough to actually take him up on his offer.

Plus, Tobias lending me his car? Doubtful—considering the last time I drove it I almost sideswiped a bus. The memory of that day—it started out so normal and awesome. Who knew it would be the last normal day we would have? I laugh to myself at that thought—when have we ever had _normal_ days? It makes me sad for him—he deserves that kind of stability.

"Did you used to live somewhere else? How else would you get groceries?" he asks innocently.

I laugh lightly. Often time city people think they're so worldly, and tend to look down on people from the 'burbs' or, God forbid, the 'country' …yet, many of them have never actually discovered that there is, in fact, a world outside of Chicago. "Well, city boy, I drove a car—a Ford _Taurus_ —

"What's that?"

"— to the store, bought enough groceries to last a week or two—"

"—or two?!"

"Yep," I chuckle, knowing that around here, you only buy what you can carry. "Then we loaded the groceries into the _trunk_ of the _car_ , _drove_ it home, and pulled into the _attached_ garage—no dragging groceries in the rain. It was glorious." These are the small things I took for granted, growing up in an actual house.

"Sounds nice," he says sweetly, even though, he doesn't give a shit. He looks around at all the bags—enough for about fifteen dinners and quick breakfasts. "Did you need me to help you put these away?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm not sure… _Mr. Eaton…_ would want you going through any more of his apartment."

"What...? You… I didn't—"

"Jonathan, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Relax."

"Okay… Phew. Well, see ya around, Tris."

"Yeah," I sigh. _Nope, kid. At least, not as often. Right? Just, not as often… Just, not as often…_

"Oh…and…yesterday was, like, the worst day of my life."

"Hmmph." _Oh, to be ignorant and in high school again._

"But it was also the best," he blurts out before he slams the door. I can hear him run down the hall and slam the door shut of the stairway equally as hard.

I chuckle to myself and begin to unload the groceries, right as another knock sounds on the door.

"Jonathan, it's open!"

"It's not Jonathan and it's not open!" The resounding voice of Christina chimes through the door.

I hang my head between my shoulder blades because I'm seriously not in the mood for a deep conversation at this moment.

"Tris?"

"I'm coming," I grumble, dragging my feet to the door. I swing it open to see an overly exhausted Christina. "Come on in." I wave over my shoulder as I turn back to the kitchen. "Sorry. Tobias changed the locks, and he's insane, so he got an entirely new doorknob. It fuckin' locks behind you every time you exit the apartment—"

"Will broke up with me."

I turn quickly to see the now tear soaked face of Christina.

"Last night. Right there in the pool. He just ended it. And then it was like, 'That's it. We're done. Let's go hang out with our friends!'"

"Oh, Chris." I walk over and give her a tight embrace as she unloads whatever tears she seemed to have reserved onto my shoulder.

Once she pulls away, I lead her to the breakfast bar and start to make some coffee.

"So, what happened? I mean, right there in the pool?" I ask in total disbelief. Will usually has better…timing.

"Yeah. That was why I was a bit…curt. I'm sorry, by the way. And can I have a tissue? I definitely snotted all over your counter. Make sure you tell Four that I did."

"Paper towel?" I offer, knowing Tobias has no Kleenex.

She accepts the paper towel with a laugh. "Will never has any either." And this brings on a whole new bought of tears, which she tries to talk through. "Did you hear my 'sorry?' About last night? I was a such a crotch," she says through near sobs.

I shrug because, honestly, I hadn't thought much of it. If there's anything I can count on with Christina, it's blatant honesty. We all need a little of that in our life, or a lot, in my case.

"I was a bitch. Tobias didn't know what the fuck was going on, and I just kept at it. So, if anyone is the one with communication issues, it's me. I was a passive aggressive jerk."

"How did that all turn out by the way?" She blows her nose, waiting for my response.

"Not great. Now let's talk about you," I deflect her deflection.

She brushes her shiny black hair up out of her face and wipes under her very puffy eyes. "I don't know. We were in the pool and, well, I had no panties on, and we were, like, away from everyone, and his hands started wandering. So, we started kissing, and then he suddenly pulled away and said, 'I can't do this.' Well, I thought he meant, like, have sex in the pool and, duh, that was never in my plan anyway. I was all about the guest room that looks like it needs some serious breaking in." She points over my shoulder at the rarely-been-used guest bedroom. "So, I tried to lead him out of the pool, and he held my arm and said, 'Not _that… This_ ,' like, pointing between the two of us."

I watch helplessly as she puts her head in her hands and cries freely. _I wish I could cry freely. I'm always embarrassed._ I turn the grinder on, giving her a moment to compose herself. I hate that they broke up, but I have to be prepared to be candid with her on this one—this was her call.

I dump the contents of the grinder into the coffee maker, wishing I didn't have to keep it so impeccably clean. _I don't! I'm a grown woman! But, this isn't my apartment. This isn't my stuff! Just remember that!_

I walk to the counter and grab her hands that are now resting there. "Did you think you were going to stay together?"

"I wanted to…"

"Is there a 'but' in there?"

"I wanted to! I wanted him to miss me so bad when I'm gone that he'd change his mind and move to New York! I know that's terrrible! But I can't help it! I think I'm just…like, fundamentally terrible."

"Chris, you're not terrible—slightly selfish, yes, but not terrible."

"The sane part of me knows it's completely selfish. It was just wishful thinking, and, I guess I was also expecting us to date the shit out of each other until I leave."

"When…do you leave?" I ask tentatively.

She purses her lips and averts her eyes from me. "Monday."

"Monday?!"

"I'm sorry!" she pleads. "You absolutely cannot be mad at me! I can't leave with you hating me too!"

"No one hates you! Quite the opposite, in fact." I shake my head and take a breath—me being upset will not help this situation. And this isn't exactly brand new information. It's just hitting home…in a big way. "Okay, do you need help packing or…"

"Really, Tris?"

The offer was out of my mouth before I realized what, exactly, I was offering. "Okay, yeah, that was dumb. I just… I want to help, but I don't know how."

"There's nothing you can do. I started packing like a week ago."

"Oh." It hurts that she's had this news for over two weeks, but because of my bullshit, she didn't have the guts to tell me. I missed out on two weeks of decent goodbye time!

"So, um, what about your stuff?"

"I hired movers." I push off the counter and grab two mugs out of the cabinet. "They pack everything for me. I think the only things that are really mine are what's in my bedroom. They'll be there…Monday, actually. I was hoping you could let them in."

"Yeah, sure."

I pass her the coffee and lean over the counter.

"So, was Four totally pumped when you told him you're staying?" she asks, obviously hoping there's an upside to this.

"Actually, I'm not…staying. I, uh, found a place."

"What?! Why?! What did he do?!" She gives me the old neck-swirl-arm-fold move.

"Nothing…at least, nothing on purpose. I just got a vibe from him." If I tell Christina the whole truth, I wouldn't put it past her to tell Tobias—a last ditch effort on her behalf to make sure I'm taken care of. "And, well, it's better this way—some space, you know?"

"No. The whole space thing I just don't get. I would give anything to love with Will."

"Uh…no, you wouldn't." I raise my eyebrows, pointing out her blatant hypocrisy.

"Yeah, that was dumb. So, are you guys…breaking up?"

"No," I respond lightly.

"That was convincing."

"I just don't know…" I swirl my finger around the ring of coffee the mug left on the counter. "… if he sees us…where I see us…later…in life."

"What, like, marriage, babies, grandkids, retirement, banging in the nursing home?"

"I guess."

"Um…" She looks at me like I'm crazy, and it's unnerving. "He sees no one... _but_ you...in his future."

"Well, I didn't say he sees himself with anyone else, per se, but…"

"You…still love him, right?"

 _How do I put this into words without making it into a Pinterest quote?_

"Yes. So much. So much, that… Christina, I'm afraid I'm ruining him. I'm on the verge of drowning in medical debt unless my parents' house and property sells, I'm certainly not great to be around these days, my bedroom skills are seriously lacking, I look like death warmed over half the time, I cry…a lot, and he's trying so hard to just make everything better. It's consuming him. He's so many amazing things, and I'm just bringing him down. Ice burg versus Titanic—Ice burg wins!"

 _There! Not Pinterest-worthy!_

"He would shit a brick if he heard you say _any_ of that. And you're the ice burg, right? I've never been good with metaphors."

"Well, then it's a good thing it's an analogy. Hey, aren't you here to talk about you?" I exasperate.

"I was. But, there's no solution to _my_ problem—well, unless I stay. But, I need to do this. I'm afraid I'll resent Will if I don't. So, what's your excuse?"

"Ironically, I'm worried Tobias will resent me."

"Well, aren't we just up Shit's Creek without a paddle? Hey, BT-dubs…" she glances over my shoulder. "…are you starting a Food Pantry? What's happening here?"

* * *

 **Eric's POV:**

I flick my spoonful of organic bullshit applesauce at the window just as that dumb bitch passes. I laugh aloud as she tries to ignore me, but the hate in her eyes in pretty fuckin' hilarious. It'll be even more hilarious when I get to watch her clean it up right in front of me. Hell, she's a janitor! That's her damned job, right? Fuckin' spic is even lucky she has a job. If I had anything to do with it, I'd kick her illegal ass right over the damned barbed wire fence. If I were real lucky, she'd get caught on it, wriggling like a stuck pig.

But, luck hasn't been on my side in years. I slide down in my chair, hearing that stupid ass gong go off saying that therapeutic yoga has started.

"Mr. Monroe, we had you signed up for hydrotherapy—"

"Fuck you," I comment making sure my tone is the exact same as his.

My vocab is small around here. "Fuck you," "Fuck off," "Kiss my ass," "Eat shit," "Suck my dick." Don't get me wrong; I rant...plenty, but only on my time on my own terms. No one's gonna make me talk! The only great thing about this place is that there's no way they can kick me out. All I have to do is exist. I don't have to "mind my Ps and Qs", or whatever dumbass thing my mom always said. I can spout my mouth off to anyone I want, and they can't do nothin' about it. _Assholes._

I twist around in my 'ergonomically pleasing' chair. It's probably made of fair-trade henna by some dot head who was rescued from sex trafficking. Probably did her no favors! They practically shit babies in India! Guarantee that chick had kids hangin' off her tits 24 hours a day. Probably has more mouths to feed than I have hair on my balls. She probably made more money as a cum collector! I still don't buy into the whole human trafficking shit. First of all... "Humans?" I'm pretty sure it's just "Women." Women trafficking. And like it's that big of a deal? So these bitches fuck for money! Someone's gotta be their boss! Someone's gotta pay the rent! That's called Capitalism. The free market. That's the kind of freedom our forefathers fought for—

"Eric Monroe?"

I look up to see some stuck-up ass fuck in a suit, and glasses that look like they'd fit a mule. Some trendy, butt-fuck, Chicago, city boy straight out of a Kohl's magazine.

"Yeah… Who the fuck are you? Clark Kent?"

"No."

Tilting my chin at him, I can tell right away this guy is a grade A tool. He's sizing me up as if he can read my fuckin' mind. If only he could—he has no idea the shit I come up with. "Then who the _hell_ are you?"

"I need you to finalize your statement regarding Beatrice Prior."

One of the few things that make both my blood boil and make me feel like I have frostbite at the same time—Beatrice. The last time I saw her flashes through my mind like wildfire. I was doing everything I could to get her home safely. I hurt her. But, I just have to because…she's so stubborn and she just needs to learn. Someday, she'll learn! Sure, my methods were…regrettable, but, she's always _made_ me do those things. That's what love is—when someone has a hold over you that's unbreakable—all consuming! She broke me when she left me and then I broke her right back.

"I didn't make a statement."

"So, you agree to all accusations then?"

"I already told you stupid motherfuckers. I did whatever the hell she said I did! Jesus, man! This shit should have been taken care of! Aren't you all supposed to be all Chicago-style hard-core and shit? Don't you have some gang bangers to bust? Get the fuck out of here and go throw some niggers in jail!"

"There's no signature in the file. I'm following up."

I was under the impression that all these bleeding heart Liberal douche bags were OH SO OFFENDED by the _"N"_ word? _Such bullshit. If the niggers can use it; I can use it!_ But, this guy didn't bat an eyelash off his pretty boy face.

"Oh, you're following up, are ya? Well, follow my middle finger then!" I give him the bird and turn in my chair, hoping to see the fat-ass Mexi Melt make her second lap. Much to my disappointment, I don't. "Damn." I also don't feel any douchebag prick behind me anymore. So I pick up my applesauce, grab the spoon and throw both of them at the window. "Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! DAMN!" The memory of Beatrice seeps its way back into my head, and I can barely stand it! Everyday…every damn day! There has never been a single thing in my life that has affected me like she does. She's always been so small…so small that I wanted to crush her. I think that's what I liked about her, ya know, physically. I could overpower her—and she let me. That was both exciting, but disappointing too. Afterward, the feeling afterward—the guilt. "Shut up, Eric! Fuckin' pussy—"

"Legally, seeing as there is no signature…" The uptight city boy is now sitting his arrogant ass in the chair right next to me.

"What the fuck—"

"…I'm going to have to read you the victim's statement. However, if you forfeit your signature, I can forward this onto your father, whom I can only assume, has conservatorship and he can sign as proxy."

"Fuck my father and fuck you! What exactly is your job anyway? You look like nothin' more than a paper-pushin' sonofabitch."

He doesn't even bother answering me. He just stares—ice cold as if nothing affects him. He must be used to this shit.

"So this is what you do? You're the statement police? I bet you see a lot of these. What, you just go around and make sure people cross their T's and dot their I's?"

"Something like that."

 _That tone of voice… There's something—_

"As stated by the victim—a Beatrice Natalie Prior. She arrived at her apartment—4509 Parkland in the Bucktown neighborhood of Chicago, IL—at approximately 6:00 AM—the exact time is unknown—to find the door unlocked. Upon entry, the perpetrator, one Eric Joseph Monroe was seated at the kitchen table. He claimed to have been waiting for her return and also stated that he had been watching the victim and her boyfriend—"

"The fuck did you say?"

"Many things."

I can feel the heat rising in my chest at that fuckin' word. _Boyfriend._ Just the word itself. I saw a few guys come to her place that night. That was enough to break my toe when I kicked the brick on the side of the house. But only one, in particular, did I get a solid look at, a real solid look at—the one who stayed.

I climbed onto the fire escape and watched. At first, a rage like nonother hit me because she was sitting up all naked and he was right in front of her—eye level with her tits and her smooth white skin. Her skin was always one of my favorite things about her. But I couldn't fuckin' help myself but be in awe. He was barely even checking her out—he just put her damned shirt on and nodded his head while she babbled the fuck away. Don't get me wrong; I was pissed as shit watching him—jealous at what he was doing and how it should have been me. I wanted to kill the guy, and I thought of a dozen ways I could do it, but he seemed more caught up in what she was saying, and I didn't fucking understand it! But… _boyfriend_? _I'm her FUCKING BOYFRIEND! HER SOULMATE!_

"Did _SHE_ say that dude was her boyfriend?!"

"If it's in the statement, then yes, she said it."

"Boyfriend?" I laugh trying to cover up my thoughts. "Tall, skinny, motherfucker with a beard? Hell! I thought the stupid sonofabitch was a fuckin' faggot! He had a naked chick right in front of him, and he _helps_ her put her damned shirt on?! I would have laid her drunk ass out and gone to town on that sweet pussy." I laugh at the dumbass who missed his chance until I realize what I'm laughing at—and now I'm pissed. I sit up straighter to save face in front of this stupid fuck, but I see… _again…_ his face is just _blank. He truly doesn't give a shit what I say!_ "You are really _just here_ for a signature, aren't you? This whole reading-the-statement shit is just a waste of your time, am I right? I'd bet you prayed to the Father, Son and Holy mother fuckin' Ghost that I would just say 'Mmm hmm. Yep. Where do I sign?!' And then on your merry-stick-up-your-ass-way you go! Well, hell no. You get to listen to me now! And you know what the best part about this is? It doesn't matter what the hell I say! I could tell you I make kiddy porn for a living with me in a starring role, and it wouldn't change my 'situation.' But, I'll tell you what…seeing as I have such a _captive audience_ …how 'bout a little play-by-play? Real graphic for ya! I'll start from the beginning and everything! Take up all sorts of your time!"

I smirk, seeing as I finally have a challenge at this place! _I'm gonna break this fucker._

"Ya see, lemme tell you a little bit about Beatrice. We come from a small town. Ya know—everybody knows everybody! So, I always knew her growing up. Honestly, I never took a second look at her because, well, damn, we were in high school and she looked like she hadn't even entered the fifth grade! Just all small and gangly, always real quiet too—a mousy little thing. So, I graduate high school, and my father hands me the Kittridge operation. That's a fancy word for a farm, city boy! But we don't just farm—we own all the farms in the area. Collecting _…rent_ —it's a fuckin' cash cow! Anyway, I'm hittin' it big time, I'm pullin' in a good 60,000! Does that number surprise you?" I ask smugly. "You probably can't relate—doesn't your mayor keep all the money to himself in this town?... Are you even going to respond?"

"No."

"Well, then let me continue. Where the fuck was I? Oh, Beatrice. Well, graduation came around, and there were parties and shit. And there she was… _Bam!_ Chattin' up a storm to her friend Susan about college—a full ride educational scholarship to the University of Chicago. Any school named after a city instead of a state is total bullshit, so I didn't no big deal in it! But, yeah, Tris was smart—3.0 GPA or some shit. The highest you could go. But, she was like the stupid kind of smart—no common sense. Anyway, her parents were fuckin' freaks. Didn't think she should get rewarded for her hard work. Tellin' her she should have to pay for college on her own like everyone else. Found her crying at the keg! I knew that was my in. She looked older at that point. But still didn't have much to offer in the womanly department. Do you know what I mean?"

"No."

"Sure you do! Unless you're queer as fuck. Hmmm…maybe you are." I laugh hard and slap my knee. "Hot damn! We've got ourselves a homo here!" I narrow my eyes at him. Fags talk like chicks and dress in fake shiny leather and glitter. This guy's straight as an arrow. "Nah…you're not a gay boy. A fudge packer would get all girly and squealy, right? You don't give a shit. Am I rambling too much for you?"

Still nothin'. Nothin' but an empty stare.

"No comment from the Peanut Gallery…again? You're one detached motherfucker, aren't you?! Shit, well then I shall continue." I bow my head in gratitude at this asshole. "So, I tried to comfort her and all that—ready to feed her beers until she's limp and then fuck the shit out of her. But Beatrice…nah, she saw right through me! Said, "Ask me out on a real date if you're that interested." I smile remembering how that stirred something in me. "Now, no one ever turned down a good roll in the hay with me, so she had me pretty damned intrigued. So, I asked her out and who knew?! She was actually interesting and, well, a little fun to be around. I was shocked! So, our relationship went real good, and I fell hard, hard, hard for that girl. Which is so fucked up because there is not a damned thing that's special about her. I suppose it was the back and forth—one minute she's all interested and flattered, but the next it was like she didn't give a shit about me. Wouldn't even let me fuck her! Can you believe that shit? It was fine because I had my whores on the side. But one day, I just decided. It was time. So I told her I loved her...AND SHE DIDN'T ANSWER! Yeah, but she was just scared." I shrug my shoulders knowing I did the right thing. "I could tell she had never felt anything like it before—love, you know. So, I showed her real good…just how much I loved her. She told me she wasn't a virgin, but nah—I made her bleed real good. That's the sign of a good first fuck. It was alright. I mean, she was real tight—real, real tight. God, you're missin' out if you've never popped a bitch's cherry before. I shoved my cock in her real hard. Took a minute for her to get nice and wet for me, but I made her squirm, eventually. She just looked at me afterward, not even an emotion on her face—just blank. Like what we did meant nothing to her. She knew I had a temper, and she just kept at it—not talking or looking at me. Fuckin' bled all over my couch and didn't even apologize! That's the thing with Beatrice—she's ungrateful. It's sad that I had to make her believe how much I loved her. God, that bitch would make me lose my temper. That night…I…I… I'm not a violent person! You have to provoke me crazy good to get me to lose my shit! And when I do…it's, it's...it's for good reason! She wouldn't even tell me she loved me! She wouldn't tell me! She wouldn't tell me! The blood on my hands and in my fingernails—It wouldn't come off. The stain on the concrete where I… Fuck, it wouldn't come off! Don't even get me started on…on the couch. I…" I wipe the sweat off my brow and sit up straighter, not even knowing if I was saying those words out loud. Even though my head is hot, I feel ice—and I look up still seeing that same asshole with the way-too-composed stare. "Look, I don't know what I… Ha, um… Are you even fuckin' listening to me?"

"Yes."

"You're like a fuckin' robot. Holy shit! Or are you just too dumb to know what to say or what to do? That has to be it! Chicago PD sends its dumbest fuck to get me to sign a little itty bitty statement by some dumb bitch no one gives a lick about. Shit! I would love to know what the fuck she said I did! Because before this, all I did was love her! We had our shit, yes. I'd lose my temper, yes. She asked for it! Hell, it turned her on! She just kept comin' back for more of me. Loved my dick in her mouth—let me come all over her face. She'd squeal like a pig for me! Loved it rough! No messin' around for my girl! Never needed foreplay—not that I wanted it, small little titties, nothin' to grab onto except her sweet ass. And boy was it sweet! Taking her from behind…mmm…. _fuck."_ That God-awful feeling of arousal and guilt makes my head itch, so I scratch it—feeling nothing but the burning from my scabs. "But, she knew I loved her. I was so sweet on her—sending her flowers, taking her to the movies, drinks on me at the bar, dinner with my parents… Hell, I'd even have dinner with _her_ parents! But that dumb stare—that dumb fucking stare! It was like—she knew she couldn't get better than me, so she settled. And every look was her letting me know it! But, God she was so fuckin' weak. She loved my attention—the attention she never got from her fucked up parents. She ate it up—makin' me dinner, makin' sure I took my…my meds…" I glance up, again, not knowing how many of these words I'm actually saying. "And we were good, when I…when I… Fuck you! What are you staring at?! I don't need to tell you this shit, you know?!... Wait…" I sit back and cross my arms, looking him over again. "You like it! Do you get off on this? I'm trying to push you to the brink, and you haven't moved a damned muscle. This not interesting enough for you? Or…maybe it is… Does it make your dick twitch, ya know, hearin' about this, statement boy? Is that why you have this job? You get off on hearin' all this? Hearin' other people's crimes? Bet you like the nasty ones! The real juicy ones."

I see his eyes move all over my face like he's studying me, trying to understand me… It's so fucked up…along with the deja-vu—" _She's dead. You killed—"_

"Mr. Monroe, it's time for your medication—"

"Mmmggh!" I throw my arm out, knocking the bullshit pills off the tray, taking the nurse down too. "I'm not taking that shit! How many fucking times do I have to tell you incompetent fucks?!"

City Boy stands up straight and walks over to the fucking bitch nurse, leaning over and helping her up off her bony ass. And then…he fucking helps her pick up the pills that I'm not stupid enough to take. I watch him give her an overly polite little nod as she pretty much trips over her own damned feet while she walks away, drooling like a retard havin' a seizure. The Higher-than-Thou Ass Wipe doesn't even seem to notice. I'd bet that little thing would probably bend over a table and wiggle her bare ass at him in invitation, right here in broad daylight, and he wouldn't even fancy a glance. _What is with this guy?_

"You sure you're not a faggot?"

He sits back down in his seat, this time moving it, so he's facing me. This fucker's challenging me. He hasn't had enough yet. But I do notice the sweat beading on his forehead. Even though they keep the temperature a " _calming 72 degrees." Such bullshit…_

"Shall I finish?" he asks all formal and shit.

"Too hot in here for you?" I ask snidely.

"No."

"Hmm. Well, now don't be rude. I shall finish." I state calmly, trying to imitate his voice. "Let me just fast-forward for you—don't want to bore you with any more details of our relationship. Ya know, like how I knocked her up, then her clumsy ass fell down the stairs causing her to kill my baby and then throw it out like trash. You know how they do it at the hospital? They suck that little squealer out with a vacuum! Dumb ass didn't even tell me she was in the hospital. I would have been there for her, you know?! I wouldn't have left her side for one minute. Not one single minute! And I would have been a great father. Fuckin' Father of the Year, right here! Our child…it would have been so beautiful. Eyes like his Mama. Hell, maybe if she visits we can try again!" I turn to the security guard on steroids. "Hey! You guys allow conjugal visits?!" He ignores me like usual. Unlike this ass turd, who I have wrapped around my finger. "Anyway, who the hell knows what kind of damage that hospital did to her insides! Probably can't even have kids anymore—sucked out all her goods. Is a girl still a girl if she doesn't have all her lady parts?"

"Yes."

"So, anyway, uh…her parents croaked because her brother could possibly be the dumbest motherfucker I've ever met, and then…um…the funeral…and, I didn't go because…and I…"

The memory of her words—the ones where she leaves me, where she tells me she's disgusted with me. And how I… What I did. When I… That night… God, I was so hard for her—hearing her scream and scream and then just stop and take me all in. All of me. But then the empty, the letdown, knowing I was wrong but loving it so much—that's the guilt.

I shake my head and rub my eyes because they're suddenly burning along with my scalp.

"She left me. She fucking left me. But, I got her back. I wanted her back. I found her. I'm the one. I fucking found her. Me! I took the reins. I took the fuckin' lead! No matter what anyone says! I did the legwork! I got there. And…fuck! Those assholes…in and in and in and then out and out. But I was patient. I'm always so FUCKING PATIENT with her! Ungrateful bitch! And then she walked in the door—she looked so… She was so…different. And I understood. She wanted to get better…for me. She did it all for me! It took me awhile to realize it. I was so mad at first! And she knew it. She knows me. But, damn, my cock was rock hard for her—no one's been able to do that for me like her. Jesus, she looked…just grown. And I knew she missed me, I knew it. She offered me a drink, welcoming me. I was pleasant, I was polite, I did the right things, said the right things! I didn't even get mad at her about having that fuckin' d-bag skinny mother fucker all up in her business! I coulda! Hell, I should have! But, no. I did not take my anger out on her. I controlled myself—threw a damned chair instead. She's the one who started to get mad—all snarky and ornery. At first, it was fuckin' hot. I'd never heard her talk like that. Wanna know what she said? She's always been creative, but this was damn near funny! She said, '…go back to butt-fuck Wisconsin, stick corn up your ass and jerk off. Bet you can cross-pollinate for Monroe Ag! 100% pure ass corn!' I remember thinkin'—" I stop short as I see the first sign of emotion on this desk dumby's face. _He smirked._

I am not about to be his fuckin' comedy act for the day! So, I lean back and cross my arms over my stomach. My goal was to break this guy. Instead, I'm spilling my guts to him! And he treats me like some freak show act!

"Oh, you think that's funny? You think this story is for your entertainment? Well, then let be be-ith thou entertainment." I sweep my arm out preparing him for the best part of the evening. "So, yeah… I threw a chair, hard. Hard, hard—right at her back. Ya know, she was makin' a break for the door, and it was just so tempting. Her words and…actions…got me nice and riled up. I tossed that chair at her like a professional ball player. I can't believe she survived it! The way she flattened against the door, her knees just giving out…and then watching her slip slowly down the door. She landed right on top of the chair—all splayed out and contorted, floppin' on her back and shit. But, yeah, checked her pulse—still beatin'. So I slung her over my shoulders, tossed her down real nice on the bed. She landed all spread legs and shit. It was like a damned invitation. There she was—all pale, creamy skin—wide-open for me. I was conflicted because she needed to be taught a lesson, but at the same time, the gentleman in me popped up…right along with my dick coincidentally! So, I walked over, real slow—just wanted to kiss her, just soft on her lips. They always felt like small pillows to me. And, well, you know, given the state she was in—she wasn't one to argue. So, put my knee right between her legs and leaned down. I started at her lips, her mouth was kind of hanging open, so I stuck my tongue right in there—played with her tongue a bit. Then I moved down to her neck—God, her skin tasted so good. Then right down to her stomach—left a nice trail all around her cute teeny belly button. And, damn! She had abs that won't quite—I felt 'em…all over, my hands would NOT stop." I chuckle at the memory. "And I just couldn't help myself, so I lifted up her shirt—I just had to check to see if her boobs were as small as they used to be. I was actually surprised! They weren't half-bad! I mean, they weren't good, but ya know, they fit my hands okay. Personally, I like some over flow. I couldn't, like, motor-boat 'em anything—I'd have to squish 'em real hard. But her nips were perfect…hardened up for me—ya know, had to twist 'em up for a bit, but I knew I had time. Then it hit me…" I swallow thickly as the scene plays out in my head. "I smelled it. It wasn't just _her_ who had been in that bed… The memories came back real hard—watchin' him lay with her, brush her hair. I remember him shaking his head and I wanted to know soooo bad what they were talking about. I needed to erase him! He should've been me. Me and her! So, I was going to make that bed… _us –_ Eric and Beatrice. I swear, I don't think I've ever moved so fast—ripped her panties and shorts to shreds right there and…mmmm…she smelled like heaven. My mind was all swimmin' now and I just about tripped out of my pants and face-planted right into her pussy! Holy shit! Could you imagine that?! But damn…she drew me right in—the sight of her—she was perfect. When we were together, I was young and overeager…so I never really took the time to enjoy her very enticing lady parts! So I laid down real slow, slid my arms up and around her legs right like this." I curl my arms up and around in demonstration. "She was still sleeping the day away, not exactly being much fun. So I squeezed her thighs, real tight—like an anaconda squeezes its lunch. Wanted to leave my mark on her—maybe some imprint of how my hands feel wrapped around her would stay in her brain or something. But, then I just needed something in return—some acknowledgment, so I spread her wide. She's always been flexible—she's like some freak of nature or something. But nothin'…still no recognition of my presence! I was so close to her, right by her cock socket—so I had to—I just laid my mouth right on it, tried to dive in deep. Shoulda finger fucked her first—probably would have gone a long way, but, let me tell you— _that_ went straight to my cock! And before I knew it, I was squirtin' all over her—all over her bed. I just laid myself on top of her and laughed because I didn't even have my dick in my hand. I eventually got up—after talking to her a bit, kisses, petting, getting reacquainted—all that shit chicks love. Meh…then I let her be for a while—can only kiss someone's tits for so long, ya know? Especially hers—Wow!" I interrupt my own story. "You are still here! And you are as calm and collected as—Christ, you're like Neo! That's who you remind me of! Like in the last Matrix Movie—the one where he's accepted life as we know it and he's just waiting patiently to kill the virus or whatever the hell that Architect guy thing was. Are you always like this?"

"No."

"So, I _am_ getting to you! I must say, your face is hella red! I'm kind of loving this. I haven't had a challenge in…weeks. Shit! She was my last challenge! Except it didn't end so well for her, as you know!" I laugh as he still holds it together. But controlled body temperature is not one of his talents. "You see she started to wake up—stirrin' and shit. So, I crawled right on top of her. I could tell by the way she was moaning that she wanted my undivided attention. And, truthfully, I wanted this time to be different. I didn't want to fuck, you know? Okay, okay… I take that back. I wanted to pound the shit out of her! I'm a dude. That's all we really want, right? But, I was thinkin' about her needs. I can be a gentleman, like I said. I told her she was beautiful and how much I missed her and wanted it make it right. But, that little…bitch. Fuckin' asking me to stop. Was she serious? After treating her so good?! But then she was like, buckin' her hips—you know, like girls do when you're doing something right. And suddenly, she just stopped—opened her legs right up for me to nestle right in. I knew I had her. But I had to make sure. Buried my finger right inside her. God, she felt like heaven—a mix of me and her and…mmm..." I feel my breath get ragged, so I sit up straight and wipe my mouth. "Then she rammed her FUCKING HEEL INTO ME! Over and over and over! It was like she snapped or something!" I look into his face for some compassion for me, but he denies me that. _I can return that favor!_ "Well," I laugh as if this part of the story is at all funny. "That was the end for her. I don't think I've ever kicked anyone so many times—even when Robert Black beat me at Texas Hold 'Em. Felt her ribs crack and gave her one more swift kick before I moved on from there—got her real good with the bottom of my boot, and my belt as an added bonus! Thought I killed her for a while there. Called my buddy, Trent, to come help me hide the body—all ready to put her in the dumpster. Eh—woulda had to wait until night. Then there's the roommate problem. And boy was she somethin' else too! Couldn't fuck Beatrice…may as well have hunted that beaver and got my rocks off—"

He stands, just as tight-assed as he walked in. I watch him cross the room and take off his jacket, tossing it on a chair.

"You had enough?"

"Yes."

"I knew I had you worked up! Broke a nice sweat, did ya? Ya know, you and me—you and your dark crystal stare… I think we may just be kindred spirits! I was straight… _up_ …with you, and you barely blinked!"

He takes off his bullshit glasses and braces himself on the table. I crane my neck and lean back in my chair to see the expression on his face, but he's facing away from me. _Damn!_ Then I just about bust a gut laughing as he actually takes his weird straight tie off and rolls up his sleeves.

I grab the paper he dropped on the floor and wave it at him. "You still need me to sign this, my friend?"

"No."

"Not doing your job very well anymore, huh? City Boy can't handle the Country Thunder? Typical." I look down at the paper and lean over, getting a decent amount of applesauce on my fingers. I drag them down the front of it, laughing as I watch the ink run down the page—

 ** _Welco… to Ma…nic United Ment… Health Care Center_**

 ** _Thank you for your interest in …. facility. …. following brochure contains… map of…. facility along… a schedule of events… … planned for … patients. Feel free…. explore the many therapeutic…_**

"What the fuck is—"

* * *

 **Gerard's POV:**

I make quick eye contact with the guy as he crosses the room and takes his jacket off and removes his glasses. He rests his hands on the table for a minute, closing his eyes and, shit, I don't even know how he's standing right now. Some of the heinous things that psychopath just said made _me_ weak in the knees, and I'm a tough son of a bitch.

"So, what you're telling me, is that _that_ dude is Beatrice's _actual_ boyfriend? Like in the real world?" Jesús asks for clarification, yet again.

"In the world, that exists outside of Eric's head, yes."

"And he just sat there and listened to all _that?_ "

"So it seems."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

"Shit. If that were me, that guy would be through that window by now."

I glance over at Jesús. We're both built about the same. 6'3 or 4ish, a good 280 lbs. He could definitely throw Monroe through a window.

"Yeah. That's why I called you down here. Take this." I hand him one of the 50s the guy gave me after his brief explanation. I've never met a more vile human in my life, so this guy's small request will provide me with some much-needed enjoyment.

"What's this for?"

"How do you feel about Monroe?" I ask, not wanting to give away too much and risk Jesús bailing.

"Never wanted to drown a guy in a fountain before him." He shrugs crossing his arms, mimicking my stance.

"Same here. Just follow my lead. All we have to do is count."

"Count?"

"Yep. Just stand back and count."

I watch this guy in complete awe. In fact, I just about laugh in wonder as he runs his hands through his hair—the first sign of emotion I've seen. It's obviously subconscious and habitual, but with an added flash behind his eyes of disbelief, as if what he heard was just about too much for him to handle—and it just may be. But, I can tell this dude is both manipulative and driven—two traits that can bring out both the best and the worst in people. He obviously knows it. Otherwise, Jesús and I wouldn't be here with $50s in our hands. This dude fears the worst.

He was escorted here by Dr. Reynolds—I've met her on a few occasions. I've even asked her out—pretty sure she thinks I'm some meathead dumbass. Little does she know I have a Bachelors in Psychology. I know it's not much compared to her, but I could hold my own. Anyway, my education has provided me with enough knowledge to know a psychopath when I see one. And his Bipolar Disorder just adds to it. Hell, he's probably been using it as a crutch all these years. A smart psychopath—the worst kind because he knows how to hide it. I bet even the most perceptive chalked his actions up to his disorder.

"Gerard, this guy looks like he's hunting Bin Laden. You sure about this?"

The resigned, cold expression, along with the redness and sweat on his brow make him suddenly look like one scary motherfucker. In fact, he looks like a whole different person without the fancy get-up, glasses and fixed up hair. I can tell by the way he carries himself and how he opens and closes his hands, flexing his knuckles, that he's familiar with the bags, and it wouldn't surprise me if he's been in the ring.

I get the second nod as he stalks toward Monroe, who had still been babbling, but is now reading something.

"Was that our cue?"

"You'll know it when we see it."

The dude quickly has both of Monroe's arms wrenched low behind his back and around the chair, tying his wrists behind him with his necktie and pulling it hella tight.

"Damn. Do they do shoulder surgeries here?" Jesús asks.

"Dunno."

The guy marches in front of Monroe and stomps his bare toes…both feet…hard.

"Oooh! Fuck, that's gonna leave a mark. How many toes you think he broke?"

"At least, 4… Dunno…maybe 5? He used his heel so…probably more force behind it," I respond, watching Monroe wail and try to lurch forward but being held back by his restraints.

"Maybe we should count now?"

"In a minute." I shrug. "He still looks pretty controlled."

"Yeah, that's what's freaky about it."

"What…the hell…mannnnn?" Monroe whines with actual tears coming out of his eyes. "Help! Help me! You fuckers!"

Jesús and I both look up at the ceiling pretending we didn't hear a damned thing. When we look back down, the guy has Monroe's face in one hand, squeezing it like a mother chastising her five-year-old.

"Look at me! Look at me in the fucking face! Recognize me now?!"

Monroe's eyes widen.

"Do you know my name?!... Do you know my fucking _NAME?!"_

"Mmm mmm."

"Tobias… _Eaton._ " The guy gets a straight punch in, right to the face, after mentioning his name.

"Broken nose?" Jesús suggests.

"Yeah."

We watch on, as the guy pummels the hell out of Monroe with extreme calculation—never hitting the same place twice, except for the left side of his face—he pays that extra attention.

"He must be a righty."

"Unless it's on purpose," I add.

A swift box to both sides of his head causes Monroe a good bought of vertigo, then a side kick to the right ribcage with enough force to tip a cow sends him reeling and I could swear I heard a crack. The chair tips backward leaving Monroe screaming and kicking his legs in the air. Then the guy rips his shoe off, chasing after the chair en route for an obvious shoe beat-down, but he stops just millimeters from Monroe's face, just as Monroe starts wailing like a toddler.

"You in pain?" He grits pulling Monroe towards him by his shirt collar, making him scream from the pull on his shoulders. "Answer me!"

"Yes," Monroe chokes out.

Then he pushes his hand down on his neck and kneels on the right side of Monroe's chest making his eyes bulge out of his head.

"I broke some of your ribs. Can you breathe?"

Monroe shakes his head wildly.

"Are you panicking?"

Monroe nods his head even more wildly.

"I wonder if this is what it feels like when your severed ribs puncture your lungs causing them to collapse. Know what that's called?... Answer me!... I'm sorry? You can't?... Pneumothorax. …. Say it!"

Monroe clearly can't talk, so the guy lets go of his neck.

"Say…it," he grits out.

"Pneumo…thor…ax."

"You did that to her!" the guy shouts in his face. Then he lifts Monroe's head and smacks it on the floor, watching eyes glaze over. "Focus, focus!" The guy smacks Monroe on the face. "I may have just given you a head contusion. You see, if it swells out—well, that's good news...not for me, for you. It's when it swells in—that's bad…for you, not for me. Especially when you have no one to help you…" He glances up at us, signaling to Monrow that we aren't going to come to his aid. "And you did that to her!" he screams in Monroe's face. "Now, I _know_ I left you with the reminder of multiple bruises… Like you did to her! But, I didn't feel the need to leave my fingerprints because I'm not a sick fuck! But, your broken toes were an excellent substitute. If I were truly sadistic…" He stands and pulls a wooden chair over—spinning it like a champ. "…I'd bust _THIS CHAIR…_ over your head! _"_ He slams the back legs of the chair down, landing them perfectly on each side of Monroe's neck, just grazing his Adam's Apple and causing Monroe to make some helpless animal noise. He calmly straddles the chair, looking down into Monroe's helpless face. "You see, I'd grind the sharp and broken end into your calf, making sure the splinters and shards bury themselves like shrapnel, causing you enough scarring and residual pain to last a lifetime. They probably do minimal stitching here. Some all natural bullshit—"

"Coconut oil! It stimulates collagen production and turnover. New blood vessels form more quickly in skin treated with _virgin_ coconut—"

"Shut the hell up, Jesús."

"Of course! Fuckin' coconut oil!" the guy states sarcastically, rocking back and forth on the back legs of the chair, tormenting Monroe. "YOU ALMOST KILLED HER!"

I jump back at the tone in his voice and the sudden amount of rage in it.

"I…could…KILL…YOU!" He steps on Monroe's shoulders, holding them secure while Monroe shrieks. "I should fucking KILL YOU!" He gets up and kicks the chair to the side, the very bottom of the leg cutting Monroe's face. Then he bends down looking at him almost curiously. "And I'd have no regrets except for the prison sentence. You know why?!" He smacks Eric in the ear hard. "Do…you…know… _why_?!" He's suddenly at his throat again. "Because then I wouldn't be able to spend the rest...of my life…with her!" He stands and turns to leave with clenched fists. "Ironically, _she's_ the one saving your life right now!" He storms out, with his shoe still in his hand.

"I'll be…sure to…write the little…SLUT…a thank you…note."

That Tobias guy stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath, then continues on.

"Shoulda fucked her when I…had the…chance! Woulda been…worth the beat…down. Then again…she was always kind of a… _lump_ in the sack—"

"Now we count," I remark to Jesús because suddenly Eric is getting beat in the face with a shoe.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…11, 12, 13—"

"When do we stop?"

"10."

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

I am in need of a serious subject change, but Tris is bound and determined to keep discussing Will and me. _Does she think it's going to change my mind?_

"I'm not trying to be pushy, I promise. I just want you to be sure—"

"So, what the hell _have_ you been doing during the day for the last few weeks? I mean, you're not exactly the type of chick to just lay low."

"Smooth transition."

"Thank you. You haven't been going to do gym. You haven't been to The Studio. All of your art stuff is still at the house. What…have you been doing?"

"Um…Amar gave me this project to work on. I don't know—it's stupid. It didn't pan out, so—"

"What project?" I interrupt before she can squirm out of an explanation.

She sighs as if she doesn't want to tell me. "ALG bought a bunch of homes—mostly foreclosures, which is kind of sad, but, at least, the intent is to do good with them. They all need renovating. Some needed _serious_ renovating. One of them, I had no fucking clue what to do with so I just kind of went online and winged it. Another was just awful! These people ruined this house to near beyond repair! I don't know how I didn't lose my _mind_ with it. But then… Oh, Chris, you shouldn't have seen this Victorian Style home. It was…timeless and—"

"Whoa… Slow down there sister. You're losin' me like religion here!"

"Oh, sorry. So, my _job_ …if you'd even call it that…was to make suggestions, research design ideas, but…"

"But…?"

"Well, I think I took a little bit too….far. Jesus, Chris! I spent hours! Ho… _urs_! As in…just about all day, every available day, for the last three or, however many, weeks while Tobias was at work and I was waiting for my shift to start. I suck."

"Okay, not sure about that little 'I suck' add on, but I'll bite. Why do you suck?"

"'Cause Amar barely looked at them and…it was just… I got carried away and—"

"Can I see 'em?" I inquire, excited that she's excited about something. _Thank God!_

"Really?" she asks all mousy and so un-Tris-like.

"Yes, really! You sound, uh, slightly passionate so, lemme at 'em."

"Okay…"

I watch after her as she goes to grab her tablet. This has been a nice afternoon. We've just been shootin' the shit. Dodging her questions was annoying, but, she's my gal, so it was expected. I've never chopped so many damned vegetables in my life, but whatevskis!

"Fuckin' shit, my tablet's dead! I scanned the copies and emailed them to Amar, but I need to access my email."

"What about your phone?"

"The screen is all blurry."

"Get a new phone, Prior."

"Wait!" She grabs Four's MacBook off the counter, seating herself next to me. She starts typing in her—

"You still have an AOL account!" I accuse.

"Are you _just_ making this connection? And who cares? Wait! You have Hotmail!"

"At least, I'm in the 2000s! You're in the 90s! Gimme that!" I grab the computer and try to hit up Google, deciding to at least give one of us an upgraded account, but she wrenches it out of my hands.

"I'm friggin' fine with my trusty AOL account!"

"Ugh… What do you have against trying new things?"

"What do you have against keeping old things!"

We both stare at each other for a second before laughing at how dumb we're being. "Aw, babe. I'm gonna miss you." I put my arm around her, giving her a wet one right on the cheek.

"I'm gonna…" she trails off, suddenly totally distracted by the screen.

"What?"

Sucking in a quick breath, she covers her mouth. I look at the screen to see what the hell she's looking at and—

"Whoa."

While we were fuckin' around we must have accidentally hit a few keys because in front of us, plain as my granny's undies, is the browser history—

 ** _7 Pitfalls to Avoid When Dating a Sexual Abuse Survivor_**

 ** _Tips for Dating a Woman who has been Sexually Abused_**

 ** _If Your Partner was Abused – Relationship difficulties_**

 ** _How to Understand Your Partners Abuse History_**

 ** _Dating Victims who Had been Sexually Abused_**

 ** _Are Victims of Sexual Abuse Dateable?_**

 ** _Dating After Abuse – Is this love?_**

 ** _Tips for Friends & Family of Survivors_**

Tris doesn't select any of the URLs. She just scrolls down…and down…and down…and—"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." She starts to hyperventilate while still scrolling and, damn, I kind of want to do the same thing. _This is cray!_

Then a rather uncomfortable lunch conversation replays in my head—

 _…._

"Why is this time different?" he interrupts. "You know, now versus three years…ago?"

His interruption was annoying but he looks slightly pitiful, so I'll roll with it. I do actually take a minute to think about how to answer this one. Truth be told, I have no fuckin' clue! But, he doesn't need to know that!

"She needs to figure that out, not us." I can tell by the look he gives me that he doesn't approve of my answer. He's a problem solver and I just did him absolutely no good. But, hey, I'm a problem solver too. Maybe I can nudge this boy in the right direction, ya know, subtly. "The girl needs therapy, and it's fuckin' time she gets it. Nows-ville." I point at him, realizing that comment was anything but subtle, but…oh well. " _You_ need to tell her." _Because I've tried and she doesn't listen!_

"No, nope. No, no, no and no. It can _not_ be me."

"Why? She cares the most about what _you_ think!"

"Because I'm not allowed."

I narrow my eyes at the quickness of his responses. It's like he's anticipating my comments. And also because I just don't get what he means. "The... _fuck..._ does that mean?"

"I've done my research. Every article has stated—well, there are _some_ conflicting thoughts... I found six sources that disagreed, but the vast majority said…not blatantly, but they alluded to—"

"Four! Just say it!"

"I just need to be there!" he blurts out, completely out of character. "I need to encourage her. I do _not_ pressure her. _She_ is the decider. _I_ am the supporter. _That's_ my role."

….

"Okay, Tris. Just calm down—"

"How the fuck can I calm down when my BOYFRIEND has upwards of 100 articles in his browser history of how to DEAL WITH ME!"

"When you say it like that, it sounds bad. But, maybe he just wanted to make sure he's doing right by you—"

"UPWARDS OF 100! One fucking hundred!" she shrieks as she stands and tries to rip her ponytail holder out of her hair—unsuccessfully.

"Yeah, that's a little over the top—"

"A little?! This is the shit I'm talking about! He should be researching bar-stayed girders—"

"Huh?"

"And transoms, trusses, pilasters…and COFFEE MAKERS!"

"Really?"

"Yes! He would be able to make the damned coffee if he knew exactly how the FUCKING THING WORKS, down to the smallest gadget! That's how his mind functions. He is a one-track dickhead! Well, I'm not something he can tinker and figure out and pick apart! I'm not a damned PROJECT!"

She wipes at her eyes and sits on the couch with her head in her hands. I rub her back but have no words of wisdom to give her seeing as I'm fucking up the best relationship I've ever had. And, well, I know Four is thorough, but, _that_ is borderline.

"He loves you." _And...that's all I've got._

"I'm consuming him," she whispers as I see tears drip off her palms. She's doing her weird cry again.

"Hey! Let's order pizza! I've starving! We can binge and bitch! Like normal females!"

She doesn't answer, but the shaking of her shoulders is all I need. _Do I call Four? Shit! I am a little hungry…_

Deciding that food is our best route, I call—

"Pizano's," Tris groans.

—Pizano's.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Christina plops down on the couch, handing me a beer. I take an incredibly large gulp, downing half of it while Christina slaps a notebook on the coffee table, scribbling some numbers on it. I recognize it as Tobias's precious A:LOG. As much as I'm so incredibly sad and confused…but most of all sad…right now, I still know how important this one is to him.

"Don't write in that."

"I'll erase it. I just didn't want to forget the price of the pizza."

I rip the pencil out of her hands and start to carefully erase her numbers, with my eye catching on the inside cover. His handwriting always baffles me—upper case and perfect.

 _LONG TERM GOALS_

 _1._ _IMPROVE CROSS-FUNCTIONAL KNOWLEDGE AND PERSPECTIVE – LEARN ABOUT OTHER ASPECTS OF THE BUSINESS APART FROM MY OWN FUNCTIONAL ROLE._

 _2._ _FINANCIAL ACUMEN – UNDERSTAND, INTERPRET, AND BETTER USE "THE NUMBERS" TO IMPROVE BUSINESS._

 _3._ _LEADERSHIP PRESENCE – IMPROVE MY ABILITY TO COMMUNICATE IN AN AUTHENTIC WAY THAT INSPIRES OTHERS_

 _SHORT TERM GOALS_

 _1._ _DON'T FIRE MATTHEW_

 _2._ _LEARN TO MAKE COFFEE_

 _3._ _TRIS_

"Tris, babe? What's with the face? You're 50 shades of gray and not the good kind!"

I toss the notebook at her and go into the bedroom, only skipping the bathroom after the urge to vomit subsides. I crawl under the covers, praying for one final bought of uninterrupted sleep, knowing it's going to be a long time before it happens again.

* * *

 **Thanks, readers!**


	20. What Happened (Pt 1)

**AN:** From now on all Flashbacks will be italicized. Dunno why it took me so long to come up with that not-at-all-clever idea. But let me know if it's harder or easier to read.

I've been getting a lot of PMs about Chicago. So, I've started included numbers in parentheses to signal an explanation in my author's note.

* * *

 **Chapter 20** – What Happened (Pt. 1)

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

 _I stare down at the remnants of whatever was left in my stomach and roll my forehead side to side on the concrete building, pushing hard to relieve the high pitched continuous noise resonating in my mind. The only good thing I can say about the noise is that it makes me feel like I'm in my own world because it's drowning out all intrusions. I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to conjure up a way to push down everything I just heard—every…single…thing._

 _The entire time, I was just barely keeping my head above water. The rest of my body was screaming to 'just drown!"—drowning in his words. But then I thought of Tris, and how she was the one who had to endure this. And it gave me strength._

 _Since I've met her, she's been the one to give me strength—to point out my weaknesses and make me feel like I can do better; I can be better. And it's selfish of me to so readily take it. So, I can take this for her. He wasn't going to break me._

 _I was wrong. He did._

 _I thought this would make things better. But it didn't. Everything is worse. Because like Tris says—I hang onto things. And…I will never let this go. I know I will hold onto his words, his expressions, his vocal inflections, the slight rasp that resonated when he pronounced the soft vowel 'e,' the sweat that beaded on his forehead, the small scabbed bald patches on his head. I'll remember it all until the day I die—what he did to her. And even though I don't feel anything but empathy for Tris—she'll see it as pity. This is bad. This is so bad._

 _My stomach feels like it's being wrung out like a wet rag as I dry heave again. Then I feel a jolt through my spine and suddenly find myself on the concrete with my head in my hands. I don't even recognize the sounds coming out of my mouth. I think I may be having a breakdown._

 _"Four?... …. …. Four?... …. …. must pull yourself together…. …. …. Four?!"_

 _I suddenly recognize the all-too-proper voice of Cara. "I told you…to leave me…the hell…alone," I groan, keeping my head down. If one more asshole offers me herbal mood suppressants, tea, essential oils or ANYTHING that's not booze, someone's going through a window. "You need…to stay away from me…right now. Please."_

 _Cara has no clue how violent my temper is. And although I'd never intentionally hurt her, channeling my habitual anger management is proving futile. I don't trust myself around anyone right now. Anyone._

 _"I work at a mental health care facility. I deal with volatile people, daily. You're not special. Now take this…now."_

 _I feel a cool cup shoved right at my face, so I rip it out of her hands, spilling half of it, and take a small sip in the hopes I can hold it down and that she'll fucking leave._

 _"These too."_

 _I glance and see her crouching down, holding out mints. "No."_

 _"Well, I desire a conversation with you, and I'd prefer the stench of vomit not be on your breath."_

 _"I would eat dog shit right now if it were to deter any and all conversation." That could be the grossest thing I've ever said._

 _"I'd rather not encourage that behavior."_

 _"Then leave."_

 _"Fine. But I just want to make sure you're still going to—"_

 _"Yes. I told you I would. Now please…get the fuck away from me!" I cannot deal with anyone else's favors or promises right now._

* * *

"Tobias?"

"Mmm?" I sit up straight, feeling the cool air waft across my brow, signaling I'm sweating. So I wipe it away quickly as I make embarrassing eye contact with Amar. Seeing the pity on his face is near maddening.

"May I sit?" He gestures to the chair across from my desk and his question instantly annoys me.

"Do you honestly feel the need to ask?" I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, looking at him sternly.

"This week? Indeed, my friend."

"You know you can sit," I grumble, switching positions and leaning over my A: LOG in case I need to pretend to be working. I watch him sit obnoxiously slowly and lean forward, elbows on his thighs.

"You've been a total cocksucker this week. And seeing as those words were uttered by me—you know I'm serious."

"I apologize," I deadpan meaninglessly while opening up my A: LOG and grabbing my mechanical pencil.

"That's not good enough. I deserve an explanation."

"You de _serve_ an explanation?" I ask, not being able to hold in the tiny residual grudge against how he treated Tris. It's the protective side of me and she would hate it.

"As your partner, indeed I do. You see, I was behaving badly last week, and the first thing I did was explain myself…to _you._ I expect the same courtesy. Now let's do a quick recap, shall we? You have been micro-managing every associate this week. Even William, who in my opinion, is one of the best hires I've ever made, apart from you. And he seems to be going through his own ration of shit, and doesn't need to shoulder yours. You're making each of our architects run all details by you, until you decide they are idiots and that you can do better. You see that pile in the corner?"

"Hmm," I grunt, knowing without actually seeing, that he's referring to the mess of incompetence taking up space in my office.

" _That_ embarrassment is there because _you_ suddenly feel they are inept. And do you know how I know that?"

I raise my eyebrows and glance up at him.

"Because you fucking told them! And in addition to that, the interns practically piss themselves when you so much as walk by their desks. _Those_ young individuals could very well be the future of this company. And Jesus, you threatened to kill Matthew by execution in the middle of a staff meeting!"

I smirk, remembering that moment fondly and also feeling quite proud as I tap the end of my pencil right over my goal of _"DON'T KILL MATTHEW."_ For a moment, I am quite thrilled because I have, in fact, not killed him. Then Tris's name…just her name…catches my eye. I reflect back to my flustered, part-time-catatonic, state of mind in the hospital and nod to myself, understanding why I hadn't finished that goal. But, before I can move my pencil up to complete it, the notebook smacks shut on my hand rendering me unable.

"Have you heard a damned word I said?!" Amar exalts, pressing down on the notebook.

"Yes," I reply in a low tone of voice.

Amar bites his lip between his teeth and sits back, appraising me. "Are you still angry with me?"

I sigh, slumping into my shoulders and shaking my head. I don't want Amar to feel guilty for reacting the way he did to his father's death, regardless of my slight bitterness. "No."

"Because as I informed you earlier in the week, I tried to call Tris. In fact, I have tried _twice_ … _daily_ …since Monday. I should have done it earlier but I needed to _'become one with my thoughts'_ before I spoke to anyone, apart from you. By the way, those were my husband's words."

"George is a wise man," I reply, sincerely wishing I had that kind of control in me.

I have yet to ' _become one with my thoughts'_ since paying Eric a visit. In fact, suppression is at the top of my list. It's the only thing that has made this week bearable. That's not to say that the thoughts don't linger—the stench of his breath, the sweat dripping down his temples when he became agitated from either anger or… _arousal,_ the way his eyes lit on fire when he conjured up a memory, how difficult it was for me to understand his reactions because they were all perversions—he was angered and bothered, anxiety-ridden, by things most would consider good, and he became wild, manic and excitable about things most would consider bad. He feeds off his mania—he's his own personal succubus.

"So then what gives? Between you and dear William, this office may just implode from sheer nervous tension."

I run my fingers through my hair as the thoughts that have been plaguing me all week come back. "Fuck," I say more to myself than Amar as I bury my head in my hands. I'm about to reveal the thoughts that leave me feeling nothing but empty and full of questions—putting the pieces together of that night while pushing the pieces down of that day has been my life's mission since I woke up Sunday morning.

"I, um…haven't spoken to Tris since sometime last Saturday night...I think." _And I can't fucking believe it._

" _'Sometime'_ last Saturday night…you _think?"_

"I don't exactly remember…coming home, so the exact time has escaped me."

"You were drunk," he states flatly with a sigh.

"Sooooo…you know how there's a line between drunk and fucking annihilated?"

"Mmmm…more like a hurtle."

"Hmmph. Well, apparently I was under the impression I was Usain Bolt…and yeah… Let's just say I went for the gold."

"Yet you ended up not placing?"

"Yep."

"Why, may I ask, were you so inebriated?"

* * *

 _I look around wildly, my eyes dry and swollen, in an unfamiliar town. Lumbering over to a bench, I seat myself unceremoniously, running my hands through my hair. I wipe my palms on my pants seeing as they come back wet from the accumulation of sweat on my brow. I check my phone for the time, having to blink several times to decrease the blurriness of my vision—3:17. As good of an idea as it was to take a bus seeing as I am in no state to drive, I now have to wait two more hours for the next one, not to mention calling, as in actually dialing for, a cab to take me to the station._

 _"Dude, you look wrecked."_

 _I look up across from me to see a guy, who I hadn't even noticed, leaning against a large oak tree, smoking a cigarette. I don't answer his idiotic and obvious commentary_

 _"You got family in there?"_

 _The hairs stand up on the back of my neck at that asinine, albeit innocent, comment. "No."_

 _"My brother's in there." He nods toward the building as he blows smoke from his mouth. "Paranoid Schizophrenia with a side of first degree murder. Visiting him is just peachy keen," he quips sarcastically._

 _I instantly think of Tris and how hard it is for her to see Caleb at Kerrington. She refers to Caleb in a deflective manner as well—trying to add humor and sarcasm to hide her true feelings. I have instant empathy for this guy._

 _"This place is pretty messed up, isn't it?" he continues. "A 'holistic mental health care facility.' Now what the actual fuck is up with that? Half those bastards should be rotting in prison." He winces and shakes his head as if trying to take back what he said. "Sorry…maybe that's not the case for your…person or whoever."_

 _"It is," I reply immediately._

 _"Yeah. This place is all about the money. You don't end up here unless you know somebody."_

 _I nod my head in agreement—the only reason Eric's in here is because of a brilliant mix of his father, my father and Chicago politics._

 _"I take it you know someone?" I ask, appraising this guy. He's probably a couple years younger than me, blond hair, tall and thin._

 _"Oh, yes, sir!" he remarks with a curt nod of his head and a close mouthed smile. "My dear old dad is the governor's first cousin. Came in real handy when my brother murdered my sister." He winks at me in disapproval of the situation. "According to my brother, she tried to drill a hole in his brain and light a campfire in it. So, he strangled her….and she died."_ Well…fuck…

 _"I'm…sorry."_

 _"Yeah. It's weird. Now he talks to her. She's one of 'his voices.' So, like I said, visiting him is a…real treat." He stomps out his cigarette and picks up the butt, tossing it in the garbage next to the bench._

 _I scratch the back of my head, now feeling foolish seeing as I'm comparing my situation to his._ At least, Tris is still alive! Shit!

 _"Was this your first time?" he inquires._

 _"First and last."_

 _"Some kind of closure thing, I'd imagine."_

 _"That's how it started."_

 _"But not how it ended."_

 _I shake my head and kick at a rock as some of Eric's choice comments start to seep their way back into my mind._

 _"It never is in this place. You go in thinking you'll get answers… All you leave with are fucked up brain cells and more damned questions. Oh…and herbal tea." He pulls out a handful of tea bags he obviously swiped. "My girlfriend loves this shit." He chuckles and smiles slightly, obviously thinking about her._

 _"Mine hates tea. She tries to like it because it calms her down, but…she doesn't…" I trail off not understanding why the hell I even just said that._

 _"Name's Travis. I live in Gary, Indiana." He reaches his hand out to shake mine._

 _I open my mouth to return the introduction, but I stop myself. You never know who knows who and if this guy knows the governor of Wisconsin, then he may very well know the Monroe family. "Nice to meet you." I return his handshake. "I live in Chicago."_

 _He nods his head, accepting the fact that I prefer to remain nameless._

 _"You headin' out?"_

 _"Yeah. Taking the 6:20 bus back to the city."_

 _"Smart not to drive. This place can fuck you up."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Well…ya know, I'm heading that way anyway. Want a lift? Unless…you like hanging out for hours at the Madison bus terminal," he chuckles. "To each their own, but I don't recommend it."_

 _"Are you sure?" I ask skeptically." I mean, I know it's on the way, but, it's not really on the way…at all."_

 _"Who the hell doesn't love the Kennedy(1) on a Saturday afternoon?" he laughs._

 _"Sounds great, man. Thanks."_

 _"No problem. Car's over here." He tilts his head in the direction of the parking lot and we begin the short trek. But he stops just short of the driver's side._

 _"So, you're not psychotic, right?" he asks me suddenly wary and possibly second guessing his decision. "Like, here to hang out with your people. I can usually spot 'em a mile away, but…you don't seem to have much going on, you know, in the facial expression department."_

 _"Not psychotic, just…very disturbed, currently."_

 _"I can do disturbed. Hop in."_

 _I shake my head at myself, knowing how much hell I would give Tris were she stupid enough to accept a long distance car ride._ But she's a girl, so it's different. And, yes, I'm chauvinistic. _I pull my seatbelt to secure it just as he reaches over, rather awkwardly, and opens his glove box._

 _"Here. Pick your poison if you're so inclined."_

 _I raise an eyebrow looking over the vast myriad of Jack Daniels samples in his glove box._

 _"I'm a Jack Daniels sales rep."_

 _"You're kidding." Never in my life have I been so happy to see alcohol. In fact, I would be equally as pleased if he were a DeKuyper (2) rep._

 _"Serious as a heart attack. These came in real handy after my first shit storm of a visit to this hellhole of peace and happiness."_

 _"You're not trying to get me drunk and murder me, right?" I ask seriously. I've already sized him up. I could snap him in two, but I'd like to know what I'm getting into._

 _"Just make sure I don't get on the Ike(3), and I assure you…no homicide."_

* * *

I draw circles on the outside of my A: LOG with my pencil, which I used to never do because doodling is for absentminded fools and it fucks up my notebooks. I have since changed my tune.

A part of me is dying for someone to understand—for an ounce of empathy. But it's undeserving because I'm not even entirely sorry for getting drunk. I needed it. I was out of my mind after listening to Eric list off the heinous things he did to Tris. And I needed to push those feelings by the wayside until I was ready to deal with them. It's selfish. I'm aware.

The whole night may have turned out a lot worse if I had never met up with Travis. I would have ended up at a dive bar in Madison, WI while trying to pass the time waiting for the bus, which I probably would have missed. He, at least, validated how I was feeling, even if I gave him minimal details. As it turns out, after Travis's first visit to see his brother, the next morning he woke up in the yard of a UW sorority house, pants around his ankles, with no recollection of the previous night's activities.

"I went to see Eric Monroe behind Tris's back." I look up at him just as he opens his mouth, but he immediately stops, most likely seeing the look of don't-fucking-ask-why on my face. "Anyway…" I clear my throat and look at the ceiling, prepping my brain to get these words out without conjuring any real memories. "…the particulars of that _beyond_ abject and nefarious exchange were eating through my brain matter like maggots. So, my state of mind being as it was, the only way to deal with that was by drowning said maggots in the plethora of Jack Daniels' blends that were at my complete disposal."

"Did it work?" he asks with purposeful skepticism.

"If by work, you mean did I lose all track of time and space, allowing my conscious mind a brief reprieve?"

"I would say so."

"Then my answer is, yes. Although, I can't… _exactly_ …be sure seeing as I don't remember."

"How much did you indulge?"

I remember the clinking pile of mini bottles of Jack Daniels gathering by my feet, along with Al hauling me out of Travis's car and propping me up at a bar stool, and then more alcohol from there.

"A lot."

"More than your usual coping dosage?"

" _Coping_ dosage?" I bite my tongue disdainfully at the phrase.

"You're looking at me as if you _didn't_ use alcohol to shut out the world and all of its existence last weekend."

"Well, I _did_. But, I don't _need_ it. It just…makes things easier sometimes. And trust me, I needed things to be easier."

Amar narrows his eyes at me with obvious judgment. "Are you listening to yourself, my friend?"

"Look," I practically growl. "I was ready to run head on into a brick wall rather than spend another moment living in my head. And then… _knowing_ I would have to see Tris and—"

"You didn't want to see her?"

"No. I didn't," I remark flatly.

"Why?"

"Because _I_ couldn't even make sense of the things he said, let alone communicate them to her. I was a fucking mess! It would have been a disaster! One look from her—I knew all it would have taken was…one look, and I would have… I don't even know what I would have done! And she needs me to be stronger than that! I can't be the one to break down! And that's exactly what would have happened!"

I pull on my tie as Amar quickly strides to the door, closing it quickly and looking at me with wide eyes. _And that was exactly the outburst I was trying to avoid all fucking week!_

"Are you quite sure…that _didn't_ happen?"

"No," I chuckle in deprecation. "That's the shitty part. Somehow I ended up at home, and…yeah…" I trail off, not wanting to decrypt…again, my apparent decision to return to the one place I had intended to avoid.

Amar purses his lips and crosses his arms. I can tell he wants to say something, most likely, profound or uplifting. But he doesn't have enough info to do that.

"I…uh…hadn't expected… Um… He was worse than I thought. Some of the things he…" I clear my throat, unable to finish that sentence. "I can't give you details, out of respect for her. Also because I'm incapable of putting it into words."

"I don't want them. But I do have one question. Why did you do this without her permission?"

"So she wouldn't have to," I answer emphatically.

"Hmm. And the fall-out?"

* * *

 _I shoot up as if it's some innate reflex and claw at my chest, my throat is on fire and my heart feels like it could put Secretariat's to shame. I must have been shouting. I rub my eyes, both eyes, as if that will rub out the tormenting images. Thankfully, they seem to be slipping away only to be replaced by…confusion. I'm in my room, but it doesn't feel like my room—everything is perfectly in place…too perfectly. The decorative pillows are still on the bed, the comforter is pulled taut, I can hear the hum of the air-conditioner and there is no familiar smell of coffee that I have become accustomed to._

 _And then…partials—minute pieces of time, random sentiments—desperation, fear, anger…both emotional and physical. But, nothing I can put a timeline to._

 _"Fuck," I breathe out with a long sigh, looking around the room again. Then I jump out of bed as it really hits me— everything is too perfect. I race to the kitchen to see a note—_

 _TOBIAS,_

 _WE NEED SOME TIME. DON'T CALL ME._

 _Panic strikes me like none I've ever experienced. She didn't even sign her damned name. I blatantly ignore her request and rush to my room, selecting her name and waiting for the imminent…straight to voicemail._

 _"Tris. Jesus. I don't know what happened. I hope I didn't… Please tell me I didn't hurt you. I have a feeling something happened. Please, please, please tell me it didn't. I don't even know… I didn't mean to…or…I wasn't even FUCKING planning to come home last night! Um, wait! I know how bad that sounded, and it's not because I didn't want to see you! I mean, I didn't but only because I just knew it wouldn't end well…and Holy shit what happened?!… Call me. Please, call me."_

 _I hang up the phone and sink down to sit cross-legged on my floor. The last time I was that intoxicated was when Marcus left me a voicemail—it was the first time I had heard from him in…shit, I don't even know how long anymore. Those times seem so insignificant now. I remember Tris barging in the door, nearly knocking me on my ass—a look of anger mixed with worry that she tried to hide with annoyance. It was the first time I had really confided in her. She challenged me._

 _I stand, carefully, and rip my suit coat off, throwing it somewhere and head into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of water, which I down in record time. This is so surreal. She left, she really left. Her moving out isn't a complete shock—a huge disappointment but not a complete shock._

 _Then I look to the corner of the kitchen and shuffle over to inspect it, hoping my hangover is affecting my vision. There is not a single ground left unattended to. Tris almost always leaves some kind of trail in her wake—a coffee ring on the marble counter, or a napkin with a coffee ring where she left her mug, a bean here and there on the floor, a spoon in the sink. It never bothered me, really. It just made me feel like someone else lived here. Not just someone—I'm sure if it were anyone else, that would have driven me insane—Tris. Tris lived here, even if she never felt like it was her home._

 _I run my hand over the…completely bare…countertop. I know it's unnecessary, but I do it anyway—I open the upper cabinet. And staring back at me is the perfectly placed, practically gleaming, stainless steel coffee maker on the shelf that is way too high for Tris to comfortably reach._

 _I bite my lips and my eyes water up, but I shake my head in a fit of ridiculous anger at myself for being a wuss. It's not like we're breaking up. She's retaliating. I did…something, and now she just…needs time._

 _But, WHAT?! Was it because I went to see Eric? Did I tell her? I knew going into it, that there would be repercussions. But I was willing to shoulder that shit if it gave her an ounce of peace! The unknown now being known, she could move on—deal with it. It's still awful, it's disgusting, it's still a complete violation and utterly heinous, but she's so damned strong that she would get through it! No. There's more. There has to be more._

 _"Think, think, think, think, you asshole!" I yell through a painfully clenched jaw. "I was dropped off at Hangars. Why? Why? Why did you do that?! Was Tris working? Shit! Shit! Shit! No. She couldn't have been. Okay… Al handed me a drink. Tori was there. How the FUCK did I get home? Okay, move on, move on… Tris was on the couch. Damn it! That's it?! That's all I've got?!"_

* * *

"Well, let's see, the fallout is that I know…nothing. Not even the location of my girlfriend. I've never been more worried in my life. I am now at the point where I am getting angry with her because I don't know what the fuck happened! And a part of me feels like she's purposely torturing me, which is unlike her because she isn't that _fucking_ petty."

"So, she's MIA?"

"No. She's AWOL."

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

"I feel you staring."

I've been trying to figure Tris out since last Sunday when she came banging on my door…way sooner than I expected. I knew she was planning on moving in, but shit! No one needs to be walking alone in Humboldt park at 3:00 AM. She's kind of fucking stupid. Although, I do it all the time. But I'm me and I look like I could kick some serious ass. She looks like a waif.

"I don't care."

"Well, I do. So, kindly remove your eyes from my face." She's sitting cross-legged on my floor and has been there for the last hour, not moving, just staring and flipping through my photography books.

"You planning on getting off your lazy ass and going into work tonight? Although, this new bartender could easily be your replacement."

Tris pretends like she hates her job. But she's good at it and I think she takes some weird pride in that. She shrugs, but I know the 'new bartender' comment got to her. But, hell, what doesn't get to that girl this week? She cries more than she doesn't. Although, I've gotta say, she does a good job of hiding it. But, the dreams…yeah, different story. I don't know who the fuck Tobias is, but I actually feel a little sorry for Four that she's moaning that poor guy's name.

"Look, it's time you get your high and mighty butt out of my apartment. Get some fresh air! Do something for Christ's sake!"

"Um, it's my apartment too, jerk. I pay rent. I gave you a damned deposit that was worth more than this hell hole itself. And my room is no bigger than a broom closet."

"Your name isn't on the lease and no one invited you to live in my so-called broom closet. So, you can just take your Harry Potter ass and find another residence."

"Ugh. How did you turn out this way? You are _nothing_ like your sister."

"Yeah." I shrug. "But, I like me, so that's all that matters."

I sigh and cross my arms still staring at her. I really don't want her to move out. I've kinda liked having someone here this week. Plus, she makes me grub and she grocery shopped. I watch closely as she turns on her phone and waits with ridiculously bated breath for it to power on. Her shoulders slump about a millimeter when no voicemail comes through. But she shakes it off and texts someone quickly, turning her phone of right afterward.

"I told Tori I'm coming in."

"Hmm," I remark and turn to get back to cleaning my camera, pretending I'm oblivious to the fact that she's still sitting on the floor, staring at her powered off phone.

"This is the first day he hasn't called," she whispers.

"Good," I quip. I don't believe for one second that that's what she wants, but, I can't seem to get anything else out of her. Not that I've tried.

"Yeah, it is."

I turn around and see tears dripping down her chin as she flips through my Ansel Adams book.

"Don't get your feel-sorry-for-me tears on my things." I pull the book out from under her fingers and toss it on my egg crate coffee table. "Want some tea?" I offer.

She grumbles something and stands slowly. "Number one, do _not_ feel sorry for me—"

"I don't."

"And number two, I fucking hate tea."

"Then why the hell do you drink it? You do realize this is _your_ box of Chamomile _not Mint_ Tea, right?" I raise my eyebrows at the little nut job, recalling her making me return the box of Chamomile Mint tea back to the shelf.

She shrugs and goes into her broom closet sized room. "Yeah. It relaxes me."

"You're not right."

"Tell me about it," she groans as she flops onto her bed. "This bed belongs in a prison cell, by the way."

"It _was_ from a prison cell. Bought it off of Diego for $5 bucks." I flit my hand shooing Rosa away from my window as she holds up a bag of Triscuits. "Yeah. He raided the dumpster right outside MCC(4), loaded up his camino and then set up shop."

"You bought a bed…off the back of a prison cell Puerto Rican truck?" she asks as if that's so friggin' strange.

"Yeah. Where did you think I got the sink?" I point to the sweet retro corner sink in my bathroom. It was a great replacement for when the other one detached from the wall.

"God… What am I _doing_ here? I'm sleeping on a murderer's bed…" she whines into her pillow.

"Don't be so judgey, geez." I roll my eyes at her prissiness. "Hey, uh, how long do I need to keep this whole _arrangement_ a secret, by the way?" I saunter into the other room, peering out the window to make sure Rosa isn't selling her goods on my doorstep. She still owes me my cut from her Saltine sales the other day.

"Indefinitely?" Tris squeaks from her room.

"Okay," I shrug and walk over to the couch, grabbing her tablet. "He's a smart dude. He's gonna figure it out sooner or later. More sooner than later."

"I know," she mumbles. "I can't believe I'm doing this. It's because I'm mad. It's because now it's been six days and I don't know what to do. It's because I'm disturbed that I can't function anymore without him. It's because we don't want the same things. It's because—"

"Yeah, so the thing about this place…," I interrupt. "…is that it's so small that I can hear…everything. Even when you talk to yourself, like you're doing right now."

She sighs out an extremely annoyed breath, which she does about 50 times a day.

"Lynn, why the fuck do you live here? You make a pretty decent living at the bar."

"Yep. Probably more than you."

"So, what the fuck?"

"Saving up for my new venture. Storin' my cash like a squirrel hidin' nuts."

"What…venture?"

I shrug my shoulders and smirk at my stash of cameras. I have a crapload—all from the 1920s til the 1980s. I had to cut a hole in the drywall to hide them in case I get robbed again. One of these days I'll show Tris my shit. Not right now. She won't even take a second look at the vintage original Rolleiflex on the counter. She thinks I don't know that she dabbles in the photog world, but I do—having overheard too many conversations between her and Christina. I'm not really sure what the hell she does though. Maybe I'll ask. Meh…maybe not.

"Hey, sorry…you know, for making you lie," Tris mutters as she perches herself on the brick windowsill, pulling her knees up to her chest. _That would make an excellent shot. Hmm._

"Oh, yeah well, I haven't lied to anyone." I reach down and grab her tablet off the floor. "And I don't plan on it."

"Well then, how—"

"The power of omission and indifference is a very practical skill." I swipe open her screen, being hit with a cutesie picture of her and Four. _He looks so oddly…happy._ _She'd better know what the hell she's doing._ Relaxing horizontally on the couch, I let out a lazy sigh and get to work. "I fuckin' love Minecraft."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I watch on with utter envy and total irritation as Mark and his wife Charlotte pull off an essentially drama-free and stupidly easy Friday night at the bar. Like any self-respecting woman with a rather handsome husband as a bartender, she gave the appropriate amount of snarky expressions to the bitches who specifically asked _him_ to get their drinks, or ogled him in any way shape or form. But, she seems, for the most part, at ease with things. I suppose it helped that he made sure to sneak in a wink and a kiss on the cheek at appropriate moments, leaving her shaking her head and telling him he's being an idiot, even though, she obviously loved it. Truth be told, she's completely down-to-Earth and just seems like an altogether good human. They both do. And it really pisses me off.

"So, Tris. I hear you have a scary boyfriend."

"Um…yeah. Well, he's _not_ scary and…" I shrug my shoulders and sling my braid over my back before making myself a cocktail. I have no desire to finish that sentence.

"Sorry. I'm not nosey, but I love getting all up in people's business." She laughs easily and I try my hardest to join in but I just…can't.

"Um…" I clear my throat and lean in closer. "Was Mark tending bar when he, well, my um, boyfriend showed up—"

"Drunk as a skunk in heat?" Mark chimes in, shoving me to the side as he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

"Yeah."

"He was… _definitely_ here in the physical sense. And you're absolutely correct—he's not scary. He fuckin' frightening."

I roll my eyes at Tobias's posturing, but move on with my questioning because I've been trying to put a timeline together all week. "I haven't had the guts to ask anyone what happened," I say, weakly.

"Well, my dear bartendress…" he slings his arm over my shoulder, shaking me congenially. "… he somehow got it into his mind that you were working that night and…much to his disappointment…you weren't. But, I GAVE HIM A DRINK BECAUSE AL SAID HE WAS FINE!"

I look in the direction Mark is shouting, and make eye contact with a very guilty looking Al before he slinks away to the back room. "Idiot," I mutter.

"Shouldn't have listened to him." He grabs the bottle of Gentleman's and pours himself a drink, adding a smidge to mine and Charlotte's. "Sorry if I aided and abetted."

I shrug my shoulders and look away. "Four makes his own choices _._ "

"So _that's_ his name?" Mark asks. "It makes so much more sense now. Is that his given name?"

"Yep. Gave it to himself," I answer flatly because I'm honestly sick of his nickname.

"Okkkaaay, that's fairly uncommon, but we'll roll with it. Anyway, he was fairly incoherent, and it only got worse after he downed his whiskey like water. However, he did inform me that male bartenders are only out for a hot piece of ass and I need to 'stay away from your hot piece of ass.'"

I groan as he quotes Tobias and then I make quick eye contact with Charlotte in apology for Tobias's shitty sentiments about her husband.

"Oh, and apparently, your ass is 'superior to all asses on the planet.' However…I must disagree." He leans over the bar and gives Charlotte a sweet kiss, whispering something that makes her shake her head and turn slightly red. "No offense, Bartentris." He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "I just made that up."

"None taken. And that was pretty good."

"Yep. Mark's great at the nicknames. He calls me Charlit when I'm drunk."

Mark beams with pride as Charlotte and I both laugh at his humor. He reminds me of Matthew in that he feeds off of people thinking he's funny.

"So…uh… Anything else?" I mumble, trying to tie together a cherry stem.

"You know, Charlotte can do that with her tongue. That's how I knew she was the one," Mark announces cheekily.

"Shut-up and answer her question, you fool!" Charlotte responds, reaching over the bar and smacking Mark right on the cheek.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Apart from the constant aberration, he was just really…nervous. For a while there I thought he had head lice because he kept running his hands through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck."

"Babe, you do that when you're frustrated."

"I do?"

"Constantly."

"Sweet! Something the two of us have in common. I'll file that one away as a talking point."

"Did he…" I begin, realizing I need to sound much less timid. "Did he say anything?"

"That's actually the funny part." Mark throws the bar rag over his shoulder and nods at a customer. "He wanted no part in conversation at all because…" Mark stops short and I can tell he's about to attempt a drunk Tobias impression. "…'I'm not sayin' a word! Not goin' down that road again!'"

"I think he was trying to do an impression of your boyfriend," Charlotte comments as Mark adds a drink to the customers tab. "…but it's hard to tell because he's so bad at them."

"Yes. That was terrible," I remark, leaning my elbow on the bar, waiting for Mark to continue.

"Anyway, didn't know what that meant, didn't ask what that meant, didn't want to know what that meant. Oh, but… Uh…he definitely thinks highly of you…and your body parts…if you know what I mean."

"Oh, God." I close my eyes, waiting for the onslaught of embarrassment.

"To his benefit, he was not disrespectful. He just used a lot of…gestures."

"Well, then you don't have that much in common, babe, so you better hang onto those talking points. This guy…" Charlotte leans in and points to Mark. "… threw me a birthday party with upwards of 60 people there. He stood on top of a damned table and screamed…at the top of his lungs…, 'Cheers to the birthday girl! The most beautiful woman in the world! Best pussy ever!"

* * *

 _"But that still doesn't explain why she slapped you," Will says pointing his fork at Tobias._

 _"Geez…." he whines running his hands over his face. "Word for word?"_

 _"Word…for…word."_

 _"Fuck," he says under his breath. "Fine. I said I would be more interested in dating her cat than in dating her."_

 _I snort out a laugh at his blatant assholic remark. He can seriously be such a dick._

 _"You crushed that poor girl!" Christina blares in stupid Lauren's defense._

 _"I don't know why she was so offended…just because I prefer Tris's pussy to hers," he says shrugging._

* * *

"Yeah…" Mark cringes as I shake off the memory. "I wasn't at my best. And, look here missy…" He pinches her cheeks as I now realize I've had enough of the cuteness bullshit. "… must you tell my new bartentris friend _everything?"_

"Please. Trust me, Tris. That's not even scraping the surface. You okay?" Charlotte inquires looking at me as if I'm turning green. _Yeah, green with envy, bitch!_

"Um… Yeah, I just… So, you're good here, right?" _'Cause I need to get the fuck out!_

"Yep. You are free to leave m'lady."

"It was nice to meet you, Tris."

"You too, Char—"

The high-pitched crushing sound of glass and a painful pinch in my eye makes me lose my balance and fall backward onto my ass.

"Hey, what the hell, man?!"

"Sorry, duuuuuude. I was...like…aimin' for the garbage."

The reaction to an intrusion in my eye makes a tear fall down my face as I blink. Then I feel it instantly. "Fuck, there's glass in my eye."

"Well, the sink is way off! You're outta here!"

I hold my eyelids open, not wanting the shard to get lost while I hobble to the back toward the bathroom, ignoring Mark's roaring voice and the scene that is playing out behind me. By the time I make it to the sink, there is a civil war going on in my eye—the dry from holding it open versus the wet from my pissed off tear ducts. I try to resist the urge to blink, but my other eye is becoming more useless by the second as well. Basically, I can't see shit.

"Hey, hey, hey. Lemme take a look."

I hear Mark's voice and I grip his shoulder with my left hand, my right still holding my eye open, as he turns me slowly by my shoulders.

"Char is handing that guy his ass. Dude wasn't listening to me, but he backed right down when she called him a stupid fuck nut… ….. ….."

* * *

 _"Well then may the odds be ever in your favor!" I say as I raise my beer and chug it down then toss it half way down the bar into the recycling._

 _"Boo ya!" I hear Christina yell._

 _The guy gives me a nasty look and then walks away. "Fuck nut," I say quietly.  
_

 _"Do people still use the word fuck nut?" Four asks plainly with the cutest damn smirk I have ever seen on a face in my life._

 _"Well, that would be two words! You heard me say that?"_

 _"I read your lips."_

* * *

"Whoa! Influx of unwelcome tears." Mark takes the very edge of a paper towel and holds it gently to soak up the invasion of liquid that had nothing to do with the glass in my eye. "Okay, I see it. I would imagine the first aid kit has tweezers, but it's really small and I'm not a surgeon. However, feel free to call me McDreamy if you want. Sometimes Char calls me McSteamy—"

"Mark," I grunt.

"Okay, sorry." He holds up his finger and wiggles it. "Do you mind?"

"Just get it out," I whisper really not wanting a scratched eyeball.

"I'm just going to dab it and just…hold out on hope, okay?"

"Do it!"

"Okay, okay. He cradles the side of my face, stabilizing my head, while I cradle his hand to make sure _it_ is stable. _This is freaking me out!_

"One, two, three… Got it." He holds out the bastard shard that felt like a diamond rather than the dust mite size it actually was.

"Thanks—"

Suddenly I'm thrown off balance and face plant into the wall from the sudden loss of Mark's body balancing me. The pain seems to hack right through my cheek bone hitting a nerve straight on as some sort of yelp comes out of me. The crashing noise of something being thrown into a locker makes me forget the pain because it's replaced by a new emotion—panic—as I watch Tobias punch Mark in the face over and over.

"Tobias! STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP!" I shriek.

Fear overtakes my panic as I see the look of mania in his eyes. He doesn't even hear me. He's not even saying anything. So, I do the stupid thing and jump on his back, putting him in a neck hold. He easily rips my arm off him which lands me like rag doll right onto the locker room-style bench. I gasp for air as the injured side of my rib cage screams for help and the world goes out of focus for a minute. I sit up to see two blurry images still…struggling…and… ….. …..

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Tris hasn't been at work at all this week. I've called Tori every day. And that is the only reason I know Tris is still alive. Apparently, she has been calling in sick for work, which Tori and I both know is total bullshit, but Tris must be perfectly content with doling out total bullshit right now.

However, I found out from my nightly Tori call, that Tris is working and she's done at 1:00. Therefore, I've been here…pacing…since 10:00, just in case she leaves early. I can't bring myself to go into the bar, although, I was one-confrontation-with-Al away from bowling him over and taking up residence in the sex chair. But, I knew that situation could go one of two ways—either she looks perfectly happy and I become a raging lunatic or she looks sad and terrible and I melt into a puddle…on the sex chair. _Gross…_

It's now 1:21. I've been camped out, leaning under the street light on the corner, probably looking like a 1920s gangster because I'm still in my suit. _All I need is a cigarette and a fedora._ But with this vantage point, I can see the rear exit and the front exit, so she has no escape. I deserve a fucking explanation and she doesn't get to skirt out of this one.

Not calling her today was a lot easier than I thought it would be. It was the first time I've felt like the ball is now in her court. I've called several times each day, leaving a myriad of sad, nice, desperate, upbeat, raging, frustrated, apologetic and finally one last…resigned…voicemail. And, I'm done. It's now all on her—at least, that's what I'm telling myself, which is total asshat because I'm the one here…waiting for her.

I push off from the lamp post and walk toward the bar, wanting to sneak a peek as to whether or not she's having an after shift cocktail. I don't know why, but that would seriously piss me off. Maybe because I have been 100% refraining from all alcohol all week, knowing it gets me absolutely nowhere, and it would be straight up unfair of her not to be doing the same!

"She went in back, lover boy," Al snickers.

I do a quick turnaround and head toward the back to avoid further awkward interactions with Al. The fact that he called me 'lover boy' being juvenile and altogether ridiculous enough. I nod at Juan Carlos as he holds the door open for me. He gives me a kind smile and a thumbs up.

"She is very sad…uh…últimamente?" he remarks as begin to pass him. "Sorry. My English…very bad. But…uh…you make her happy again…yes?"

I sigh and look over my shoulder. "Me encantaría nada más que hacerla feliz, todos los días, por el resto de su vida. Pero lo estoy encontrando difícil… _últimamente_." (4)

Normally I'd deliver a smile, knowing the appreciation a foreign citizen feels when someone attempts to use their native tongue, but, right now, I just leave Carlos a bit flabbergasted. Plus, I probably fucked it up and spoke too formally or used shitty conjugation or a bullshit accent or…-

I've quickly lost the ability to breath…walk…function as a member of the human race…as I watch some guy caress the side of Tris's face, his body pressed up against hers as she leans onto the sink resting her hand…lightly…affectionately…over his. Suddenly it all comes together…while I fall apart. Then I watch her sweet mouth turn up into a small smirk and—

…. …. …. …. All I hear is the thump of my knuckles against face… all I feel is the now consistently familiar ache in my tendons….I see nothing ….. ….. I acknowledge nothing…. ….. ….. I'm in an uncontrollable losing battle…. ….. ….. …..

The shocking cold sensation to the side of my face breaks me out of my trance, along with the follow-up defensive punch sending me back a few steps. A thin form comes between us, leaving a sharp stunting pain in my esophagus causing me to choke. I shake my head and blink my eyes, following the body and strangled voice to the floor, realizing soon enough…that it's Tori.

"Shit, shit, shit! Tris? Babe? Wake-up! Get up!" Tori is clapping her hands in Tris's face, while the man I want to kill jumps over the bench to help her…and I just…stand there.

 _I want to help. I don't know what happened. I love her, but I hate her. I want to help, but I want to walk away. But she's…she's…_

I'm suddenly on my knees at her side and I don't know why. A drop of blood falls onto her forehead and I look up in a daze to see it's source—the man who she's cheating on me with. I watch…I just watch… as he lifts her under her shoulders and leans her back onto him.

"She needs the blood to rush down, guys. Move!"

For some reason, I stay. I just stay and watch her eyeballs move spastically underneath her closed eyelids. Empathy and wonder take over as I reach for her cheek to turn it toward me—

"Get the hell out of here!" Tori seethes smacking my hand away. "Now!"

"I just want to see if she's—"

"Babe?! Mark?! Holy shit! What happened?! Oh, my God!"

The air of confusion hits me epically as a girl grabs a random towel and starts tending to the face of the guy who is ruining my life. And I watch…I just watch, glancing at Tris ever so often, who is yet, unconscious. I've never felt apathetic toward her, until now.

"Hon, fuck, that hurts. Stop."

"Is she okay?!... Mark! What did you do?!" she yells at him accusingly.

I can't help but huff out a laugh at that, while still keeping my eye on Tris…who is still…not…conscious. _Fuck, someone…help…her…_

"Babe! For once, this was not me! Four…I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Charlotte."

I stare at him as he gestures to the frantic woman, his use of my name hints to the fact that he knows me. I rub my thumb in nervous circles, noticing that I had unknowingly grabbed Tris's hand and I seem to not be able to let go. The feel of her pulse under my fingers a near sedative.

"He walked in at the least opportune moment…possible."

"Least OPPORTUNE?!" I find myself gripping his shirt collar, my hand now squeezing Tris's in anger.

"I was trying to get glass out of her eye! Get the fuck off me—"

"GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!" Two strong hands push me back as I make eye contact with his so-called wife, who's look of anger reminds me of Tris.

With that, I'm quickly leaning in closely to Tris's face, cupping it in my hands. I kiss her forehead, ignoring the yelling behind me. "Tris. I know you can hear me. It's just me and you here. I... I…"

Suddenly, she's clutching her side, leaning into it as I try to push her back down calmly. "Tris, just relax—"

Then I lose the ability to breath as fingers wrap around my throat and I'm lurched backward, taking Tris's hand with me.

"Get out…of my…BAR!" Tori is right in my face, screaming as something suddenly connects in my mind.

 _How did this even happen?_

I push myself back, my eyes still on Tris as she hyperventilates. "How did that…? I…thought… Did I…?"

"DID YOU DO THIS?!" Tori repeats. "You sure as hell did! Now, GET OUT!"

I stand, backing away from the scene as Tris looks around wildly, tears dripping down her face. "Everyone get off me!" she tries to yell. "I'm, I'm, I'm… I'm fine…"

"Leave! Now! And don't fucking step foot into my bar ever again!" Tori pokes my chest at each word, a stern hand pulling me back while I try desperately to make eye contact with Tris.

"Tris!" I shout—a pointless attempt to get her attention. It's half-hearted because I'm so fucking ashamed.

"Four." The firm hand on my shoulder squeezes harder and turn to see the serious look in Bud's eyes.

I nod my head, resignedly and turn to leave, gripping his arm without making eye contact. "Get everyone out of there except Tori. Too much attention gives her anxiety and I'm pretty sure she just…" I can't even get the words out. "Um…just get a towel."

"I will. Anything else?"

"No."

"I was in the office. Saw the video from this angle." I glance up as he points to the camera that would show surveillance from my vantage point. "I'll make sure Tori sees it. But, it probably won't help."

I just shrug because everything is worthless at this point.

The last thing I hear before exiting is Tris's stomach rejecting whatever the hell was in it.

* * *

 **Tori's POV:**

Tris has finally calmed down, thanks to Bud. He was smart enough to tell everyone to give her some space to relax. She said she was fine, but, I could tell—dilated pupils, clammy and pale skin, shocked expression—her mind took her somewhere else, entirely, while she was out.

"Thanks for showing me that," she murmurs as she plays with her fingers nervously.

I nod, leaning back in my chair behind my desk. I knew she needed to see the footage from Four's perspective after Bud pointed it out to me. "I thought it was important." I point to the bruise on her face. "I thought he hit you."

"He would never." She sniffs and wipes under her eyes, making a quick pained expression as she grazes her bruise.

"I had to dump ice water on him _and_ jab him in the throat to make him stop. And _then_ , I had to strangle him to prevent round two." I narrow my eyes, waiting for her reaction.

"I know you're baiting me to see if I'll apologize for him—to tell you he didn't mean it, tell you it'll never happen again. Well, don't hold your breath. He's an asshole and a grown man. I don't operate on his behalf."

"Good," I reply satisfied with her answer. Tris is no dummy. "Has he always had a short fuse like that?"

"Yes. But, it's gotten worse."

"Why?"

"Because of me," she quips with a fake smile.

"Well, the surveillance doesn't change anything. I'm still not letting him in. I understand why he tried to beat the hell out of Mark, but it still doesn't make it okay." I lean my forearms on my desk and look at her straight on. "He needs to get that shit under control."

"Don't let him in. Doesn't matter anymore." She shrugs, but diverts her eyes. "At least, not to me."

"Because you're quitting," I state.

She doesn't answer. But the way her eyes well up with tears is all I need to hear. But, there will be no crying in my office.

"It's fine," I assure, trying to sound convincing. "That's why I hired another bartender."

I've had a feeling for the last few weeks that Tris wasn't going to last much longer. I've been in this business for far too long to get too attached to my employees. The turnover rate is too high. But, even I will admit, Tris is a different story. She's more than just an employee—her and Lynn both. Although, Lynn doesn't even know it. Far be it for Lynn to realize she's actually one of the more loyal people I've ever met.

"I'm not an idiot. Christina was _finally_ graduating and well, you... Put it this way—you need a change. You _both_ do." I make very deliberate eye contact with her, hopefully, communicating that I am not talking about her and Christina.

Both Bud and I, being in the positions we are in, get a front row seat to all happenings and gossip. I would go as far as to call Four and Tris "soulmates" if I believed in that shit. But, soulmates don't always end up together and maybe it's better that way. Shit, if we all ended up with our so-called "soulmates," no one would ever appreciate love. It would just be…taken for granted. But having loved as deeply as I had in the past, however quick it was, made me appreciate love and companionship more than I had before.

A fleeting memory that makes my stomach both knot up and flutter at the same time passes right in front of me…so vividly. I feel like I can reach out and touch his darkening image. But it disappears, like always, my mind retreating.

I gaze at Tris and instantly recognize the look of torment on her face. My heart clenches, not out of sympathy, but from what is still left in my heart.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, annoyed.

I roll my eyes to cover up my conflicting thoughts. "I'm just going to out this shit, okay? I like Four; I really do. But you're a mess and not accepting help. And, fuck, the way he is with you—he'll just keep pushing you to the brink. And, he definitely has his own shit to take care of. Hell, he may be worse off than you."

She blinks and two tears fall out of her eyes.

"So, you think I'm doing the right thing?"

The thing I love about Tris is that she can handle a reality check. Sometimes I wonder why she seems almost calloused to criticism.

"Does it feel right to you?" _Question with a question. She hates that._

"Don't act like a therapist. Act like my friend, damn it!"

I chuckle under my breath at her dodge of my question. "Speaking of which…" I reach into the top drawer of my desk. "Here." I hand her my therapist's card and immediately lean back in my chair waiting for the repercussions.

But, as screwed up as it is, she smiles.

"You're…smiling…"

"This is the same therapist one of the nurses at the hospital recommended to me. Thanks, but I can't afford it until my previous life sells."

"Hmm. Well, I can make a phone call. See if she does pro bono…" I trail off as the look of hell-no crosses Tris's face. "You still gonna bartend?" I ask, changing the subject.

"It's the best I can do right now."

"I'll make some calls—"

"Tori, I can find my own damned job."

"Tris, let me make myself very clear. I hired you on a whim because you were cute and had an attitude and I was slightly more perky that day. It was the luck of the draw for you. On a normal day, if you want to find a job in a good bar where you will be slinging specialty cocktails rather than beer and nachos, then you will…need…a…referral."

"Fine," she replies defiantly.

"Ya know, sometimes being too independent is just plain stupid."

"Something we have in common. Right, Tor?" she snarks.

I laugh under my breath and nod my head. _I'm going to miss her…so much._

* * *

(1) The "Kennedy" is the common name for the Chicago expressway portion of Illinois Route 90 (I-90). Don't be deceived, in Illinois there is nothing "express" about an expressway, In fact, they should be called stay-the-fuck-off-me's. And expressway is an area of highway where you don't have tolls. (Yes, tolls. In Illinois, you have to pay to use the highways). However, the Kennedy ends up taking you toward the Loop (as long as you stay on it). It's one of the expressways known for its horrendous traffic.

(2) For all who don't know what DeKuyper is: It's an alcohol distributor famous for its array of "Schnapps," (particularly their peach flavor) which is a fruity, thick, liquor-like substance one should never indulge in unless it is mixed with…well, anything else.

(3) Travis's comment about not ending up on the "Ike," refers to the expressway called The Eisenhower, which picks up where the Kennedy portion of the expressway ends at an 8-way circle of traffic, confusion and hell. So, when Travis says "make sure I don't end up on the Ike," he means 'make sure I make the turn off from The Kennedy into Chicago'—because once you're on the Ike…you're on the Ike. You'll travel long distances before you can get off. Illinois is special like that.

(4) MCC – Metropolitan Correctional Facility

(5) Tobias's words to Juan Carlos: "I would love nothing more than to make her happy every day for the rest of her life. But I'm finding it difficult _lately_."

* * *

I am mentally prepared for all readers' protests! Bring it.

And I'm sorry if I've been bad at responding to readers who want to be friend requested for the private Facebook page. PM me and I'll be right on it! Otherwise, the Fan Page is **Kris Daniels**. Thanks everyone!


	21. What Happened (Pt 2)

**An:** I'm just gonna...set this...right here...

* * *

Chapter 20 – What Happened (Pt. 2)

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I feel a serious sense of unease as I walk to my newest residence. It started on the L. I looked over my shoulder about 50 times, which is the exact opposite of what you should do—it only makes you look vulnerable. But, I was the only one in the car. I suppose this is the shit I need to get used to. I turn my phone on just in case I need to dial 9-11. It's been off most of the week so I won't be tempted to outright answer any of Tobias's phone calls. However, that hasn't stopped me from powering it on to check about 25 times a day.

My behavior this week only solidifying the fact that I am _NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM! Because what kind of decent person does this to someone they love?!_ This week has officially been the first time I have let those words actually sink in and become real. I said them aloud. And they fucking sound like they belong in a soap opera script. I could practically hear the whiney violin score in the background as I sobbed, "I'm not good enough!"

"Eggghhhh… God," I whisper, recalling that embarrassing moment. _You see? I'm even embarrassed of myself to myself!_ "I'm the worst…"

* * *

 _"Hi," he says in his soft groggy, sexy voice._

 _"Hi."_

 _"How'd you get in?"_

 _"The door man gave me a key. He should be fired."_

 _"Hmmm…."_

 _I laugh envisioning the cute pouty face he's making. "I love it. I love you... Thank you."_

 _"So you're accepting my proposal?"_

 _We both stay silent for a moment as that wording sinks in._

 _"Ummm…. Ha. I meant, I mean I… Maybe—"_

 _"I accept your key...and your bathroom drawer. Thank you so much...for all of it." I had to interrupt that shit immediately before he says something he doesn't mean out of syntactical obligation._

 _He clears his throat but I can feel him smiling proudly as his chin grazes my head. "Was my cheesiness the worst?"_

 _"Definitely."_

 _"I'm the worst."_

 _"You are the worst," I agree in jest. "In the best way."_

* * *

I wipe under my chin, catching the tears before they drip onto my shirt while I swallow a sob.

"You okay, gringa?"

I nod my head, as confidently as possible, at a group of guys hanging out on a front porch. The sneer in their voices, the smell of marijuana and the sound of reggeaton music adds to my anxiety as my fear of being one of two white girls in a Puerto Rican neighborhood rears its head.

"Hey, muchacha! Hey, rubia! Venga, venga! We don't bite, you know! Come back and visit sometime! We like to party!" he yells after me as I speed up my step while still keeping my head high.

Lynn says I need to earn respect in this neighborhood.

* * *

 _"Do you have scoliosis?" Lynn scoffs as we walk down the street with groceries in our arms from Rosita's Supermercado. "What's with the hunchback, Quasimodo?"_

 _"I'm…nervous, okay? Now shut the hell up and walk!"_

 _"For Christ's sake, Prior. Stand up straight and get it through your petite little cabeza that you're now the minority and your white privilege is now a disadvantage. Own that shit! And get to know the neighbors! You'll need allies. And…maybe die your hair…de-blonde yourself. Yeah and more make-up for sure…like black eye-liner and dark lipstick. Oh, and start wearing earrings…like, big ones."_

* * *

Suddenly, I find myself power-walking—trying to find a happy medium between scurrying and running. Our duplex (which is actually a totally illegal, unpermitted quadraplex) is in sight—the sinking front stoop being my only landmark seeing as these houses are just about all identical.

I make it there and clutch the railing in relief, taking several breaths before I even attempt the lock. I notice my hands are shaking as I begin to fumble with my keys—tears dripping onto the metal. There are five locks and I have yet to memorize which keys go with which lock, so this takes some time—

"Are you _fucking kidding me?!_ " grits out an angered voice in my ear as I scream in absolute panic.

I'm hauled away from the door by my waist, an immediately familiar presence swings me up and catches me roughly behind my knees. I moan pathetically in relief as… _Tobias_ …starts to carry me down the sidewalk. Then I come to my senses even quicker and arch my back, kicking my legs wildly as he tightens his grip along with his speed.

"Put me…DOWN!"

"There is NO WAY in hell you are LIVING HERE!"

"Yes, I AM! PUT ME DOWN!" I squirm trying to free my arms from where he has them pinned at my sides.

"No."

"YES!"

"No—"

"Better put the lady down, gringo." A serious seething voice right next to Tobias stops him so quickly that he almost drops me.

We both turn to see a gun being pointed…inches away…from his head.

"I know you heard me," the man remarks smugly.

Tobias puts me down, pushing me roughly behind him, but clutching my shirt pulling me into his back. I, basically, can't see anything except Tobias's jacket, which I bury my face in. I can sense the man's close proximity and Tobias has made no effort to back away…at all.

"We don't treat our women like property in this neighborhood, ese."

I hear a round of humming in agreement from other guys sitting on the porch. The fact that we have an audience does nothing for my nerves, so I flatten myself against Tobias's back, reaching my left arm under his jacket and around his waist. I place my right hand on his where he has my shirt fisted, holding me to him, in the hopes that he gets the message to _not_ try to disarm this guy.

"Good," Tobias whispers to the possible shooter, using his tone of voice that makes grown men shrink away like dogs at a fireworks display.

I hear the guy laugh lightly, but Tobias's back muscles stay tight and engaged. My eyes quickly catch on the silver of the gun as the man now holds it loosely at his side.

"You okay, rubia?" He peers around Tobias, looking at me sincerely and almost…sheepishly.

"Yep!" I hop out looking like a total dipshit. "Yes, yes. I am…yes. I'm fine. He's fine. We're good. So, yeah, don't shoot him. Please." I realize I'm begging at the end there, but the thought of Tobias bleeding out on the sidewalk will make me beg…anytime, anywhere, anyplace, to anyone.

"Nah, I wasn't gonna shoot nobody. I just gotta keep the riff raff in line, know what I'm sayin'?"

"No," Tobias responds coldly as I laugh lightly and awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse future conflict.

"Name's Ignacio—Nacho for short. This your guy?" He tilts his head to Tobias as I look between the two.

"Tris," I respond immediately, avoiding his question and sticking my hand out.

He takes it and grazes my knuckles lightly with his lips, glancing at Tobias to gauge his reaction. Although, I feel Tobias's eyes are on my face rather than Nacho's gesture.

"Do I wanna know you?" Nacho asks Tobias as he drops my hand and crosses his arms.

"Yeah. You definitely do." He pauses purposefully. "Four."

"Como?"

"My name…is Four," Tobias growls as I tug on his hand plotting our escape.

"Como el número cuatro?!" He turns to the group lounging on the stairs and just about doubles over in laughter. "Este hijo de la gran puta se llama Cuatro!" (1)

I yank my hand out of Tobias's and back away down the sidewalk toward my place as the guys on the porch all join in with their own chortles at whatever insult Nacho just threw Tobias's way. My action distracted Tobias enough that he turns and follows me, thankfully, because it looked like he was about to join in on the insult game.

"I'm watching you, cabrón. I'm always watching!"

Tobias places his hand on my lower back pushing harshly as Nacho keeps taunting him. Then he pulls me to him by my waist equally as harshly—I'm pretty sure he would rather be carrying me right now, and based on how he's gripping me, it would probably be an easier jaunt. I notice his shortened breaths so I glance up at him—he's walking with his eyes closed.

Once we reach the front steps, my fingers, again, seem to _not_ want to cooperate as I fuss with the keys. Tobias's somehow calm fingers still my shaking ones as he pulls the keys away and quietly goes to work on the five locks. He counts each lock out loud like an asshole after he opens it, proving his point that this is a _slightly_ unsafe area.

An impending sense hits me and, honestly, I don't even want to let him in. Living in an in-between world has been torture, but I's take purgatory over hell any day of the week, and I know right where I'm headed.

He clears his throat and pushes the door open roughly, holding it for me while I roll my eyes immaturely.

"Tris, no matter what, I will _always_ hold the door open for you, even if it puts me, literally, in the line of fire, so will you just… _enter_."

I walk past him keeping an emotionless face as he closes the door behind him.

"What the fuck was that—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he interrupts.

"ME?!" I exalt, hoping my ears are deceiving me. "I didn't just try to force someone, physically, down the sidewalk causing a neighbor to pull his gun out!"

"Did you hear those words? The ones that came out of your mouth? The reason I got a gun pulled out on me was because you're staying… _TEMPORARILY, mind you_ …in the ghetto!"

I cross my arms, ready to defend this neighborhood. Well, to the best of my abilities. "It's not temporary! And the ghetto? Really?" I ask sarcastically. "Humboldt Park is _not_ the ghetto, and I'm fairly certain that is an offensive word these days!"

"PC is not at the top of my list, right now. And I believe this to be _West_ Humboldt Park," he clarifies as if he's some damned expert.

"Look, it happens to be a very proud Puerto Rican neighborhood…with lots of…culture! And, and a strong foundation of—"

"Theft? Drugs? This street isn't exactly the crown jewel of Humboldt Park, Tris! Your pal Nacho? Which gang do you think he was in?!"

I scoff at his ignorance. "Don't stereotype. You don't know if he's in a gang."

"Shall we ask? Or did you miss that nice tattoo of a crown with the letters LK on his forearm? Well, I didn't! Because he was holding a fucking gun at my head!"

An odd sense of lightness, the kind that is the result of loss, infiltrates my chest at the thought of Tobias slumped on the sidewalk with a bullet through his brain—as if him not being a part of this world would make me less then whole. I shudder as he moves closer to me, reaching out for my hand.

"Hey..." He tangles the tips of his fingers in mine and I'm so dying to take the next step and lace them together. "…that scared the hell out of me. If he would have… If something had happened to you—"

"Well, it didn't." I pull away and walk the six feet into the kitchen, pulling a glass out of the cabinet, a bottle of Crown along with it.

He sighs and I can hear his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry," he begins. "I shouldn't have…manhandled you like that. It's just, when I saw you… _here…_ " He gestures to the front door. "I just—"

"Wait, how did you know… Did you _follow_ me?" I ask in semi-disgust, semi-that's-kind-of-sweet-but-I-hate-you-for-it.

"Of course, I fucking followed you," he responds as if it's totally normal for a guy to do that. "I was in the damned car behind you on L. And, by the way, you looked over your shoulder 19 times. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, 20-something female, looking blatantly nervous—you may as well have a neon sign over your head asking someone to mug you!" He rubs his hands down his dumb face in frustration with my stupidly…rightfully so, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Mmmmgh!" I growl as I pour myself a generous glass of whiskey. "The only reason I was nervous is because I sensed your ridiculous presence!"

I see a hint of a smirk try desperately to creep out of his perfect lips, but he furrows his brows to try to hide it.

"What?! Don't get all weird. People know when their being stared at!"

"Mmm hmm."

An odd moment of silence passes between us. I can feel the tension and I _so_ want to relieve it by jumping on him—

"WHY ARE YOU LIVING HERE?!" he shouts as I jump for a totally different reason. "Come home with me…please," he begs. "I know you don't want to…live with me…anymore." The confused look on his face baffles me. "But, I can…we can find you another place—"

"No," I state as I take a large sip of the delicious burning liquid. _Why do I like this shit?_

"Don't drink. We need to talk."

* * *

 _"Thanks, Tori." I hang up the phone, both appreciating Tori's warning and hating it all at the same time. It's 8:00 PM and I have no fucking idea why I'm still here. Maybe it's because I want to make sure he gets home alive so I can personally kill him and then exit in peace, my dignity intact. Yeah, that's what I'm going to tell myself._

 _I was ready to leave—to be done with this stupid fucking apartment, today being the official straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back day. My only contact with Tobias, if you even call it contact, was a text around 4:00—_

 _(Work emergency. Meeting with Amar. Don't know how late I'll be.)_

 _And the immediate follow-up text—_

 _(I love you.)_

 _Then the Voicemail around 6:00, slurring his words—_

 _"Change your fuckin' voicemail…so I can hear your…voice. I said…'voice' twice. Sorry, 'bout that… 'Cause I love your…voice. Whoa…three times! S'all I wanted. Not some…robot voice. Ey-oh! Four times! Fuck robots."_

 _The attempted stifle of laughter by someone, along with the humming in the background instantly alerted me to the fact that he is not at the office._

 _The fucker's in a damned car! Doubt he had a meeting with Amar! And he's on his way, most likely, to a bar. A different bar? A party? Who the fuck knows! He's lying to me…again! And I'm not going to fucking tolerate it. Hear my voice? You could have heard my voice all damned day! Fucking asshole! What kind of girlfriend tolerates this shit?! Christina wouldn't! Shauna would probably kick Zeke out! Well, I don't have that damn option! But, I do have another!_

 _Instead, I cleaned the apartment out of spite—changed the sheets, washed all bedding, scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen and made the coffee-maker extra clean, along with leaving not a ground behind in the grinder. I put both away in the cabinet along with the two mugs and napkins. I went through every cabinet and drawers to make sure all commodities were perfectly squared off, I alphabetized his protein bars and even stacked all the silverware in the drawer precisely one on top of the other._

 _Once I was done and had both of my bags packed, I stood there all proud of myself—now his life is exactly back to the way he prefers it. Then, for the first time, I acknowledge something—Why did I really do that? Am I trying to erase myself? And then it really hit me…I was trying to prepare myself. I knew. At that moment, I knew. I couldn't do this anymore._

 _He's lying to me again—keeping secrets. Does he really think I wouldn't pick up on it? I may hold back from him, but I don't outright lie. Do I?_

 _I wipe the thousandth tear from under my eye and wait. I know I should call down to the front desk to warn them that a very drunken individual is about to enter the premises, so hide all breakable objects. But, I don't. I just stare at the computer screen, still open to Tobias's browser history. My stomach roils again as I scroll through the pages upon pages of URLs._

 _I heard Christina loud and clear when she said he just wants to do right by me. I know that was his motivation and I have taken that into account, along with his innate need for solutions. But I don't need to be solved and this is near obsession! However, there is a nagging part of me that thinks I would do the same for him—to try desperately to figure him out and make absolutely certain I'm doing the right thing. But, the fact is, that isn't the situation we are in._

 _A thud on the door startles me, even though it shouldn't. I wait for the expected fall through the door, but I don't hear the jingle of keys. So I walk towards it, curious to see what I'll find. But upon opening the door, a very large human falls right onto me. We both land on the floor and I'm unable to speak as Tobias's entire body weight holds me down, along with the stars I'm seeing from cracking my head on the floor._

 _"Holy…fuuuuck…" he rolls off me and I heave a breath as the pressure on my lungs is released. "You're…always…running into me."_

 _I roll onto my side in disbelief while he groans like a fuckin' pussy. Pushing myself up, I reach my hand to feel the goose egg on the back of my head forming._

 _"Heyyyy…baaaaby." His moony eyes and cooing voice make me sick._

 _"Fuck you," I seethe as I stand, kicking his hand away as he tries to grab my leg._

 _"Now…that…would be a dream…come…true."_

 _"Nice," I say sarcastically at his very eye-opening comment._

 _"Was a jooooooke… Geez…"_

 _He's still on the damned floor and I try to lift my bags over him to exit. "Bye," I state with finality._

 _Suddenly one of my bags is ripped out of my hand. I watch it go flying as Tobias whips it across the room._

 _"You're not leaving…me."_

 _I march across the room and pick up my bag. "I AM leaving. Because you're a God-damned liar!"_

 _"Yep. I am. And…I'm good at it." He covers his face in his hands, talking through them. "Lied to you…aaaaaall…day."_

 _"Like I said; fuck you and goodbye."_

 _"It was…bad," he groans gripping my calf as I try to walk over him. "I can't even… How did you even…? You…stayed with him… How? Why, why, why, why, why? Fuck… I can't get him outta my head. Jesus, how do you even live with yourself? I mean… Shit… Your nightmares? Now, I really fuckin' get it. I feel…like I'm in…your brain. And it's hella fucked up. What'sat movie?"_

 _I know my mouth is hanging open, but no words come. All I can do is stare at him. I take complete responsibility for being the one who put those images in his head when I freaked at the hospital. I was wrong. But this? Has everything he ever said to me about Eric been a lie?!_

 _"Ya know, the one where they…like…get in…or inside…in…their dreams? Interception! That's like you and me, now. I am Interceptioning you...right now."_

 _I try to shake him off my leg, seeing as he is orbiting his own Planet Tobias, right now, but he holds on tighter and sits up, wrapping his left arm around my right leg._

 _"Tobias," I deadpan as he now tries to stand, gripping onto the pillar while still holding whatever part of my body he can reach… very tightly. "You're hurting me. Fucking let go!"_

 _"So you can leave? You're…pretty funny. You're comin' with me, little lady." He wraps his arms around my middle and lifts me up like a mannequin._

 _Were it any other time, this actually might be pretty funny, but right now, it's infuriating. I bite my lips and let him put me down in his bedroom._

 _"What?" he asks as he rests his hands on my shoulders._

 _"Is that what you've been wanting to say to me?! 'Why did I stay with him?' 'How do I live with myself?' You don't think those are questions I ask myself every day, you fuckin' ASSHOLE!" I rip his hands off me and back up significantly." This shit…" I gesture to his actions, although it's his words that hurt more. "…is why I'm leaving. You can't move on from what's happened. For Christ's sake, you have to get stupid drunk to even tell me how you really feel!"_

 _"Mmmmm…not even close to the bullseye." He shakes his finger at me, coming closer while I keep backing away. "See the thing is…I don't…wanna tell you." He pokes me in the shoulder and actually fucking…winks. "I don't even wanna…be here. Hey…speakin' of bullseyes… Ahhh, we should play darts again. Babe, 'member the…arcade. Chicks who play darts… S'fuckin' hot. That means…you're hot."_

 _I feel a tear come out of each eye simultaneously at the words I knew he felt, but hoped I'd never hear—'I don't even wanna be here.'"_

 _I rush out to my bag, ready to make a break for the door, but he somehow keeps up with me, pulling me from behind and kicking the bag right back to where it was. The crack as the bag slides into the kitchen table means he busted my hairdryer._

 _He stifles a laugh in my ear, burying his head in my shoulder. "Sorry, not sorry."_

 _"I don't want your bullshit apologies anyway…for anything! Now get the fuck off me!"_

 _"Why are you…sud'ly…so upset? You're the one…who wants ta leavin' me." He grabs my wrist before I can escape and pulls me to him, not hard…but unrelenting at the same time. I flex my bicep and lean away from him, not wanting to look him in the eye. "Pretty sure it's 'cause I'm an asshole. But I'm an asshole who…loves you." He tries to tuck a hair behind my ear, but overcompensates and ends up running his hand sloppily down my head. "I jus' do. Dunno. Fuck, you're so beautiful—"_

 _"Shut-up," I grit out, twisting my wrist out of his grasp and stutter stepping so I don't fall backwards. "What the fuck did you do today anyway?!"_

 _"Hmmmm…" He taps the side of his cheek and looks at the ceiling. "Nope, no, no, no. Not me… We don't wanna talk 'bout me. More like…what he did…or din't. Depends on…how you look at it. But, don't look…at it. It was…terrible. He's fuckin'…he's like the white trash…version of the Devil. Fuckin' Lucifer and Duck Dynasty…all mixed up with…applesauce."_

 _"What?" I practically whisper as I try to make sense of that disaster. Who the hell is he talking about?_

 _"Yeah… All over the window."_

 _"You're out of your mind! And I don't need this shit!"_

 _"Me…neither!" he says desperately, grabbing both my shoulders and trying to get down to my level. The alcohol on his breath is nauseating. "We don't. We jus don't. Le's go somewhere… We need to get the fuck outta…everywhere—"_

 _"No," interrupt his abrupt shaking of my shoulders and squirm away._

 _He furrows his eyebrows and runs his hand down his face. "Okay, c'mere—"_

 _"Don't touch me," I whisper, backing away toward the kitchen table. But not before he successfully reigns me in for a bear hug, rocking me back and forth. I make some sort of strange growling noise in frustration as he holds me tighter than I'd prefer._

 _"No, no, no, no, no. Stay, please, please, please, please. Stay right here. I jus' wanna hold you. I jus' wanted to make things…better. But…'snot better…'cause now it's all…right here."_

 _He let's go of me and points to his head. I knew it. He wanted to make things better, but they aren't—he failed. And he hates himself because he failed._

 _"Wha's wrong?" he slurs running his fingers over my face._

 _"Everything," I choke out._

 _"Ha, ha…" he turns and walks toward his bedroom, balancing himself on the wall. "You have no…idea."_

 _"Well, then…enlighten me."_

 _"You don't want this…" He flops on his back on top of the bed. "What's happenin' up…here." He pats himself on the head and laughs mirthlessly. ". "In fact…you pro'ly should go. 'Cause I know…us… Shit's gonna get…real…real, real…"_

 _I watch as his eyes close involuntarily. He makes brief eye contact with me before he smirks and thumps his head on the throw pillows. I've never wanted to strangle him before now. My mind is so befuddled that I can't make heads or tails of anything. His actions and his words are so ridiculously contradictory. But, I decide to go with the comment that is freshest in my mind. It's practically an invitation, right now—"You probably should go."_

* * *

"That…is hilarious. Don't drink? We need to talk?! Ya know, Tobias? I've always suspected, but you have just confirmed the likelihood of your headshot being next to the word hypocrite in the dictionary. You should have seen yourself the other night! Or, at least, heard yourself! Babbling like a fool and trying to physically…overpower me!"

A paleness overtakes his normally olive skin at that comment.

"Did I…? Fuck! I woke up the next morning and… shit, I couldn't shake the feeling that I hurt you! Did I hurt you? Did I—"

"No. You didn't." I hold my hand out in the stop position, not wanting him to come closer. "But you weren't in control of your actions and you could have. Now, feel free to join me." I reach up and get a glass for him, pouring him an equally significant amount of whiskey, just to be a bitch. "You get really chatty when you drink. Never seems to end well for me, though."

He takes the glass and stares into it. "What did I say…the other night?" he mutters.

I laugh under my breath at the memory of his _true admissions_. But the nasty part of me wants to make him sweat for a bit because I still can't believe how much he was holding back from me all these months. And then they had to come out in the worst way—when he was drunk and irrational. Honestly, they otherwise may have been admissions I could have toleratedand empathized with…and we could have dis…cussed—

 _Discussed? Seriously, Tris? When was the last time we had an honest and open discussion? A 100% honest...and open…discussion? With these brand new feelings (at least, brand new to me) of his, I can now say…never—We have never had an honest and open discussion._

"Plenty. You said _plenty,_ " I remark walking to the front door to turn the kitchen light on.

"Shit," he breathes out in a voice I'm not-at-all accustomed to—weak and shaky. He strides two steps forward and before I can stop him he reaches an equally shaky hand and touches my cheek with the very tip of his thumb, pulling it away instantly as if I've burned him.

I haven't been brave enough to look at myself closely, but with Lynn's horrendous cheap fluorescent cafeteria lighting, I would bet the area where my face hit the wall looks worse than it is.

I have to bite my tongue, holding back the words that are on my mind _—"It's fine. I know you didn't mean it. I understand why you were a raging inferno."_ But, the truth is, it's not okay. He knows himself. He knows what he's capable of when he gets angry, which is why he flees the scene. He knows what makes him angry. He works out to expel stress. He's a walking talking version of anger management. I'm sure he did his research on it. But ever since he met me… _Fuck._ I'm pushing him over the edge.

"I did that."

I swallow and nod my head, deciding to spare him the details of the splitting ache in my side along with the spiral I went down after passing out from the shooting pain as I rolled off the bench—It brought me right back to the exact moment Eric was bludgeoning my ribs with the steel toe of his boots.

"I can't even…apologize. Fuck, when a person apologizes, they expect someone to forgive them or, at least, accept the apology. But…holy shit… I do not want either of those from you." He sits on the couch with his head in his hands, trying to make his breathing sound less erratic than it is.

"Well, that's good because…you're not getting either." I turn around nonchalantly at that comment, but then squeeze my eyes shut.

I know I just solidified in his mind exactly what he's thinking—he's equating himself to his father right now. And in Tobias's fucked up mind, I basically just agreed, while also pointing out that I'm nothing like his mother because I won't be forgiving him. I throw back the remnants of my glass of whiskey and blink my eyes rapidly. _You do not get to cry tonight._

I turn to see him looking at me, his desperate face sends a shock straight to my heart. He obviously didn't truly believe a word he just said. He doesn't want to ask for my forgiveness because he thinks he doesn't deserve it, yet, he's human so he still wants it and to some extent, he may even expect it. But I hold strong with my half-truth.

"So, now what?" His voice cracks as he says it and I see the redness in his eyes that he isn't even trying to hide from me. "I'll…I'll do anger management, again. I'll…do anything—"

"Again?" I interject.

"Yeah… I…" He closes his eyes and scratches the back of his neck. "Hana made me take classes…when I moved in with them. It was her one and only condition. She, uh, didn't trust me around Uriah. He was even more annoying then."

"Wow," I remark sarcastically at, yet again, my lack of knowledge.

"I know what you're thinking, and, look, I didn't tell you because…well, _I_ don't even think about it anymore!" He puts his hands in front of him as if he's warning me he's actually going to tell me the truth. "Okay… It crossed my mind when we first started dating. But, I…I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want you to think you were trading one psycho for another. And, now, I'm just kind of on auto-pilot with it."

"Uh…no, you're not. Not anymore."

He flits his eyes over my face, lingering on my cheek before clawing at his tie and shirt button like a cat with a string around it's neck.

"And what the fuck? Don't you think that information would have been a comfort to me?! Knowing that you reached out for help? Telling me that you struggled with something?! Instead, I got to go to _therapy_ …" I spit out the word in mini-protest of that shithead who calls himself a therapist, yet whose voice I can't seem to get out of my head. "…all embarrassed, weak and _…vulnerable…_ because _I'm_ the one who needed help! I felt so damn…ALONE!" I feel my nails dig into my palms at the fact that I just had to admit all of that. _God, he makes me so fucking mad!_

"I'm…I'm _sorry._ I didn't know you were… _embarrassed,_ " he admits incredulously. "And, Tris, the fact that you did that on your own… That's amazing. Jesus, Hana _made_ me go. I didn't do it because _I_ thought I needed it. And honestly, it wasn't anything I couldn't have YouTubed."

I shrug my shoulders dodging the bullshit pick-me-up that I don't need in my life and turn back to the kitchen. This is a pointless conversation.

"What's with the shoulder shrugs?" I hear him stand and I brace myself for contact. "Hey!" He pulls me by my arm to face him. He's looking down at me now and he's so close…so close.

The easiest thing in the world would be to run my thumb over his bottom lip, tilt my chin up and look him straight in the eyes. I'm sure he'd get the memo to, please, just kiss me…one more time—

"What?" he interrupts as my reality comes back into focus, disappointment flooding me. "Are you…just…done? Are giving up on…well, on _me_?"

I hesitate with my answer which makes his eyes go wide in disbelief.

"You don't need me to fix you! Damn it! _You're_ giving up on you!" The words spill out of my mouth, with no forethought.

"I just _told_ you I'd go to anger management! I said I'd go to therapy!"

* * *

 _"From what you've told me, he seems very supportive of your progress in a therapeutic environment. That's an excellent quality. I can only assume he's sought therapy himself, seeing as he has had…issues that are none of my business."_

 _I stay still, hoping he doesn't read into my reaction or lack thereof. I notice he suffers from adult-onset acne, and he obviously doesn't give a shit about it._

 _"I take that as a, 'no.'"_

 _"Well, he said he would. Yesterday morning, he, he, he said it."_

 _"Because you want him to? Did you suggest it?"_

 _"Why does it matter?!" I'm getting incredibly angry, and his receding hairline isn't helping._

 _"Because he wouldn't be doing it for himself."_

 _"What does it matter as long as he goes?! What the hell! You have to start somewhere! That's why I'm here! Scraping the damned bottom of the barrel!"_

 _He gazes at me completely disregarding my fury. "In my opinion, unless someone initiates the experience, it doesn't—"_

 _"Doesn't what? Doesn't count?!"_

 _He shrugs his shoulders in a you-said-it-I-didn't manner._

* * *

The lightness in which Tobias said the word therapy makes my heart sink.

"So, tell me, Tris; How _exactly_ is that giving up?!"

"You'd only be doing it because you feel guilty," I whisper to myself.

"What?"

"You're not doing it for you! You're not doing it because you think you need it!" I yell as that connection hits me hard.

"I… Okay, calm down. Well, just…let me think about it and—"

"You're blind to yourself! And you'd only be going because you're afraid! So…so it doesn't count!"

"Doesn't _count?_ Just because…well, just because I might need a little… _push..."_ He rolls his eyes at the word push.

"I shouldn't have to push you!"

"Well maybe it's what I need, damnit! Christ, if it means not losing you…then…"

"Tobias. Don't say things you don't mean in the heat of the moment…please," I beg because I don't want to be swayed.

"And what do you think 'I don't mean,' Tris?"

"You don't see a future with us, Tobias, so cut THE SHIT!"

"WHAT?!"

I step away as he just about doubles up on the anger scale. But he notices immediately and takes a breath.

"This entire week I've been close to the worst version of myself because I can't stop thinking about you and me—about you moving out, about you _hating_ me or not _forgiving_ me. And where…the…fuck…do you get this shit from?! Jesus, Tris, I try…so hard…to show you that I LOVE YOU! Why do you feel that way? I know I can be a sonofabitch and totally ignorant, but…I'm trying and—"

"I think you love me, but I don't think you see us together! Long haul! Marriage, babies, preschool graduation, dogs, vacations, grandkids, retirement community, sex in the nursing home!" I blurt out. _Yep, Tris. You really just said all that, huh?_

"Um…" He rubs the back of his neck, looking at me sheepishly while I try to hide my embarrassment and busy myself with…my fingers. "Can you repeat that?"

"Let me guess—lost you at marriage."

"No. I heard 'babies,' then white noise, and then 'sex.' I'm just being honest."

"So I'm right?" I ask quietly, ready for his denial.

"No. You're beyond wrong. I mean, well, some of it…frightens me to no end, but, I mean, we can talk about it and—"

"Don't say that because you think I need it!" I exalt, my fingers not interesting me anymore.

"I'm not—"

"I heard you say it at the office!"

He furrows his eyebrows. "Maybe if you were high on crack…but, otherwise, mmmmno, you heard no such thing."

"Don't be a dumbfuck. I went into the office the morning after you spent the night there. I stopped in with coffee. I, uh, wanted to…talk about…something—"

He groans loudly into his hands and walks away. "That's what this has been about?! Why didn't you say anything?! I would have told you—"

"Please spare me the explanation because I really don't need it and I don't think I can bear it."

"Oh, hell no! I'm gonna fuckin' explain! I was talking to one of the biggest slime bags I know—Marcus's lawyer, Carl Avery. He was fishing for information and I didn't want you to be involved in any part of it!"

I narrow my eyes at him and reflect back on his tone of voice with the lawyer—Tobias wasn't defensive, he was decisive and cold, as if his response was kneejerk.

"Sounded like mindless small talk to me," I challenge. "Sure didn't look like you were lying."

"Well, it wasn't...mindless… _Tris,_ it was very calculated on both of our ends—"

"Well, I'm just saying—"

"Will you let me explain?!" he shouts.

And because I am curious, I nod my head and lean back on the counter—ready to throw the bullshit flag.

"Marcus likes to keep tabs on me. It was never a huge task for him before seeing as I lead a rather redundant life. But now, he seems to be going to greater lengths. There has been too many _'coincidences'_ lately. Marcus's assistant came in for an interview, Marcus himself showed up right outside my building…uh, as you know," he mumbles.

 _Yep! Add that situation to the disaster that is Tris and Tobias._

"And then his lawyer!" He's walking back and forth and I can tell the conversation is playing over in his head. "He has, um…sent Carl to rattle my cage more than once." He pauses and I pick up on the flit of his eyes. There's more to that story, but I'm not going to get it. "I didn't want him to get the better of me…and, well, I don't feel like things are about only _me_ anymore, so I was even more on my guard."

He's not lying—he stopped, looked at me straight on. My heart just about dissolves into a puddle at that. I'm flooded with a sense of relief. But it's gone all too soon as I come to a very…bitter…realization.

"So, now do you…understand?"

"Yes." I nod my head, my voice coming out quieter than I wanted it to.

For the first time tonight, he smiles, but I don't return it.

"We assume the worst," I whisper as he looks at me, puzzled. "We always do. We do it to each other. Fuck, I overhear _one_ conversation and I don't even have the balls to talk to you about it?! I just figure, well 'fuck it. He doesn't see us together long term! See ya later!' God, that one conversation, in my mind, made all of the wonderful things you've done for me…disappear! What…the… _hell?!_ And you… Shit! You bought into whatever bullshit your father put together—his confounded version of the _one_ confrontation I ever had with him. And you know what? Now that I think about it, I still don't know what the hell he said. All I can do is assume because you never _actually_ told me. I got more out of Zeke than you."

"Zeke?"

"Yep, the guy you confide in so regularly, came into the bar on your behalf that night!"

"What did he say?"

* * *

 _"Cliff notes of the World According to Marcus. Apparently, you informed him that Four is weak and damaged. And that a part of Four is dead or something—that he'll never be whole. Then the big guns—saying the two of them fall for the same type of woman."_

 _"What type of woman is that, exactly?"_

 _"The type who think the two of them are lesser than they are."_

 _"The two of them? That sound repulsive," I spit at the mere image of Tobias and Marcus together. "And, there's no way Tobias believes that. Deep down, he doesn't."_

 _"Yep, I would say definitely…but, I can't."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because Marcus gets to him. It's so fucked up, but this 'deep down' thing you refer to—Marcus has his own permanent seat there. Since we're using the word 'deep' so much, I'm going to continue. On some deep level, he believes it. He buys into his father's lies. I don't understand it in the least. I've tried most of my life!"_

 _"Well, then you didn't look hard enough," I quip._

 _"Come again?"_

 _"His father doesn't take residence. That's ass hat bullshit. Tobias views his father as weak—an incomplete, revolting human. The problem is, Tobias thinks he's like his father, or that he has his father's tendencies. And as much as I hate to say it—he's not wrong on the tendencies part. Tobias can be calculating, duplicitous, slightly vengeful, and cruel. But, the difference is, with Tobias, those attributes are surface level, but with Marcus, I would guarantee you, it's inherent. When Tobias fulfills any of those traits, he regrets it and punishes himself. Where Marcus thrives on them."_

 _Zeke quirks his head, and it seems to be taking quite some time for him to process._

 _"That still doesn't explain why he lets Marcus get to him."_

 _"Well, Tobias already thinks the worst of himself. And then he hears that I may have mirrored those sentiments…that's all he needed," I remark flippantly._

 _"Did you say those things?"_

 _I exhale, not wanting to relive that scene but knowing I can, at least, let Tobias's best friend in, seeing as Tobias hates my existence right now. "Short version?"_

 _"Please."_

 _"I told Marcus he took Evelyn from Tobias, and that a piece of Tobias died along with her. I told him Tobias doesn't even know it. But he tortures himself because somehow he thinks it's all his fault."_

 _"Yeah, it was not communicated to us that way."_

 _"No shit?" I ask with pure sass. "Here's what I wish he would understand." I lean forward hoping that Zeke will soak in what I'm about to say. "A piece of that boy, that nine-year-old boy, was taken away, then. But, it made Tobias the man, the 25-year-old man, he is today. The man, who just so happens to be the love of my life." My face flushes a little at that admission. I've never said it out loud…aaaaand I just had to say it to Zeke._

 _"Yikes."_

 _"What?" I ask nervously, wiping down the bar to occupy my sweaty palms._

 _"The man who you say is the 'love of your life,' and who you seem to know pretty damned well, sure is quick to think the worst in you. That's cold." He laughs taking a rather large drink of his beer._

 _I play Zeke's statement over in my head—"…you say is the love of your life…quick to think the worst in you." The worst in me… He... Is that true—_

 _"Shit! Did I say that? I did not mean… Wait, that didn't come out right!"_

 _"Don't worry about it," I respond quickly and deflectively. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God._

 _"Seriously, Tris! He would kill me if he knew I said that."_

 _"So he, talks to you…about us?" I blink my eyes profusely, hoping to force the humiliation back into my tear ducts._

 _"Hey, Tris, no, don't get the wrong idea. It takes a lot to get anything out of him. It's just…today the floodgates opened."_

 _"Great," I mutter as embarrassment rules my face. I don't even want to know what 'floodgates' mean. I'm always so careful about what I say to other people about Tobias and I. Apparently, I'm not owed the same courtesy._

 _"Look, I'm not here to get all up in your business."_

 _"Mmm hmm."_

 _"And I don't want any more details."_

 _"Ha," I bark at the irony._

 _"That was…truly not my intention. My goal was to tell you the following—Four is my brother, and he's not alright. Right now, he is not okay."_

 _"So, he's miserable," I state although it's really more of a question._

 _No comment from the Zeke gallery._

 _"And it's my fault," I add now officially knowing I'm causing my boyfriend…misery._

 _"No." He lays his hands on mine and looks at me more sincerely than I've ever seen him. "It's absolutely not your fault." He takes a deep breath as if he's trying so hard to say the right thing. "I just want to make sure you're looking out for him. I can't help him. And I know you have your shit going on, and this is a lot to ask. But, I need to make sure you're looking out for him. So, are you?"_

* * *

"Tris?! What the hell did he say?"

 _This is me, looking out for him. Me, looking out for him. Breathe, Tris. You can do this._

"It doesn't matter. What matters is…you bought into whatever the hell Marcus said. You thought the worst in me! Jumped to the least desirable conclusion."

"I hear you. I do," he says between deep breaths. "I assumed the worse. You assumed the worse. I'll stop. You'll stop. We'll work on it."

 _Yes, please, God, let's just do that! We will work on that and everything will be fine!_

"Tris, this week has been… I don't know about you, but…for me… Why didn't you want to talk to me? I would have given anything for just one glimpse of you and trust me…I tried. I mean what was that about? Are you…phasing me out?" he chuckles at his high school wording—how to break up with someone without actually having to break up.

* * *

 ** _Therapy:_**

 _"Again, Tris. You're back. Why?" Dr. DuBois says with the utmost amount of smugness on his face as he literally reclines back in his chair with his hands behind his head._

 _"To be fucking honest, I don't have anyone else to talk to…and I have some…things to sort out."_

 _"Based on your already-on-guard demeanor, I would say this is about…what was his name? 'Three?'"_

 _I don't even designate that with a response. "Well, you have been hell bent on discussing our relationship, so can only assume it would be the topic of discussion anyway."_

 _"Well, to be clear. I've only been following the cues you've been giving me. Any other reason?"_

 _"Pretty sure that's inaccurate, but whatever." I sigh and decide I'm going to have to give this guy, at least, some amount of credit. "Some of the things you said…unfortunately, yet somehow, left an impression."_

 _"I see. Well, seeing as you have now come twice on your own recognizance, would you care to begin?"_

 _Damn it, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!_

 _"Things are piling up, and I don't know how to dig myself out of them, how to dig us out of them. I…thought I wanted to throw in the towel…but, now I don't, so…"_

 _"Well, let me ask you this," he begins with a pondering look. "Why would you want to throw in the towel when someone is so supportive, nurturing and wonderful?"_

 _"What's with the sarcasm?"_

 _"It's not sarcasm. That's how you paint him. If you remember, you do get quite defensive when it comes to my mentioning any possible character flaws."_

 _"Well, fine, he's not a saint, okay? And for the record, I…never…said he was perfect. Ever…ever, ever…in my life—"_

 _"Understood, Tris. I now realize he is imperfect."_

 _"I overheard a conversation, which made doubt that we're on the same page as far as our future, also, he's talking to other people about me…for advice, he's been researching how to deal with women in my situation, he left…all day on Sunday and came back drunk, spouting his mouth off about not being able to get over my previous…situation."_

 _"Hmmm." He narrows his eyes appraisingly. Ugh…stop…_

 _"So, I moved out to get some perspective. I haven't spoken to him in five days. And I think I've—"_

 _"Classic cry for help," he deadpans before I can even finish._

 _"What?"_

 _"You see, men…don't communicate as women do. They instead send out…mmm…signals, more or less. And, based on my extensive studies, he may as well be waving S.O.S. flares in front of you."_

 _I can feel my head start to spin at that comment that, actually, makes perfect sense._

 _"So, um…you…you think he wants out?"_

 _"Tris…I'm excellent at reading between the lines. You say he's not smothering you, you say he's not trying to fix you, you say he's supportive, you say he doesn't view you as a victim… But, I can see it in your eyes—you don't believe your own words. And then based on his behavior lately…well… How do you feel about math?"_

 _I shake my head, not wanting one person's opinion to get the better of me. "Look, these last few days have been…so God-damned hard. But they've given me, like I said,…perspective. I've been living with a…friend, if you'd call her that, who pretty much doesn't talk. She doesn't ask questions or show interest and can be more or less…evasive. It sucks and I feel alone. I wonder if…" I huff out a breath preparing myself to admit this—_

 _"Honestly, Tris, just say it," he semi-pleads with an eye roll._

 _"Ooookay. I wonder if that's what it was like…living with me! And, if so…I don't blame Tobias for…well… No, I take that back; I blame him, but at least I understand it. And, shit, as it turns out…I need support! And it took NOT getting it, to realize it! I hate it, but, I do. Shit, my best friend left, and that should have bothered me way more than it does! What seems to be taking years off my life is…not speaking to Tobias. Fuck it to hell, I mean…Four. Ugh…that name! Anyway, I just feel…lost. And, it's not a bad thing to lean on people, right? Fuck, I just said all that, didn't I?"_

 _"Quite desperately, yes." He leans forward steepling his fingers._

 _I try to swallow that very hard pill, but I decide to own it…because I AM feeling pretty desperate. "Um…maybe there's an explanation for…what he said, I mean, what I overheard."_

 _"Let me guess; you're not going to tell me the specifics of that exchange."_

 _"I went to his work and, basically, overheard him say…he has no plans for us…"_

 _"That's very telling."_

 _"Just, please here me out! I've been thinking the last few days and…I'm not ready to give up…I don't think. I mean, we have a lot to work on…both of us. Maybe he doesn't see one because I'm not vocalizing enough that I want it!"_

 _He raises his eyebrows and looks at me like I should be on medication, but I push on because…well, fuck, I NEED THIS!_

 _"I was…um…wondering if… God, I can't believe I'm asking you this! But…could I bring him to one of these?"_

 _"No, that is out of the question."_

 _"Well…" I look at him semi-pleadingly. "I can pay you—"_

 _"You wouldn't have struck me as someone who can't be alone."_

 _I stare at him, not knowing how to respond. "I, uh, well, why should I be alone if, if, if I don't have to be?"_

 _"Maybe I've…pardon me…_ 'we've' _been looking at this all wrong."_

 _"How…so?"_

 _"Well, suddenly…you seem incredibly desperate."_

 _"Uh." An annoying squeaky sound comes out of me as my cheeks light on fire. It isn't the first time he's used that word in this session, but in this context…it's humiliating._

 _"Maybe I misread the signs. If he is truly this phenom of support and whatnot—"_

 _"Well, I mean—"_

 _"Let me finish, Tris. Do you feel like you monopolize his time? Possibly his thoughts? Like he's uprooted his life? Has he changed…because of you? Because of your need for him?"_

 _I can't even respond to his spot on observations._

 _"Is your presence in his life good for him? Because if you're answer is 'no.' Then I would say, you aren't good for each other."_

* * *

 _"_ Tris? Answer me," Tobias growls.

"Um, I… I mean…"

"WHAT do you mean?! Say it!"

"YOU NEED SPACE!" I blurt out as the tears spring forth because I know this is it. _Fuck, I'm going to throw-up. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this._

" _I_ need space?!"

I nod my head and beeline to the kitchen where the lighting is more dim. Also because I'm incapable of words.

"Did you hear _anything_ I just said? Space is the last thing I need. Tris…baby, please—"

I walk around him as he tries to softly grab my waist. We switch places, which was a mistake because now my face is in plain sight showing my true emotions.

"Um…well…aren't you tired of arguing about the same thing constantly?!" I shout trying to hide my heartbreak with anger. "We embody the catch phrase 'Same shit different day!'"

"Could you possibly trivialize it any more than that? And, no! I would rather argue with you than live the boring existence I was! I don't want space…and I see it in your eyes. You don't either! You—"

"I saw your browser history!" I yell with fisted hands and scrunched eyes. I need to pull out all the stops. But, I'm being the biggest hyprocrite because, I, myself have done my own extensive web search this week on how to help family members who are trying to support survivors of abuse. _Family…he's my damned family and I'm going to crush him…_ I found out, in two days, how easy it is to get up to your eyeballs in URLs.

"My…" He shakes his head at a loss.

"On your laptop. I wanted to show Christina the work I did, my tablet was dead so I used your computer to access my email. And…"

He shakes his head angrily as he makes the connection what I saw. "There is no way in hell I'm apologizing for _that!_ I didn't want to mess up…further with you and…you deserved to be understood and that's all I wanted—"

"And you think internet research will help you understand me?"

"To some extent, yes."

"147 articles, Tobias! And I stopped counting! I feel like so many moments in the last three weeks…aren't real anymore! I feel like it was articles talking, telling you how to act and what to do; Not you." _Look away, look away._

"Tris…no—"

"You've been a walking talking textbook for the last three weeks and it's fucking…um…revolting! You've been patiently waiting for me to make the next move, physically, but, don't forget to _'read the signs'_ to, uh, to…to _'make sure she's emotionally prepared for penetration,'_ you know, _'put her needs before yours,'"_ I say trying my best to imitate an annoyingly soothing voice. "Oh, and one of my personal favorites _—'Always try to make your partner feel safe and comfortable—make her tea or bring her a favorite book. Silence isn't always a bad thing. Your presence may be all that's needed.'_ Holy shit does _that_ explain…A LOT!" I step back for a second to collect myself seeing as I practically choked on half of the shit that just came out of my mouth.

His mouth his parted as if he's ingesting what I just said, but can't believe I did. "You honestly believe that?" he asks in the saddest tone I've ever heard come out of him. "You really think…since you've been home from the hospital…that I've been treating you like a non-entity?"

I cross my arms and shift my weight, trying to look aloof. "Yeah." And I see the flash in his eyes, he's doubting me.

"So…my nightmares, my incessant worrying, my ridiculously heightened mental state, my compassion for you, my complete awe of your strength, my strong opinion of your beauty both inside and out, my frustration, my anger, my self-deprecation, my innate need to be in some sort of close proximity to you, my emotional connection that seems to have transcended my physical connection and most importantly…how much I straight up fucking LOVE you…is…textbook?"

I stand there speechless for a moment, knowing I'll remember those words, his words, for the rest of my life. The doubt I just put in his mind reflected in the pain look on his face, the feelings he poured into that. The feelings I conjured. I just called the one man who has never had his feelings validated by anyone but me…a textbook. I just did that. Me.

"There it is." He points his index finger right at my eyes. "I fucking _see_ it! You don't mean it."

"Um…well, shit, maybe you don't know me as well as you think?" _Or, you do and I SUCK!_

"Or…you don't know yourself anymore!"

I stop at that remark, immediately acknowledging the accusation…and its validity. "You're right. And it's about time I figure that shit out!" I turn around and pour more Crown in my glass, my hands shaking so bad the whiskey spills all over the counter. I swallow the moan in my throat.

"Oh… I get it. I'm in your way. Well, far be it from me to stunt your progress, to try to support you. Jesus! You just have no fucking clue, do you?! If you want space, then fucking take it! Don't put it on me. Own up."

A wipe away the tear that fell on the counter and widen my eyes willing them to retreat. I can hear him behind me walking back and forth.

"So…how much space are we talking here, Tris?" he laughs sarcastically. He's getting mad, maybe mad is good. "Do I get a timeline? A deadline? Are there rules? Stipulations? Fuck! Is this really happening?!" he grits under his breath.

I glance over my shoulder to see his face that is truly at-a- loss. _Oh, my God. This isn't possible. I can't do this. Maybe I don't have to do this. Maybe I don't have to do this._

"Okay…last Saturday night," he begins, more calmly as I turn around. "What did I say? It must have been bad. Maybe I can explain… Just, what if…"

"Tobias," I walk to take his hand, but he pulls it away.

"No, don't try to make this OKAY FOR ME! Tell me what happened. Whatever it was, it obviously pushed you over the edge. What did I do? What did I say?"

"Well…" I sniff, really wishing I had a fucking tissue. "…apparently…there are things you'll just never be able to let go of. It's even worse than I thought," I mumble looking at the ground.

"Well, what the fuck do you expect when I had to hear it out of the rabid horse's mouth?!"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

She had a goal in her mind from the second I walked in the door. She was back and forth, one minute believing exactly what she was saying, which should have been the heartbreaking part. But, it wasn't. The fact that she didn't mean half of it, but was saying it anyway…a testament to her ability to truly not give a shit about me. Because if she did, she wouldn't be able to say those things. When I was ending things with her…I was never able to utter half the shit she just said to me.

But I press on anyway, trying to sweep up the scraps to form _something_ together because being without her…I can't even… I just can't even.

"Okay…last Saturday night…" I take a deep breath as she turns, but I can't bring myself to look at her. "What did I say? It must have been bad. Maybe I can explain… Just, what if…" I trail off still baffled that I don't remember telling her about visiting Eric, the only thing she has alluded to was that I was going on and on about it. She's purposely holding back what I said, though.

"Tobias."

I go against every instinct in me, to grab her and pull her to me, holding her until she changes her mind. But I dodge her attempt at holding my hand instead. "No, don't try to make this OKAY FOR ME! Tell me what happened. Whatever it was, it obviously pushed you over the edge. What did I do? What did I say?"

"Well…" I know she's crying, but I can't look at her…because I'll fucking join her! "…apparently…there are things you'll just never be able to let go of. It's even worse than I thought."

I shake my head as Eric's voice knocks on the wall I've tried all week to build in my head.

"Well, what the fuck do you expect when I had to hear it out of the rabid horse's mouth?!" I ask in a freakishly angry voice, that is unintentionally directed at her.

"What?" she whispers. I look up at her as she narrows her eyes…and then they turn wide, about as wide as her mouth is.

"Oh, shit…" I don't know if that comes from my mouth or my brain as Tris looks like she's trying to scream but nothing is coming out.

"Oh, my God," she moans, wrapping her arms around her stomach and backing away.

"Fuck, Tris, Tris, Tris." I grab her under her forearms like I had to do when she was first out of the hospital because she looks like she might pass out.

"You _… Tobias,_ " she moans. "…tell me you didn't. Please, please, please tell me you didn't. Please. Please. I need you to tell me…you didn't—"

"I did, okay?! I went to see him—"

"Why, why, why, why, why, why, why—?!"

"Because you needed to know what happened!" I interrupt her near hysterics. "Um…Tris, baby, please relax. Just…calm down." I cup her face and then tuck strands of her hair behind her ear as she looks at me wildly. "What you said the other night about how you just want one fucking moment of solace and how it's pushing you over the edge—Tris, that got me like nothing you've ever said before. I didn't want you to have to go through confronting him."

She's not processing…anything I'm saying.

"Tris, he didn't rape you!" I unintentionally shout, grabbing her shoulders.

Her reaction is slow and _totally_ unreadable, but I had to put a positive spin on it somehow. I'll never be able to bring myself to tell her what he _did_ do…it's almost equally as much of a violation. I cough into my shoulder as the vision of his mouth invading her most intimate places comes into view.

"Do you feel better?" she asks with a small smile on her face.

"Who gives a shit how I feel?" I laugh lightly. "Do _you_ feel better?"

"Answer me." She places her hand on my cheek, smiling slightly again.

"Well, of course, I do." _Or not in the slightest._

"Do you want me now?" She frowns at me as if I'm a kid who has disappointed his mother.

"I never…didn't—"

"Am I clean now? Now that you know his dick wasn't in your rightful place? Now that you know…for sure, that I didn't enjoy myself? Has that plaguing image…dissipated? Is my vagina more appealing to you now?" The tears are running out of her eyes like I've never seen before, but her expression and tone of voice hasn't changed.

"No," I grit, not allowing her to make this about something it isn't. "Wait, I didn't mean... I meant, yes, it is… _still!_ Or, no…I meant… Fuck! It never wasn't! And, damnit, it had nothing to do with—"

"GET OUT!" she roars in a voice I've never heard out of her.

I stumble back as she rounds on me, pushing my chest.

"You need to listen to me—"

"Get out, you _stupid…_ fucking…bastard! You didn't do that for me! You did it for YOU! How could you?!"

"I did... _none…_ " I choke briefly before I contain myself. "…of that for me. Please, Tris, I promise you—"

"You listened to the details of my ATTACK—details I haven't even heard! Do you know how much of a… _violation that…is_?!" Her voice is between a whine and a cry and I feel like I may just die.

"I…didn't think about it…that way. I—"

"Because you're fucking selfish!"

"No! That was by far the _least selfish_ thing I've ever done! You have NO IDEA!"

"You're fucking right about that!"

"And it was TORTOROUS! Fuck! I did it for you! To help… _you_. To give you some God damned peace! There was no other motive, Tris, I swear on my mother's grave—"

"Well, then she must not have meant that much to you!"

I grind my teeth together to hold back the venom that would most likely spill forth. "For the sake of this issue…I'm going to pretend you didn't just SAY that to me!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, ASSHOLE!"

"Mmmgh!" I tighten my fists shaking them wildly. "Jesus, Tris! You're a victim of abuse! And you've been dealing with…so much. I LOVE you and didn't want you to have to—"

"What the hell did you just say?"

I run over the amount of crap that just spilled out of my mouth, trying to decipher which part she didn't…quite…get!

"Victim," she answers for me. "You called me a victim."

"Is that…inaccurate?" I ask wondering if the definition has suddenly changed.

"Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God—"

"What, what, what?!" I repeat back seemingly equally as flustered. _Holy shit, what is happening?_

"I DEFENDED YOU! He was right. That fuckin' piece of shit was right!"

"Who? Marcus?! Don't defend me to him! Ever!"

"Of course, you would make this about your father! No, my _therapist_ , you one-track, shithead! He asked if I was absolutely sure you didn't think I was a victim and I assured him…you didn't. Fuck, was he right about everything?!"

My mind is spinning from so many things that I can barely see straight. Along with the pounding of my heart, taking over my ear drums.

"Ummm….what? Or…wait, you…talked about me?"

"Of course we fucking talked about you!"

"Okay, can we please back up because…I don't really know what the hell is…happening."

"Everything is happening! You…it's just too much… You…you went to…you talked to him—"

"So you wouldn't have to! I'll say it a thousand times if I have to!"

"And…you… You think I'm a victim."

"SO FUCKING WHAT?!"

"Get out! Go! Now!" she grits out before grabbing onto the counter. "Please, just…go. Please… Please…go. I'm begging you…"

"No!" I push a chair to the side, regretting it as it hits the wall. "I…uh, I told you. I'll never leave you. I'm not...going to do it! So don't even fucking say it!"

She rubs at her eyes and suddenly gains 100% composure as mine in crumbling. "You're _not_ leaving me."

"No, shit. I…" Then it connects—I'm not leaving her; she's leaving me.

"I'm done. I'm done with you. I'm so done with you." She turns and walks slowly to her room and shuts the door, locking it.

"Well, that's just…fucking great, Tris! After…everything? That's it? We're just…done?!" I wait for some kind of response as I stare at the door handle—shock not even being the word to describe how I'm feeling.

I want to break the door down, so badly. I could do it.

 _But, it's not worth it._

 _This whole thing._

 _It's not worth it._

 _She's not._

 _We're not._

"Welp! Guess, I'll see ya, Tris! Glad to FUCKING know you! Good luck with life, ya know…considering! Yep, enjoy your time here…'cause this place…is…just awesome!" I walk in a circle seeing as that's all it takes to make my round in this complete and total shit hole. "Hope the fuckin' world treats you as great as it already has—Karma being a bitch and all that! Oh, by the way…I PAID YOUR FUCKING RENT!" I shout waiting for a response and still hearing none. "So…yeah…I'll just take a check in the mail—a cashier's check, that is! Ya know, can't trust that shit not to bounce seeing as you have crippling debt! I would say just, ya know, feel free to wait til your parents' property sells…but, people aren't exactly lining up to buy unworkable farmland with a house and barn that's worth more torn down than standing in Kittridge nowhere Wisconsin!" I hear something muffled come out of the room—a moan? A groan? Crying? _Good! It makes me fucking HAPPY!_ "Oh, one last thing…BEATRICE...! Happy you found a therapist who's obviously a fuckin' moron seeing as he doesn't even know the dictionary definition of VICTIM!...VIC-TIM! But _do_ wish him well for me and tell him specifically that I said, 'Good luck with that shit!'"

The last thing I hear…is her near-shriek of a cry and it's fucking exhilarating.

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

"Freaks," I grumble as I exit my room right after I hear the door just about fall off its hinges. _Santiago would be pissed!_ I hear Tris trying to control her hysterical breathing, but she is failing epically. I peak through the blinds and see Four side kick a garbage can. The noise sounds like an atomic bomb went off.

"He looks psychotic," I whisper as he stalks down the street. _Damn. Well, at least, I know who Tobias is now._

I shrug to myself, figuring I may as well make some tea. So, I put the kettle on, pissed for the millionth time because I don't have a microwave. I could get one, but the electricity is so jimmy-rigged in this place that it would short a breaker each time I use it. Ah well…still have my trusty stove. It's great to keep warm in the winter too.

That was some shit going on out here. I'm not one to snoop because I don't care about other people, but it's auditorily impossible in this place. I look up at the water-stained ceiling, thinking about the vocal target practice that had taken place.

Scratching the side of my head that is cut short, I analyze the tone in their voices while wishing I had recorded it. Sometimes I think Tris needs to hear the verbal vomit that comes out of her mouth. Well, after hearing all that, they both do. Kinda felt bad for Tris at the end, there. Although, he did take a load of shit from her in stride for 99% of the time. I've never heard a man actually swallow and then choke on his words.

I pour the hot water over a tea bag, letting it steep for a bit. "Hmmph. I see both sides."

I let my mind wander about what I'm going to have to deal with over the next however many weeks. This could be the best thing for both of those weirdos…or the worst thing. Eh…we'll see how this goes.

I sigh and take the mug of tea, making a quick pit stop to grab my Ruth Glint book. I shove it under my arm, nudge the door open that doesn't lock or close properly and set the tea on Tris's night stand. Although, it's actually a five-gallon bucket. I nudge Tris with my toe, interrupting her fit of controlled sobs. She rolls over and looks at me, without really looking at me, only because her eyes are so swollen I don't think she can. _Jaysus, her face is on fire._

"Brought you tea," I sigh. "Hey, do you like Destiny's Child? Ya know, like before Beyoncé was all Beyonceéed?"

"Please, don't…fucking…talk to…me right now—"

"I can't stand them," I interrupt her sub-sucking because it's making me tired. "But, ya know, at the time I was all Lilith Fair and shit. Anyway—"

"Please…go—"

"—there is that _one_ song. What the hell is it called? _Survivor._ It's the only one I can tolerate. Bye."

I close the door about half way and sing to myself while making the two steps to my room.

"I'm a survivor, I'm not gon' give up, I'm not gon' stop, I'm gon' work harder, dum dum dum dee dum, dum dum dum dee dum, dum dum dum dum, dum dum dum dum dum. Don't know the…re-est o, o, o, of the words, words," I sigh as I flop down on my bed opening my book. "Good 'ole Ruthie has been callin' my name," I stretch and crack my toes as I flip through the first worn page.

I run my fingers over Ruth Glint's first shot—her first sell, thinking about the fact that the original had been lost after she kicked the bucket. No one knew what happened to it until like a year ago or some shit. They found it in some old lady's trunk when she croaked. The value of the picture immediately quadrupled. It's her most monetarily valuable photo, but it's nothing but a half-open tin can in the street, not even her best work. I guess sometimes shit gets lost in the mix for the better. Well, ya know, as long as it's found again.

I sigh and toss the book to the side, pulling Tris's tablet from under my mattress. I cross my legs and settle in. "I fuckin' love Minecraft."

* * *

 **Marcus's POV:**

"Well, it seems you have your mojo back," Carl chuckles, walking into my office at 4:30 AM. "Unless the Devil never sleeps?"

I lean onto the large window in my office. "You're insinuating I lost it?"

"Not…insinuating. You had…lost it. Cleaning up after your financials… I deserve a raise after trying to make your transfers look legitimate."

"Hmmph."

"Just admit it." Carl smiles in his very strange way as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "You thought your own son would rat you out to an illegal arms dealer who already wants you dead. Why didn't he anyway?"

"Two possibilities—either he's chicken shit, or he's more distracted these days than I thought. I'm not sure which one I prefer him to be, in all honesty. He actually believed me…no he _agreed_ with me," I scoff. "…pretending he already knew that Jack Kang was the one having him followed. He didn't even question it when I told him _Carlos_ transferred $100,000 into one of Jack's accounts." The look of agreement on my son's face when he pretended to know what I was talking about. _Excellent try, son. Your ignorance was my bliss._

"May I be frank?"

I roll my eyes at Carl's smirk, seeing as he knows he doesn't have to ask that.

"Doesn't it bother you that Carlos Juares got the better of you?"

* * *

 _"All to make room for….you!" I yell at the top of my register. All of the hoops I've had to jump through to get her and my son…together. Gah! I want to rip her larynx out! "You're a viper! And that's based solely on my observations of your contemptible and perverse behavior! You…as far as I'm concerned…are nothing but a filthy slut who uses her brazen sexuality to coerce otherwise mindful men to fall at her stilettos. You repulse me and I would rather swallow horse semen than have you for a daughter-in-law!"_

 _I relish…entirely…in the fact that I just made the most trite and vacuous woman I've ever met…lack all speech. It's fucking amazing._

 _"Oh, Marcus…" she suddenly purrs, her lovely lips curling near-provocatively. "You are ever so wrong. Please…my father doesn't give a care in the world about Four and I. But he sure enjoys watching you squirm in your pants."_

 _Apart from the embarrassing imagery in my head, it does take me an even more embarrassing moment to process her comment._

 _"What are you talking about—"_

 _"He's the ultimate puppet master and you, sir… Well, could you be more of a Pinocchio?"_

* * *

I clear my throat, glancing up at Carl's grin. Now that I've officially worn my emotions on my sleeve, I may as well fess up. "Yes. And that was a hard pill to swallow. Christ! He's the one who was _fucking_ my wife for decades and he thinks he gets to pull the strings! Speaking of pills—the dumb bitch commits suicide…in my own bed! And yet he blames me!" I look around and sit back, hoping no unwanted attention has been drawn.

"You _were_ keeping her well-attended-to in the prescription drug arena," he remarks off the cuff.

My neck suddenly burns at the memory of Tobias holding me against the dumpster, the flash drive being shoved into my pocket—all prescription orders signed by the doctor on my payroll, coupled with cross-referenced dates of visits, nurses accounts and even a handwritten note that had never been destroyed. All leading right to me—a possible murder conviction.

"Well, there is something to be said for sedation!" I remark lightly, covering up my nerves at that possibility. "Anyway, I used Carlos to some extent as well," I point out, not being one to be outdone.

"Bullshit. You didn't use Carlos. You were scared! In addition to that, even the mention of his daughter and Tobias made your skin crawl. Carlos Juares being forever in your life, the Juares/Eaton name…entwined. Grandchildren! Finances pooled! All the goods!"

I growl to myself, sitting in one of the chairs looking out the window as Carl laughs jovially at my expense.

"Now that you actually plan to keep me in the loop…not that I'm thrilled about that, by the way…but, how did it all come to play out anyway? Where did Joseph Monroe come in in all of this?"

"Fate, my friend. Pure…fate. And, holy shit, was it on my side!"

"Since when do you believe in fate?" Carl sighs, seating himself in the chair to my right.

"Since the day I found out my son was dating Eric Monroe's fetish. Carlos wanted Tobias to be free of Beatrice…ahem… _supposedly_ ," I grunt in embarrassment. "Eric wanted Beatrice, Joseph wanted to be free of Eric and I wanted to get in deeper with the stars have aligned any more in my favor? I basically solved everyone's problems! And look how it all worked out. Eric is in the loony bin…you're welcome, Joseph. I got my government contacts…thank you, Joseph. And Tobias thinks it was all Jack Kang! Turns out his death was a blessing in disguise—fate. Meant to be! The only thing that wasn't tied up in a nice pretty bow was Beatrice."

"That poor girl," Carl chides, faking emotion.

"I don't like loose ends. And I can't quite put my finger on it…but, she makes me nervous. She doesn't think before she acts and she has no control over her mouth," I say with utter scorn.

Carl puts his hands up. "Please, don't tell me you're going to have her murdered. My conscience can handle a hell of a lot, but not that."

"Egh…I hold enough guilt in the _possible_ roll I played in Evelyn's death. I myself don't even want _that_ shit on my conscience. Damn!" I throw my napkin on the table. "One of my greatest failures—a conscience…fucking useless and weak."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, she's going to break up with him, of course. Devastate him. Anger him. My son is a rather unforgiving person. This could be the equivalent to her death!" I chuckle at the commonality my son and I share—not being able to forgive.

"Marcus Eaton. What…did you do?"

* * *

 _Sauntering up to the practice driving range, I spot the one person I try my damndest to avoid, yet have to coexist with nonetheless—Taylor Conrad. I had gotten wind of the fact that he's looking into ALG to design their new headquarters in Wilmette, with the stipulation that my son…my son…oversee the project. I'm hoping to possibly become better acquainted with Taylor, however, I'm yet unsure whether he knows Tobias is my son._

 _"Taylor," I begin. "And how are we getting along these days?" I ask, pretending to be friendly, but failing._

 _"We never are Marcus, now if you'll be so kind as to excuse me."_

 _I stand back and watch as he lines up to take his first shot. I scrutinize just about his every move. His golf knickers—yes, he actually wears them, along with argyle socks and bright green golf shoes. What a fucking embarrassment. I can stand this guy. But, he's made of money. We all are. So, coexisting at Medinah Country Club is an absolute must._

 _Taylor is the epitomy of what our society revers—a self-made man. As if he's better than us because he didn't come from money. Please! He's the owner of the number one advertising firm in the Country and a virtual expert at diversifying—he's the Warren Buffet of advertising. And he gives his money away just as frivolously—bragging about how his kids won't be getting an inheritance and how he had this discussion with them when they were old enough to walk. Some shit about them needing to work for what they have and not turn into trust fund babies._

 _Well, he still pays for his kids to golf here and I see his daughters quite often in the society pages. Worthless. I raised Tobias right. He, on his own accord, went off on his own and has showed no interest in my money. It's both infuriating, yet brings me great pride. My son…has never accepted a dime from me since he was eighteen._

 _"Uncle Tay Tay, I'm assuming you have put as much thought into your wardrobe as you have about Dr. DuBois?"_

 _My eyes catch on his niece, Connie. She's in her mid-forties, but looks as if she's in her thirties. A classy woman—educated but with a little too sharp of a tongue and too much empathy for the human race for her own good. She takes care of the PR side of the business…and even I have to admit, she does a damned good job._

 _"You better stop calling me Uncle Tay Tay if you want people to take you seriously in the business world, Connie Boo Boo."_

 _"Ugh…eat shit, Uncle Taylor," she remarks, laughing and throwing a golf tee at him._

 _"No, my dear. Been there, done that. College. Don't recommend it. Sonofabitch!" he yells as he slices the ball, hitting the top of the ball collector's cart making the poor kid scream. "Sorry, Jonathan!"_

 _"That kid works three jobs. You should tip him…at least, replace his pants he just pissed in."_

 _"Meh."_

 _"Seriously, Taylor. Have you thought about my proposal?"_

 _"Nope. Damn!" He shouts as he tips the ball and it rolls off the astro-turf. "Sorry, Con, I just don't understand it. We've got enough problems here. Why are we worrying about other nations or ethnics…or culture… Whatever words you young kids are using these days."_

 _I line myself up behind Taylor, ready to make a perfectly clean shot, directly down the faux fairway._

 _"You truly live under a rock. Being ethnocentric is unbecoming and makes you look like a snobbish prick."_

 _I ignore the fact that her brown eyes flitted over to me at that remark. Dirty bitch._

 _"Where is this here place anyway?"_

 _"Darfur."_

 _"Is that where the Orientals live?"_

 _"Christ, Taylor! Your age-disability is in rare form today. No…it is not an ASIAN country. It's an area in Western Sudan."_

 _"Sedan?"_

 _"Suuuudan! It's a country in Africa, you idiot. Now, look."_

 _I clear my throat, wishing they'd take their shit elsewhere, but then I'm distracted as I make my intended perfect shot. I glance at Taylor upon completion, but he seems…enthralled…or more like horrified as he watches with rapt attention, whatever Connie is showing him on her phone._

 _"Damn," he grunts as he shoes her away and walks over, placing a ball sloppily and hitting it straight out like a rocket, smacking the cart boy in the foot. "Christ in a sidecar!"_

 _"He meant he's sorry, Jonathan!"_

 _"S'okay,….uh, Mrs…Grayden," the kid squeaks as I snort out a laugh. Fucking peasant kid._

 _"Darfer is a hotter mess than a half-fucked fox in a forest fire."_

 _"Darfuuuur. And, yes, spot on. So, this Mr. DuBois runs case studies on behavior and how we, as people, acclimate and even become more sympathetic to others based on suggestion and exposure therapy. If we could get a team together, college graduates who—"_

 _"You want to mess with peoples' minds, Connie-pants?"_

 _"No! These would be carefully selected individuals who readily know what they are getting into. People who willingly choose to devote their lives to helping others. I'd love to snatch them away from Green Peace." She laughs lightly as I line up my next shot. "Yes, I realize how shitty that sounds."_

 _"Don't know what the hell Green Peace is," Taylor comments absentmindedly._

 _Who the hell doesn't know the most bullshit do-gooder organization in the world? Complete dumbass._

 _"Thank God, you have me to allocate your funds. You are truly worthless in many ways, Uncle Taylor."_

 _"I do thank you, Connie pie pie. So, this Dr. DuBois…"_

 _I hit my shot, perfectly again, as Taylor swings, losing the grip on his club as it slides across the grass. What a fucking imbecile!_

 _"Peaked your interest, have I? I hate to say it, but his methods worry me. He does blind testing," Connie adds, sounding unsure of whoever this guy is._

 _"Blind testing? They can't see? What the kanoodlefuck good is that?"_

 _"Holy…shit, Taylor. No. His subjects don't know what's going on. He claims to evaluate their so-called problem areas and then puts ideas in their heads about how to solve them."_

 _Although, I had been listening to their entire exchange…now I'm hanging on every word._

 _"Isn't that what every shrinky dink does?"_

 _"I suppose." Connie nods as she takes her more rightful place, putting the ball on the tee. "But, I think he's a bit more forceful. Plus…" She hits the shot straight down the fairway. "…he only takes on students who have never been in therapy before. But, he claims they all know exactly what they are getting into. They have to sign a waiver."_

 _The following words ring in my ears—ALG, Grayden, Dr. DuBois, problem areas, ideas in heads…Beatrice…_

 _"Well, this one's all you Connifer. I sure as hell don't get it, but, you have more of a knack for this weirdo hippie mind trippin' shit—"_

 _"That isn't at all what this is. Can you get your ass out of the 70s, please? So…it's game on?"_

 _I smile as my heart races with exertion—the cogs in my mind turning again at the rapid pace I'm used to. Adrenaline pumping through my veins at the thought of how this may play out._

 _"It's your butt if it falls through."_

 _"But I'm sure you'll take credit if it's a success. Am I right, Taylor?" Connie asks sarcastically as she tosses her uncle her club. He attempts to catch it, but fumbles as it skids across the cement, the ball boy subsequently tripping over it._

 _"Any self-respecting asshole would. Ya'll right there, Johnny Boy?"_

 _"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine," the adolescent mop head answers unsteadily. Show some gumption, kid!_

 _"Here, buy yourself some new pants at the pro-shop." I watch the idiot hand over his entire wallet to the ingrate kid and push him hard toward the shop. "How much is your brainwashing going to cost me, Con?"_

 _"Us…us, Taylor! We are part…ners."_

 _I relax on the bench, taking in the rest of this exchange with glee—silent notes being taken in my head._

 _"Oh, I always forget that!"_

 _"Very funny. I want to start with $50,000. But, I may need more depending on the success. I'll use the Fund money, but a good fundraiser would raise awareness. I think I'll include it in my speech for Save the Children—not going too far into detail."_

 _"Does this Dr. Du-person have money to bring to the table? This sounds like a cash cow for him. Our money and he gets his name out there…for free."_

 _"Well, our money…means our decisions, Uncle."_

 _"Hmmph."_

 _"Look, I have another meeting at Columbia next week to see if we can get an educational grant from the university… But I have a feeling we won't."_

Oh, I'll make sure you don't…

* * *

 _I enter the dingy, outdated, closet of an office that this Dr. DuBois seems to practically live in. It's filth._

 _"Can I help you?" he droles, not looking up from his notes. I see he has several pictures of who I can only presume to be his subjects in front of him, and he's taking notes almost frantically._

 _"Marcus Eaton."_

 _"And…"_

 _"And…" I place my hand forcefully on his desk top, startling him. "I've taken quite the interest in your work. It's fascinating to me," I lie through my teeth._

 _"Thank you?" He takes a moment to appraise my appearance and I can just about see the educational wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure me out. "Can I…help you…with something?" he asks warily._

 _"Indeed. May I sit?" I do so without waiting for a response. "I need a tax write-off. Making too much God-damned money can be a curse! Government takes over half my income!" I laugh, trying to sound genuine._

 _He shakes his head slowly, obviously judging me. "I have absolutely no idea how I can help you."_

 _"You're working with Connie Grayden, correct?"_

 _"I hope to…yes."_

 _"I heard her acceptance speech for Save the Children. She is an amazing woman! Her impression that in order for the world to truly be at peace, we must understand each other behaviorally, culturally and philosophically, it just tugged at my heart strings."_

 _"Well, she's absolutely correct!" he says suddenly engaged as I smile smugly. "Human behavior is our biggest crux. It's why there is such a divide between the Western world and the Middle Eastern world and certain parts of Africa. We all assume our way of life is best! But, in fact—"_

 _"Yes, that's all well and good. I want to back the venture."_

 _"Well." He pauses with wide eyes, made even wider by his horrendous glasses. "It's not really my venture. As of right now, I'm just along for the ride."_

 _"And why is that?" I ask, concerned…or not at all concerned._

 _"Well, I don't have the money to have much input. Miss Grayden is making the calls."_

 _"Mmm hmm. You misunderstand. I'd like to fund your side of the venture. Wouldn't it be nice to have money to bring to the table? Give you some leverage?"_

 _"Well, yeah… But, if you're looking for a tax write-off, you'd have to make a donation to the University—"_

 _"I'll handle my own tax business."_

 _"O…kay—"_

 _"So, I'll provide you with cash. $50,000 to be exact."_

 _"Are you…? That's…that's amazing! Thank you, thank you so much—"_

 _"Of course, there will be certain…stipulations…"_

 _"Stipulations."_

 _"There always are, my friend…"_

* * *

"Not that it matters! Well, I don't think you have much to worry about." Carl chuckles, breaking me out of my trance, the smile still lingering on my face at my feat of amazing string pulling. "Tobias may just do it himself. He made it beyond clear his interest was waning."

"Yes. My son is an excellent liar," I remark, proudly.

"I'm a lawyer. I can spot a lie from Egypt."

I lean back in my chair, crossing my ankle over my knee. "He is, in many ways, more ways than he'd care to admit, much like his father. Evelyn had it in her as well, I suppose. No, Tobias is quite in love with Beatrice. He spotted you from a mile away, my friend."

"How?" Carl looks at me as if I'm _not_ the puppet master.

"Because I set him up for it—made my secretary interview to be his new assistant, I showed up outside ALG in the flesh…quite to my luck…I ran into Beatrice herself." _The memory of my hands running down her small frame, pushing her up against a wall…a brick wall, at that…grating her skin into the façade of the building…_ "Ahem…yes, well, I purposely stirred the pot and he reacted as predicted." Although, him being smart enough to bring Ezequiel along with him…was very telling. He's angry and trying to keep himself in check. _I love it!_ "The point is—I've been making my presence known, showing him that no matter what he does, I will always be watching him. You see, he considers me dangerous, and he will do anything to protect Beatrice. In a sense, I'm driving my son mad."

"I do _not_ understand you, sometimes—"

"My friend, do you not find it at all coincidental or, at least, strange that Grayden and Conrad, Inc. would seek _you_ out to make sure the contracts with ALG are on the up and up? You don't exactly have a stellar reputation for keeping things out of the grey area. Which is perfect for me, but not for the oh-so-honest Conrad family."

"What did you do?!" Carl asks slowly, knowing he's been kept out of the loop.

"Why…I'm backing her charity work in Darfur…unbeknownst to her. She's working with a doctor…who, let's put it this way, wouldn't be getting a dime from me unless he insisted upon _you_ representing them."

"Dr. DuBois…the guy Connie has been raving about…is working…with _you_?"

"Well… _for_ me. I'm paying him $50,000! And, thanks to you, I have an official way to keep up with my son. So, I thank you for your services!" I nod my head and stand to pour myself a congratulatory cup of coffee. I love hearing my own plotting come out of my own lips—verbiage making it all the more real and thrilling.

"Feel free to clue me in next time, Marcus. I'm more than happy to go fishing for you, as you well know, but don't think for one second that I won't be billing you for these extra services."

"Yes, yes, of course. Do what you must." I flit my hand at his money grubbing.

"But, that still leaves Miss Prior."

I think back to how easy it was to track down the loud-mouthed roommate. Apparently, Miss Saunders's fellow classmate had no problem accepting my $50 in exchange for a simple fib and business card.

"Ah, yes. She is now one of his new 'subjects.' Turns out, $50,000 will provide whatever kind of 'therapy' I deem necessary! So, I'm driving my son to the brink…pushing his protective instincts over the edge, while molding Beatrice like clay. She'll break him, I'm sure of it. I've been getting excellent reports back. Tobias will never forgive her."

"And how can you be so sure?"

"Because she's abandoning him." I shrug. "Tobias has a bit of a hang-up about women leaving him."

I take in Carl's light laughter, but noted that it's a little too light.

"You're awfully smug for a man with yet another loose end."

"And what…pray tell…is that exactly?"

"You yourself may be the blind one in this scenario. You claim your son to be an excellent liar. What if he was lying to you about believing Jack Kang was working with Carlos? What if he does know that you were the one playing both sides? And…what if he goes to Carlos? Or worse…if Carlos goes to him…"

* * *

 **Shauna's POV:**

My swollen eyes and dragging feet make getting to the gym at 4:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING…very difficult. I round the corner and see Four leaning against the building looking…worse than I've ever seen him in my life.

"Uh…I'm here? What the hell happened? You sounded—"

"Shauna," he whispers, looking at the ground.

"Okay, come on." I shake my head, knowing that's my cue to shut the hell up. I do not understand the men in my life and why I do so much shit for them.

I open the door and he stands up straighter, looking the opposite way down the street, and then keeping his head down as he pushes through the door before I can even hold it open for him. He doesn't even bother going to the locker room, he heads straight for the bags, ripping his shoes and socks off in the process and throwing them against the wall them. The sound practically makes the whole gym shake. _Geez…_

I sigh and head to my office to put on a pot of coffee. Zeke was on patrol when Four called, begging for me to open the gym early.

* * *

 _"Four?" I answer. "Is everything okay—"_

 _"I need to…I need to use…the bags… I need to. Don't ask questions, please."_

 _"Yeah…no. What the hell time is it? Jesus, it's 4:02! Why do you—"_

 _"Shauna… I…"_

 _The raspy heaviness of his voice scares the shit out of me. It's a completely unfamiliar sound along with the heavy breathing on the other line._

 _"Okay. I can be there in twenty."_

* * *

I narrow my eyes as I watch the coffee drip, drip, drip into the pot. _What the hell could have happened? Had to be Tris. She has been off the map all week._ _Hmmm…_

Feeling impatient, I put my cup right under the dripping coffee while I look through the glass at Four. He's pummeling the bags—as in, beating the shit out of them—as in, thank-God-that's-not-a-human-because-we'd-have-a-homicide-on-our-hands. I look at the yellow bag and can already see little bits of red, tainting the worn yellow.

"What the shit, Four?" I say to myself angrily. He's been going without tape all week and I've had it! I remove my cup and march across the gym. I can see the tattoos through his already soaked shirt as he wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. "Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you to use… _fucking…tape_! Hey—"

He stops and looks at me head on, there is blood smeared across his face from his knuckles. But it's not over his forehead, where sweat usually accumulates. It's across his eyes and cheeks, dripping pink down his face. He sniffs and tries to act tough giving me a "What-the-fuck-are-you-looking-at expression. But, he senses I don't buy into it as he shakes his head putting his hands on his hips and looking down. A pink drop falls onto the floor and he immediately wipes it away with his foot and goes back to work, this time adding in kicks along with it.

 _Blood, sweat and tears? This time, I think this time I'll let him go without tape._

* * *

Sometimes Love just Ain't enough – Patty Smyth

We're not Right – David Gray

Better That We Break – Maroon 5

We don't talk anymore – Selena Gomez

* * *

(1) Nacho's Puerto Rican slang – "Like the number four? This big son of a bitch's name is Four!"

I want to point out something about Chicago, again. Seeing as Tris and Lynn's neighborhood will be showcased in the story. People seem to think Chicago is split up into 2 areas: good neighborhoods and bad neighborhoods. (Or, if you're really ignorant: North side and South side.) As if there's a magical line between the two. Mmmmnope. And this chapter is a prime example- Humboldt Park is not a _horrible_ neighborhood. Location-wise, it's right next to Bucktown/Wicker Park. That is why Tris always ran to The Studio. Remember Rita? Crazy Puerto Rican dance instructor? And how Tobias ended up in that neighborhood when he went for a run at the very beginning? There is a very strong sense of community there and many families have lived there for generations. Pride runs deep. It is full of lively culture and has quite the history. It is mostly identified as a Puerto Rican neighborhood, but that demographic isn't entirely accurate anymore because of…well, that's a whole other story. Anyway, there is, however, gang activity (mostly Latino) and a rising crime rate over the last couple years in West Humboldt Park, where Tris and Lynn live. Out of 77 neighborhoods, it's rated at 16 for crime rate. The "drive by" shootings (it's become such a cliché and desensitized term) that many associate with Chicago actually occur quite far from Humboldt park on the way way southern side of the city. (The ever endearing term Chi-raq, thank you, Spike Lee, is based on these neighborhoods. And, that, is also a whole other story.) There's your _Chicago for Dummies_ lesson of the day.

 **And...I'm sorry about this chapter. I'm going to go throw up now.**


	22. Coping

Chapter 22 – Coping

* * *

 **Will's POV:**

 **Flashback:**

 _"Hello?" I answer with as much dignity in my voice as I can, although it holds more of a likeness to Shaggy the Dog._

 _"Hi," Christina says softly. "You, uh, told me to call when I got settled. Well, I'm not really…settled, but…uh, ta-daaaa…" she trails off as I hear her sigh._

 _"Good. Thanks for letting me know. Well, uh, how's your place?" I lay back on my bed and cross my ankles, trying to convince myself that I'm relaxed._

 _"Ha, ha," she laughs sounding nervous. "Well, 'small' doesn't even begin to describe it. Um, my bathroom may as well be in my kitchen, and my living room doubles as my bedroom. And, it's not quiet here. I mean Chicago wasn't either, but, this is…next level. What else? Ummm…"_

 _I smile as I envision her spinning in circles, trying to describe her apartment._

 _"Oh! But, I have a balcony! If you call a rusty fire escape a balcony. Tris would have." She lets out a breath that she was probably holding in. "She would, like, string lights and make it cozy…and…"_

 _"Have you heard from her?" I inquire. I'm worried about Tris. At least, I see Four—he seems perfectly functional. But Tris? I don't know._

 _"No. I feel like I ditched her. I need to suck it up and call. Why?"_

 _A part of me is glad Christina feels like she ditched her friends because I like the idea of her actually feeling guilty about something._

 _"You should as soon as possible. Her and Four broke up."_

 _"Nooooo…," she whines._

 _I hear a stomping in the background, and I picture her petulantly throwing a mini-fit in the middle of her ridiculous apartment._

 _"Don't tell me things like that, Will!"_

 _I sit up straight and literally guffaw. "Seriously, Chris? YOU fucking left. Don't expect me to be your filter," I retort._

 _Honesty is all she's going to get from me from now on. Did I make that decision right at this very moment? Yes, yes I did._

 _The longest pause on the planet screams at me as I hear the blank noise from the other end, meaning the phone has been covered._

 _"Sorry," she finally says, checking back into the conversation._

 _I know she's crying, and my stupid eyes are starting to follow suit!_

 _"So, any more details?" she asks, clearing her throat._

 _"I got minimal information out of Bud. He was really hesitant. But, apparently, Four, uh, beat the shit out of the new bartender at Hangar's because he thought Tris was cheating with him…and…a week later they were done. That's all anyone knows. Well, I have a feeling Zeke knows more. But, I'm kind of staying out of it."_

 _"He thought she was cheating on him? What an idiot! That girl wouldn't cheat on him even if Chris Hemsworth was presenting himself to her in the buff ready to use his hammer as a sex toy—"_

 _"Mmmokay—"_

 _"Well, what does Four say?!"_

 _"Not much," I deadpan._

 _Well, truthfully, Chris, I haven't pressed the issue because I've been too busy TRYING TO GET OVER YOU! THE GIRL I THOUGHT I JUST MIGHT MARRY!_

 _"Could you possibly be less specific?!" she questions with serious attitude._

 _"Christina," I laugh incredulously, her comment bringing me back to the reality of the two of us, the reality of…her. "I am not your funnel of information!" The long pause is all the more I can take. "Call your best friend. I've, uh, gotta go—"_

 _"Wait! I know you're not my info funnel! I… How are you? I miss… I miss you!" she blurts out frantically._

 _"You don't have to say shit just to keep me on the phone. I really do have to go. I'll talk to you…I don't know…whenever."_

 _"I love—"_

 _I hang up before I can even let her finish that sentence. For a moment I expect her to call back, but the right side of my brain knows she won't. I look at my clock—5:07 on a Thursday. Ben and Jerry's is calling for me._

* * *

I spin my phone round and round on my desk, controlling it with my index finger. I give it one final push, but instead of making it spin faster, it falls onto the floor. I don't even bother to pick it up. I feel like I've barely used it for the past two weeks, anyway. Although, my mom did call once to check on me after hearing from Cara that Christina had moved to New York. My mom liked Christina. She said Chris lit a fire in me that hadn't been there before. Cara disagreed and said I had become less like the brother she knew and more like the girlfriend she hated. I chuckle to myself remembering the first time I brought Christina to my parents' house for dinner, Cara's cara-ness was on the loose that night. I can practically hear her not-at-all-quiet whisper—" _Uuuuhhhh…Your sister has a one-way ticket on the spinster-mobile, doesn't she?"_

We were so different. But I loved that about us. _God, I miss her—_

"You okay?"

I look up to Four, his furrowed brow ever apparent, as he stands tall at my door.

"Absolutely," I answer, sarcastically. "'Okay' is the perfect word to describe me these days."

"You were laughing, and then you looked like you were going to cry. Thought I'd save you some embarrassment," he admits.

I shake my head at his humor, not knowing how he can pull off being funny without an ounce of satire in his voice.

"Nope." I nod my head once. "Not gonna cry, today," I state jokingly, although, that is a legit promise I made to myself this morning.

"Good. Because I won't be much help. I'm worth an awkward back pat—that's about it."

I notice he's lingering in my door for the first time in maybe two weeks. I can see there's something on his mind.

"Don't get down on yourself. I like your awkward pats!" I state way too excitedly. "Or, ya know, only when they're…on my…back."

He lifts his eyebrows and looks like he may back out of the room.

"What about you? Been doing any crying lately?" _Doh! THAT'S how you get him to stay and chit chat?! Ask if he's been CRYING?!_

"I don't really cry that often," he states dryly, shrugging his shoulders.

It's been over a week since he and Tris broke up. I've been avoiding nearly all humans, feeling a kinship to Four seeing as he acted the same way when he and Tris ended things the first time. But, Chris has been gone for a few weeks now, so I have a bit of renewed sense of self and feel like a shitty friend for making minimal effort with Four. But then again, he seems to not need it.

"Good to know. Well, seeing as I've been incredibly shitty, overall, I'd rather not talk about me. So…what about you?"

"I'm fine," he responds as if I'm nuts for thinking otherwise.

"Hmm. Well, one of the few correspondences I have had with the ever elusive Christina, was a text saying, and I quote—"Their break-up wasn't at all like Gwyneth and Chris."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "It was in her text. I was kind of hoping you knew so you could explain it to me."

"Can't help you there."

"Well, can you, at least, join me in wallowing? I could use some company in my misery."

"Sorry, can't help you there either," he chuckles.

There was a time when I was trying so hard to be this guy's friend. He was like a wall. But soon enough, he'd let a smile in here or there when I'd say something stupid, rather than the standard fake chuckle a person gives just to humor someone—the same 'chuckle' he just gave me.

"But, I do have something for you…or more for us. May I sit?"

"Suuuuure." His formality is a little obnoxious, to be honest. _'May I sit?' He never asks to sit!_

"Conrad, Inc. specifically wants me to design their building," he begins frankly as he seats himself across from me.

"Wow," I remark, although it doesn't surprise me in the least—Four's original sketches of the Commerce building, his first huge project, put most seasoned architect's skills to shame. "How do you feel about that?"

"Ecstatic. When Amar took me on as partner, it was with the idea that both he and I would now still be able to work in the field."

"So, Amar is on board?"

"I am, indeed."

I jump, as in ass-off-chair, seeing Amar who is suddenly leaning over my table across the room, flipping through my and Zoe's most recent bid. I look to Four to see him shake his head slowly, staring at his hands, trying to hide his shock at Amar's presence

"Don't mind me, dear comrades, I just need your stamp of approval, Four—literally and figuratively."

"It's in my desk, top right drawer; you know you don't need to ask. And you also know you already have my figurative stamp."

"It's called courtesy," Amar sing-songs under his breath as he flips through the electrical work Zoe and I half-assed, seeing as it isn't specifically our area. And it's just a bid! Put it down! That is not ready for your eyes, yet, Amar!

"If you were genuinely courteous, you would check with Will before you rifle through his projects. You're about to give him a heart attack because he thinks you're judging his work as sub-par. I would rather not lose a senior associate to a spontaneous heart condition."

"Indeed, not. Especially, not our William, and, especially, not at this moment."

"Amar, what is 'this moment' and why do you need Four's stamp?"

"I will let Four handle the moment. But, as for me—I'm not an architect. Therefore, my stamp would be nothing more than a 'job well done,' not a 'get this shit going.' I'll leave all further explanations to my partner. Although, no matter your thoughts, William—you and Zoe make an excellent team, and I see the Michigan high rise getting off to a great start. Au revoir."

I give Four a more confused look than I'm used to providing him with—I like him to think I know what I'm talking about.

"Amar didn't go to college. He is 100% self-taught. Well, he had excellent mentors along the way. But, no degree equals not an architect."

"That is…fucking unheard of."

"At one point I would have agreed. But, nothing surprises me anymore."

I look at him and wonder if there was underlying meaning. But, if there was, he's giving nothing away.

"And…what of this 'moment' you were talking about?"

"The Conrad, Inc. project is rather large, and I need you on it seeing as my time has to be split…well, in more directions than I had planned on. Would you be willing to assist or co-design?" he asks as if this is nothing but a small business transaction—non-fat or whole? White or wheat? Bud or Miller? Clark or Halsted? _What the, what the, what the…HELL?!_

"Hmmmm…" I ponder jokingly, even though, I may have just pissed myself. "Designing a multimillion dollar structure for the largest ad firm in the country with the partner of the largest architectural firm in the country? Mmmmmmm…yeah, I'll clear my schedule."

"Excellent. So, are you assisting or co-designing?"

"Are you going to look down on me if I ask what the hell the difference is?"

"No. Either, the buck stops with me and you get minimal credit, or you take equal risk and 50% bragging rights."

"I will accept that risk along with the industry bragging rights, thank you very much," I respond empathically. And when I say emphatically…I mean, I'm fucking stoked!

"I always knew you were secretly vain," Four remarks crossing his arms and sitting back.

"Oh," I reply like an idiot. "Shit, I wasn't trying to be—"

"William, it was a joke."

I breathe out a sigh of relief and embarrassment. "Well, fuck, pal! It's hard to tell these days with you!"

He just grins and studies his hands again. _Sooo bizarre._

"Um, not to sound unconfident, but, why me?" I'm the newest Senior Associate and there are about seven other seasoned people he could have chosen who have done stellar work.

"Because you're the best. Amar agrees."

"Wha—Wow. Whoa, that is some…compliment. But yeah-no…. I'm pretty sure _you're_ the best."

"No. I just work hard."

"Yeah, so when Trump called for a consult, asking for _you_ —"

"Let's move on, shall we?" He opens his A: LOGG while I laugh at his expense.

 _Fucking Donald ass dick Trump…called Four Eaton…for a consult on his new build in Dubai!_

"You are so humble it's almost pathetic," I quip, leaning back in my chair.

He ignores me and scribbles something on a page marked in red ink— _"Expansion."_

"Fine. Ignore me. I'm used to it."

This, at least, gets him to shake his head and grin again _. Geez…_

"So…any request on Junior associates?" I ask, changing the subject back to something that's just plain fucking awesome.

"Yes, but only people from your team. I need a cohesive group. Matthew, for starters."

"For real?" I just about choke at Four's suggestion.

"Yes." He erases what he just wrote…and rewrites it, apparently, unhappy with his handwriting. "I don't want Chuck and Derek because they butt heads. But, how do you feel about Zoe?"

"Zoe's… _fantastic_ ," I remark still in disbelief that he'd _want_ to work with Matthew. "But, she needs a confidence boost."

"Hopefully, this will provide her with that." He purses his lips and nods his head once, making another notation.

I can honestly say I've never observed him more closely than I am now.

"Yeah, so, I've just gotta get a repeat on this—Matthew? Not to bring up a sensitive issue, but don't _you two_ butt heads on account of a certain female?"

Four looks at me with a straightforward expression. "No."

I scoff and leans forward, snapping my fingers like my mom used to do, ans still does. He flinches his head back and quirks an eyebrow at my super weird gesture, but, at least, it got his attention. "So, you're like _really_ okay? Stop being my boss and be my friend for a minute, man."

With an eye roll and a deep exhale, he finally decides to come down to my level. "William, I am really okay."

"I'm just gonna come out and ask—Have you talked to Tris?"

"No," he answers precisely and entirely untroubled.

"Do you _plan_ to talk to Tris?"

"No, probably not." He closes his book and stands. "I mean, we may run into each other, which is fine, but…I don't know. Could be weird so I'd probably just bail," he answers conversationally, a flicker of my friend appearing.

"I'm sorry, but, dude, this is just _strange._ I feel really alone, damn it! Hey, I've got an idea… Maybe if I confide in you…you'll reciprocate?" I don't know when it happened, but I'm now standing with my arms crossed, looking pathetic.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, looking toward the door. "Will, if you need to confide in me, as your friend, I will lend you an ear. Don't expect advice, though. I obviously don't do relationships well; never have, never will."

"So, you're…just…accepting that fact?" I think I may have just done a head-swerve. _Damn you, Christina._

"It is what it is." He shrugs seemingly aloof and heads toward the door.

"So, you two are just done?" I ask in finality.

"We are done. Now, unless this is 'confide time,' I need to get back to work. It's 4:00. We have a Fantasy draft in two hours, and I want to go to the gym."

I sigh, really not feeling the Fantasy Football vibe this year. But, Zeke will haul me out by my boxers if I don't show up.

"Fine." I sink into my chair, crossing my arms over my stomach. "I'll wallow solo. You, at least, staying for beers afterwards?"

"I don't know, maybe," he says noncommittally—exactly like he used to when we would try to get him to go out. "Thank you for jumping on board with the new project. Are you available to meet up tomorrow for lunch with Matthew and Zoe? My office at 11:30?" _And there goes my friend…_

"Sure thing, pal."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I walk out of Will's office, thrilled that he seemed excited about the new project. It's a really big fucking deal, and I was hoping for the exact reaction he gave me, minus the grilling about my ex. But, that's easy enough to get over.

 _Can the prefix "ex" be used by itself when it was only a girlfriend? Or does marriage or, at least, an engagement have to be involved? Or do I have to accompany it with the actual word "girlfriend" at all times? I'd rather shorten it._

"Four?! Four?! Four?! Four?! Four?! Four?!"

I hear Matthew calling my name entirely too many times for it to be appropriate, but I stop all the same and nod my head at him in acknowledgment.

"Oh, uh…hey! Can I…ask you something? Just a little something. It's not like a big deal, and I don't want to take up too much of your time, but…can I take up some of your time? Not too much—"

"Step into my office?" I tilt my head in my intended direction, his eyes going wide as if I just invited him into the gates of Heaven.

"Yes! I'm…like, invited this time?"

"You are."

"Well, then…shall we proceed?"

I glance at the arm he has proffered, but I decline the invitation and head straight to the office.

"Sorry, my awkwardness has been in rare form, lately."

"Something on your mind?" I ask, but I'm a little disinterested.

"Me?"

"Yes, Matthew."

"Well, that's hard to say because I usually have, at least, 22 great ideas, like, hi-fiving each other all at once. So, to narrow it all down to one thing is…like…paddling upstream without a…well, without a paddle. Know what I mean?"

"Not at all." I hold the door open for him, even though, he stops dead in his tracks. "Are you coming in?"

"Me? Yes… I am…entering the premises."

I walk in after him, gesturing to the chair across from my desk.

"Great, so, actually this won't take up too much of your time. Plus, I just really wanted to get away from Chuck because Holy ball sack is that guy annoying! Right?"

I don't answer him because I'm not about to discuss my personal feelings for my employees to another employee.

"Yeah. Probably better not to answer that. It would be really unprofessional of you. I'd probably lose respect."

I put my glasses on and open up my laptop, figuring I'd try my best to multi-task while Matthew attempts to communicate.

"So, boss, have you ever thought about 'expanding'…" His use of air quotes doesn't go unnoticed. "…our…or, when I say 'our'…I mean, 'your'…like 'yours and Amar's'…business?"

"Quite in depth, yes." I pull up the scan of the Conrad, Inc. property in Wilmette. I want to familiarize myself with it before the county gets out there.

"Oh, well, that's hunky dory. Yes. Anything…in particular? Like specifically? What are you for real thinking…as far as expanding?"

"It's nothing I'm going to discuss, right now, seeing as nothing has been finalized."

"Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha."

 _If I'm seeing this correctly, three separate wells on the property. Was this a farm? I'll have to go to city hall. I doubt Connie and Taylor know. Well, Connie might. They're going to have to cap, at least one of those, depending on how old they are, I'd imagine—._

"Can you discuss if a _teensy_ _leeetle beet_ of that 'expansion…'" His air quotes again, not going…unnoticed. "…is residential?"

I narrow my eyes, now thinking I know where this is headed. "Yes, at one point, there had been discussion of branching out to do more residential work for charity purposes. And we were hoping to take it further."

"Sweet!" He claps his hand one time, loudly. "So…I will head that up," he announces. "What do you say?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea."

He stops talking for a minute, so I continue on with my overview. _It's an odd-shaped property—_

"You know we're talking about me, right?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

 _Shit, I bet there are wetlands. Tell me they wouldn't have been dumb enough to buy property on wetlands._

"So, you don't have…anything else to say. No questions? Let me give you an example— _Where did this idea come from? Why would I be interested?._..Nothing?"

"Would you like me to ask those questions, Matthew?" I ask putting my glasses on to focus more clearly.

"Well, now that I already said them, you don't have to, like, repeat them, but, yes, please ask me."

"Where did this idea come from and why are you interested?" I deadpan.

"I was chillin' in Amar's office, and he was goin' through, like, a bunch of PDFs, which is weird because he likes his hard copies."

Ignoring Matthew's overly casual dialect, I decide to be surface level and just go to Google Earth to get a decent view of the property, until I notice his uncomfortable pause.

"Ya know?" he asks as if Amar's paper usage habits were relevant.

"I'm aware."

"Anyway, they were renovation plans, rehabs—all older homes. But, uh, gotta tell ya, boss…they were done by a complete amateur."

"Mmm hmm."

"Don't get me wrong; I trust you guys to hire competent people, not that you'd care about my trust, but if you did…well, anyway, but…who is working on those?"

"No one, right now."

"Oh, well, have you seen them?"

"Briefly."

"Well, I must give credit where credit is due, ya know what I mean?"

"Not yet."

"Their ideas were insanely cool and would have made a lot of sense if the houses didn't have load-bearing walls, HVAC, plumbing and electric. And the notations about the interior design were spot fucking on! Well, at least, based on what I could decrypt—the writing was all like 'if a raccoon had opposable thumbs,' but, great, great, awesome…like really awesome style and—

"You can have them all," I interrupt.

"Really?"

"Yes. Check with Amar. But I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Fuck, yeah! Okay, should I meet with the _'designer'_?"

"I can understand English without the finger gestures, Matthew."

"I know, but I love them. But like I was saying, whoever did a number on these homes…I mean, they had furniture placed, tile, cabinets, countertops…like the whole kitten-sha-boodle shebang! Should I…meet with them first?"

"You can. But they don't work here."

"Oh, well then fuck 'em. Damn it. I love that!" Matthew changes course mid thought and wanders over the picture on the wall. "Who's the artist? I never asked before."

"Tris."

"Oh. Oh! Oh. Yeah…wow. Sorry. Wow."

 _There are a lot of trees—old trees. Connie was worried about ecological disturbance. You're building a high-rise, lady! Maybe I should take a walk out there before the county inspector. Will can come, too. Maybe we'll all go tomorrow instead of lunch._

"I only saw her art, ya know, on the sidewalk…well, after it had been destroyed. I don't know how she managed it, but it was annihilated! That was…not a great day for her—"

"Do you want it?"

"This?!" He points to it as if to make absolutely certain.

"Yes."

"Um…well, I don't feel like… I mean, isn't that kind of weird? It's weird, right? I mean… No? It's, it's not weird? Guy who had crush on other guy's ex-girlfriend, creepily takes painting from now ex-boyfriend? No? Well, okay—"

"Take it. Or don't. It's up to you."

"Uhhhhhooooohhhhhkaaaayyyy? So…I'll just...take this…off your wall…to put…on my…cubicle?" I glance up as he looks to me for permission on where to hang his own personal artwork.

"You can do whatever you want with it, Matthew."

"Grrrrreeatt! Sorry, I know I said that like Tony the Tiger. It just came out." He lifts the picture off the wall and holds it to his chest.

"It's quite alright."

"Anyway, 'lil bit of follow-up here—the residential stuff? You sure I can…do this? I mean, I'm sure I can do it! In fuckin' fact, I'll knock this shit out of Miller Park!" he says with over-stated confidence.

He'd actually probably be very good at residential work. His talent leaning him more toward the artistic side of architecture, rather than the structural. This will be good for him.

"I'm sure. Talk to Amar. I passed the project onto him—"

" _YOU!—s_ orry _,_ I didn't mean to say it like—'YOU!' Like I'm yelling or mad. I'm just…why? Why would _you_ start a residential project?"

"Seemed important at the time," I sigh, grabbing my mechanical pencil. _Almost out of lead…_

"How'd you find the houses? I mean, logistically I know _how_ you did it. But, maybe like, how did you ' _choose'_ the houses?"

"Extensive research."

"Well, whoever took it over, went hog wild and not the good kind. I don't know what the good kind is… But, yeah, creative ideas, but not professional. Probably a good thing you fired them."

"They never worked here, to begin with. Talk to Amar. He'll get you set up, and I'm sure he'd appreciate your input."

"Great! Because I have a ton of ideas on—"

"You can go."

"—aaaaand I will go. Thanks for believing in me! _Doooon't stop belieeeevin'…Hold on to that feeeellllliiiieeeennnn_ — Yeah, I can see you weren't on board…with that…song. Bye."

I nod my head in agreement as he, thankfully, closes the door behind him. I open my A: LOGG to the front pages to erase one of my short term goals— _TRIS._ I smirk, now feeling glad I was distracted and never finished writing the goal— _TRIS'S HOUSE._ Way less erasing. Instead, I fill in my new goal—SECURE HOUSING/LA.

Sighing, I toss my glasses on the desk and rub my eyes. I open up my web browser, the history coming up as soon as I type. I pause and smile slyly, running my eyes over the mass amount of URLs that pop up. I probably seem obsessed and over-the-top. I laugh to myself at the sheer amount of research I did on a entirely useless topic. But, I figure, what the hell…I'll do as much research as I fuckin' can…as long as I can beat Zeke at Fantasy Football.

So, I continue with my tenth round of pre-ranking, hoping my efforts will pay off.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Three days later Lynn kicked the door open, yanked the blankets off me, pulled the sheet off that I had pinned to the window and then walked out, yelling over her shoulder _—"It's been three days, Prior. If I have to hear the ding of your voicemail one more time, your phone's getting tossed into Rosita's tortilla maker. Get the fuck up. I made coffee."_

Although I didn't drink any of her probably-awful coffee, seeing as my taste buds have been tainted, I was oddly grateful that someone acknowledged my existence. Because even though I was comatose, it's still nice to know someone gives a damn…even if it's Lynn. _How pitiful is that? WHO AM I?_

Now, I'm staring at the popcorn ceiling in my closet, trying to make pretend shapes out of the water rings, like Caleb and I used to do when we were looking at the clouds. Caleb would mostly just tell me what type of clouds they were, and then I would zone out as he kept talking. Once, I said a cloud looked like a butthole. It definitely did. It took a minute, but the laugh that came out of him was, in and of itself, reason to smile. It was almost contagious.

My phone rings and I reach for it without trepidation seeing as only four people have my new number—Lynn, Christina, Tori, and Kerrington. I thought, at first, that changing it seemed immature, but the amount of pressure it's taken off of me is worth the feeling of immaturity.

"Hello?"

"May I please speak to Beatrice Prior?" asks a formal voice that better not be a fucking solicitor.

"Uuuuuugggghhh… This is."

"Oookay. Um, this is Jonah. I'm one your brother's nurses."

I bolt upright at that, shaking my head at the weirdness of the call, seeing as I was just thinking about him.

"He wanted me to thank you for not contacting him, and he gave me permission—um, you don't really need it, but, those were his words—"

"Get to the point!" I screech. "Sorry…"

"Oookay, again. He said I could give you an update—He's eating and drinking on a regular schedule, and has gained back about ten pounds of the weight he lost. So, his body is starting to function normally again. He has relieved his bowels for the first time, and I must say it was quite impressi—"

"Okay, skip that part. How is he? Like mentally? Can I see him? I mean, I know I can, but, does he…want to see…me?" I practically eek that out like a mouse.

"Mentally, he's okay. Well, he has his outbursts still, but, overall he's on the right track. But, unfortunately, he is requesting you not to see him. I'm…sorry…" she trails off with sickening kindness. "We really don't understand why he—"

"It's fine. Thank you."

I hang up the phone before she can give me any more information. I just want to sit and be happy with the good news I've been given, not allowing any room at all for possible negativity that was bound to come. For the first time in ten days, I feel slightly better than flu-like. And I actually…smile. It hurts, exercising those foreign muscles on my face, but I think I'm achieving it!

I swing my legs over my prison mat and hobble out to tell— _What the fuck? Tell Lynn? Seriously?_ I double over, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. Resting my hands on my thighs, I hang my head wondering if this is what kidney stones feel like. Oh, God and now I'm laughing—like, the weird kind. The one that always makes people uncomfortable because they don't know if you're laughing or crying. I crouch down on the floor and hug my knees, still laughing like a hyena with its vocal chords clipped, the knot in my stomach getting tighter and tighter. _Who the fuck am I going to tell?! Christina is way-too-fabulous for me right now, Lynn is a skanky bitch, and Tori is Tori._ And…now I feel the turning point—the gears switching—the aching in my throat changes from the rasping feeling of laughing, to the muscle-seizing feeling of crying _. I have no one to tell…_

My brother has been functioning at the physical level, and I have no one to share it with…at least, no one who would legitimately understand the situation. The emotional side of my brain migrates toward… _Tobias._ But, the rational side is still bitter from the hard pill of reality I was forced to swallow at therapy.

* * *

 _ **Flashback:**_

 ** _Therapy:_**

 _Dragging my feet, more like my whole body, I sit down into the disgusting avocado, ripped-leather chair. I raise my right eyebrow challengingly as Dr. DuBois scans my entire face and body, before making some who-gives-a-shit-what-it-is notation on his legal pad._

 _"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Tris."_

 _I clear my throat and nod my head. "Your seven Voicemails didn't go unnoticed."_

 _"I was unsure of our last session, unsettled at the outcome. I felt a follow-up was necessary."_

 _I still have no words to give him, so I just pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and lean back, not giving a shit if I look like a dopey high schooler._

 _"Is there anything you'd care to share with me?"_

 _Something about the tone of his voice puts me on edge. How the fuck does he know that I may have something to share? But then I remember what I probably look like…and I get why he would ask me that._

 _"Well, I'm officially a clean slate, now. No relationships to get in the way of my progress, so… Fuck, yeah," I state without emotion._

 _"You broke up?"_

 _I nod my head, deciding that twiddling my thumbs is easier than looking at his face._

 _"Was that your call?"_

 _I shrug my shoulders, the reality of opening up this can of worms hitting me hard. "I suppose."_

 _"You suppose?"_

 _I furrow my eyebrows in remembrance of that night. It was so clear when it happened. Now it seems fragmented, lost in the fucked up archives somewhere—disbelief having taken over my mind._

 _"I decided…last Thursday, that I was going to do it. I was going to break it off. I hated it. I was miserable. I knew it was going to break_ me _, but it was the right thing…for_ him _. He needed his life back…because,_ boy _, was he_ fucking _…it…up—or I was fucking it up. But then when it came down to it, I couldn't go through with it. When I saw the look on his face—like he couldn't believe it was happening… I…" I sit up straighter to trick myself into feeling stronger than I am. "After that, I, uh, I knew I couldn't do it. I didn't want to…anymore."_

 _"But…"_

 _"Yep. Isn't that the perfect word—'but.' It's the word we use to introduce something that goes against what has already been mentioned, right?"_

 _"Yes…"_

 _"So,_ buuuuutttt _…then I found out he went to confront my…_ attacker _…behind my back…to find out…if I had been raped. Apparently, he was having trouble moving past that," I add on hypocritically._

 _I roll my eyes as Dr. Dipshit looks like he's about to dump an assload of empathy on me._

 _"Tris, I…I hadn't realized—"_

 _"Ha! You never realized my apartment was invaded by my ex-abusive-nutjob-boyfriend, who knocked me out, did whatever his heart desired to me, then continued to kick my ass until I passed out from torture overload?!... Yeah, well, we never quite got to that part seeing as you've always been more interested in my boyfriend…_ ex- _boyfriend."_

 _"Well, working at a university, we take rape culture very seriously…and as a behavior, in general—"_

 _"Two things…," I interrupt. "… before you continue to be an asshat— The fact that there is even the term 'rape culture' is_ pathetic. _Just because you work at a university, doesn't mean you should care about rape culture. You should care about rape culture because you're a person."_

 _"Apparently, I'm also an asshat," he jokes with a tone like a normal human—his usually condescending remarks put on the shelf for the time being._

 _"Ahem, you say…you say Four went to find out if you were raped. Did you not have a rape kit performed—"_

 _"I'm gonna pretend you didn't use the word 'performed.'"_

 _"I'm sorry. I'm not a creative writing professor—words aren't my area—"_

 _"You're a fucking therapist. How are words not your area? Don't people come to you…for your words?"_

 _He opens his mouth like he's about to make some dramatic statement, but he literally bites his tongue…and it's disgusting. I have to look away before I vomit._

 _"But, yes, to answer your question, they tore my insides apart to find evidence. And as it turns out, specimens were present. Good news! However, there was no forced entry, if you know what I mean. So...'incon-fuckin-clusive.'"_

I'm kind of loving that I'm making his face turn paler that usual. God, I'm a bitch. But, it feels so good!

 _"That must have been…very hard. I'm deeply sorry."_

 _"Well, hey, good news all around—turns out I wasn't raped. Thank you, Four. Because that just solves all my problems," I mumble, slouching down again._

 _"Why do you think he did that?" he asks leaning in as if he were honestly interested. It's actually a little weird because it seems genuine—like he truly wants to know what prompted such behavior._

 _"Well,_ he _said he did it, so I wouldn't have to." The pleading look in Tobias's eyes, begging for me to believe him, flashes in front of me._ Stop it, stop it, stop it.

 _"Hmm," he hums briefly, pondering Tobias's bullshit. Suddenly, he sits up straight, his normal demeanor seeming to return. "Sounds quite controlling to me and an absolute violation," he states in almost defiance._ Weird… _"You don't agree?"_

 _He must have picked up on my attempt to size him up._

 _"I didn't say that. Tobias had…boundary issues when it came to me—like he would do_ anything _to make everything and anything 'okay.' Whether it be to drive across town just to get me ding noodles that the Chinese restaurant forgot, or to run to the store because he didn't have my preferred brand of toothpaste, or sit in a dark chair in the corner like a creeper, or stalk me on the L...he would do it. He called it 'overstepping' and he rarely apologized for it. So, in hindsight, I shouldn't have been that shocked about it. What lingers is how it made me feel." I glance up at Dr. DuBois, and he seems at a loss. Probably because I actually shared something, readily._

 _"How did it make you feel?"_

 _"Like…all this time, he thought I was infected or polluted. And then when he found out I wasn't_ officially _raped…. Basically, yay for him. Tris is open for business!" I laugh to myself at my idiocy. "But, it's bullshit."_

 _"What is?"_

 _"The fact that I feel that way. It's stupid. He never looked at me as damaged goods. That was me projecting my own feelings. I just…handed them over to him. Threw them at him."_

 _"Hmm. I stand by my opinion—controlling and a violation."_

 _"You give your opinion quite a lot for a therapist."_

 _"Well, let's just say I'm a little unconventional."_

 _"Let's."_

 _He chuckles, resting his elbows on his desk, seeming to have ditched his legal pad. "So, have you spoken to him since then?"_

 _"No," I say softly, pulling on my fingers, remembering how Tobias used to twist them back and forth absentmindedly._ Stop it, stop it, stop it.

 _"Do you plan on it?"_

 _I shrug because I don't know the answer. Part of me hates Tobias for the shit he's done and for the things he said. Another part acknowledges the fact that I'm so deeply in love with him that I hope he waits for me—that maybe I can work on me, and then the new-and-improved me won't make him act like a madman. The latter is a ridiculous delusion._

 _"I told him I'm done. And…" I blink back the tears, shaking my head._ We are done. Broken up. It's done.

 _"That's not exactly convincing. Did you leave things open-ended?"_

 _"No. I told him I was done. And he, uh,…left me with some choice words of his own, so I know he got the message."_

 _"Choice words?"_

 _This must peak his interest again because he 'stealthily' moves his legal pad in front of him._

 _"Yep. We have a couple things in common. One of them being—we_ _say stupid shit when we're mad. And he wasn't just mad—he was defeated. Defeat—the bane of his existence," I sigh._

 _"Tris, please stop with the wishy-washy remarks."_ Is this guy for real?!

 _"Well, okay then! Turns out, he has a sudden fondness for Karma. He paid my rent but isn't a fan of personal checks. He's on the up and up with land values in central Wisconsin. You're a moron. I'm a victim. He wishes you well."_

 _"That's all your giving me?"_

 _"You said not wishing and washing. And that about sums it up, anyway."_

 _"And may I, at least, ask—why am I a moron?"_

 _"Because you…" I point to him quickly and curtly. "…are unfamiliar with the dictionary."_

 _"Tris, I don't have the patience nor the time to decode."_

 _"Me neither. I'm here because you left me seven damned voicemails…remember? Otherwise, I'd be happily sedated in my bed. Why_ were _you so desperate, by the way—"_

 _"Continue with your explanation…please," he adds feigning politeness._

 _"Fine. Victim," I state plainly. "He doesn't understand what that word means to someone who has experienced abuse. But, in all fairness, I've never exactly explained—"_

 _"You shouldn't have to. Ever. Is there_ not _a negative connotation behind it?"_

 _"Yes. And I feel that…in my soul…every time I hear the word. It's near bone crushing. It sets me apart from all that's normal. And society has made it a label, and I fucking hate it. But he doesn't—"_

 _"Frankly, I'm shocked it even came out of his mouth. You are a_ survivor, _Tris. How could he possibly think otherwise?_

 _I roll my eyes at his cheesy use of the buzz word. I almost hate the word 'survivor' and all its pump-you-upness equally as much as 'victim.' It's just another damned label saying that because I continue to exist after being victimized, I'm a survivor. So…with that rationale—does that mean that Jane Doe who has lived a happy life in Pleasantville sans abuse_ …isn't _a_ 'survivor'? Jesus! I'm a girl who experienced abuse! I'm not a victim! I'm not a survivor! I'm Tris Prior! What the fuck?!

 _"You're quite the conundrum, my dear."_

 _I wrinkle my nose in distaste at his dull use of the word 'dear.'_

 _"You've sung his praises, you've ripped him apart, you've defend him, yet you've blamed him and, well, based on what you tell me, he certainly thinks lowly of you. And what is this Karma business?"_

 _I decide to push aside the "thinks lowly of you" remark. It should drive me crazy, but it only solidifies what I already knew—Zeke's words from the bar still ringing in my ears. "Something about…he hopes the world will keep being great to me—Karma's a bitch or something…"_

 _"So he thinks you've been dealt a raw hand because of Karma?"_

 _"Um…" I'm taken aback for a moment, but I try to play it off as if that comment wasn't a shock to my system. "Well, I don't think he meant it…like that—"_

 _"Karma—the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences and experiences. I'm more familiar with the dictionary than he gives me credit for," he adds snidely._

 _"Well, no, I think…" I get the sudden urge to stand, but I grip the armrests of the chair instead, burying my fingers into the ripped recesses of cotton. "It was more about how I was treating him…that_ that _would come back to bite me or something—"_

 _"Sounds to me like he was suggesting you_ asked _for your abuse, or, at the very least…you deserved it."_

 _All the air from my lungs seems to spontaneously combust because suddenly I can't breathe and my throat is on fire._

 _"Tris, after all of your very…precarious…life experiences—"_

 _"You don't know anything about my life experiences," I choke through tears._

 _"Well…" He hands me a tissue with shaking hands._ Is he not used to people breaking down?! What the hell?! _"…all things taken into consideration—How dare he even use the word Karma in any reference to you, whatsoever? You've, um, well, you've mentioned…ha, well, you've alluded to the fact that… What I'm trying to say is—he's very smart and, to me, seems manipulative."_

 _"Mmm hmm," I hum while he tries to navigate the Labyrinth of his dictation. Speech isn't possible for me._

 _"A smart abuser uses underlying meaning to demean their victims. That's Emotional Abuse 101, Tris."_

 _That feeling—it's that God-awful familiar feeling. When everything you knew about a person, or people, is turned on end—flipped, the opposite of what you thought embodied their soul. That very familiar feeling—naivety, washes over me, chokes me, tries to drown me._ This can't be happening, again. This can't be happening, again.

 _"Tris—"_

 _"What? So, now you're calling me a fucking victim too?!" I spit turning the attention away from my stupidity._

 _"If you decide to reconcile with him, then, yes, I would have no problem calling you a victim. So, perhaps you should keep your survivor status? Well, Tris, I must go!" he stands abruptly and gestures to the door._

 _"Are you...kidding—"_

 _"I just wanted a quick wrap up. I was worried."_

 _I stand, holding onto the back of the chair for balance. I try my best to glare at him, but the tears dripping off my face probably give away my true feelings._

 _"Can we, um, start to work on_ my _issues, next time?" I suggest as I pass him, noting that he smells like lint and dirty socks._

 _"I think we just readily solved one, don't you think?"_

* * *

I shake my head, pulling my legs in closer at the stark reminder of Tobias's words. I expect him to say hurtful things when he's upset—I actually held a pillow over my head because I didn't want to hate him for whatever he was going to unleash on me. But his rage overpowered my eardrums, and I caught everything. Yet never once did I put the true meaning together of his words. Sarcasm radiated through his voice—what happened to me before, how the world treated me as great as it already has—I deserved it…whatever happens in the future…I'll deserve it.

I left Dr. DuBois's office with more confusion than I've ever felt after any of our sessions. However, the words he left me with stay in the back of my mind—"Relationships shape who we are and they are also a _reflection_ of who we are. Just keep that in mind, Tris."

I decided to head to the lake to gather my thoughts, but I didn't make it there because, frankly, a feeling of disgust crossed my mind because that is the place Tobias goes to find solace. So, I didn't make it past Grant Park and ended up finding a random bench right there, the cool breeze of September being my only distraction. I didn't know if I was feeling anger or depression or sadness. Before Tobias, I would have closely categorized all of those feelings. Now I realize how distinct they truly are.

I rock back onto my tailbone and pull my legs up, resting my forehead on my knees. I made a decision after that appointment—I am angry. And angry feels fucking awesome! Sadness and depression are all too familiar of emotions for me, and I'm not fuckin' having it. I'll take anger any day of the week as long as it keeps me above water. And that's exactly what it's doing.

And, hell, look on the bright side—at least I'm feeling something, now. Because the day after we broke up, I was just…numb. I wasn't even sad, or mad or…I don't know—I just wasn't…anything. When Tobias busted my heart in two the first time, I was, at least, productive—I wanted to go out and do things. Distractions—I was all about them. I was in 100% denial, but I wanted normalcy. But this time, the next day I just existed in sleep—no nightmares, just sleep. I should have been happy that I was finally getting rest, but it wasn't the _right_ kind of rest. It was the kind that comes from a mental and physical shut-down—a body's way to store energy. Every time I would wake up, I felt so heavy that moving wasn't an option. So, I'd just bury myself under the covers and let sleep overtake me again. I had no nightmares, no dreams, just black.

I laugh under my breath. It's funny; I broke up with him because I loved him so much—I was making him crazy, bringing him down. But as it turns out, I was the crazy one—crazy for sticking around, playing the victim card and being his project because he failed with his mother, another connection I made after my session. And then when he realized he failed with me…well, that was it for him. I was the one who told him I was done—I own that. But, his words…that's when it really ended. And it took until now to really see it. That was the nail on the coffin he didn't even know he was waiting for. Or maybe he did know it…I don't know which is worse.

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

"You're staring at me…again. And can you put some pants on? God, you're worse than Christina."

 _24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30—_ "Done." I land gracefully on my feet having successfully completed 30 pull-ups and knee lifts because I'm a bad ass. "I never wear pants when I work out. Why stop now?"

"Oh, I don't know…because you have a _roommate."_

I was definitely staring at her as she flipped through whatever Brit lit book she's read a thousand times. I'm, basically, still trying to figure her out. She's kind of a crackpot.

"Maybe you were the one staring at me," I add cheekily.

She shrugs. "Maybe a little," she mumbles.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I ask sarcastically.

"Well, your pull-ups—that's actually pretty awesome. How do you do that many—"

"Oh, so we're talking now?" This is the first time she's given me more than two sentences. Not that I've really tried to get more.

"I don't ever remember having the discussion that we weren't."

"Look, I'm new at all this co-habitation shit, but isn't it some girl code thing? Like, some unstated rule after you have a blowout with your girlfriend, or boyfriend in your case, and become comatose for the next week?"

"I've never had a boyfriend I gave a shit about until him, so I know nothing about any girl code."

"Oh, so _now_ you give a shit about him? Because out of the two things you've said to me this week, one of them was the ever tactful—'Save your fucking words because I no longer give a shit about him, in fact, he can burn in hell.' And by the way, therapy isn't supposed to make people irate and calloused," I inform, not understanding why I'm engaging right now.

"What do you know about therapy, Lynn?" she asks judgmentally.

I shrug my shoulders at her assumption and make my two steps to the bathroom. "Hell, gotta give you some credit; at least, you changed your socks." She has legit been wearing the same yoga pants and Hawks hoodie all week—like sleeping and everything. _Nasty._

"And my underwear."

"Wise choice," I mumble, stripping out of my shirt.

"Where do we do our laundry anyway?"

"The…Laundromat…" _Where the fuck else?_

"Why do you say that in a "duh" tone of voice. Santiago and Sarita have a washing machine, and they're only right across the hall!"

"You do know this whole place is Santiago's house, right? He split it up into four's." I flex my abs, making sure I'm keeping my six-pack in check. "We're lucky to have plumbing," I add.

"Hmmph." She starts flipping through pictures on some app on her tablet as I disrobe and step into the shower.

There's only about five minutes' worth of hot water, so I like to make sure I get the biggest bang for my buck. But, the first minute is straight up bone curdling cold, so I brace myself for the onslaught.

"I start my new job tonight," Tris informs in way-too-clear of a voice. _Is she standing in my bathroom door?!_

"Um… Okay...? How about some personal space, by the way?" I suck in a breath between my teeth as the icy knives hit me in the chest.

"Jesus, Lynn. You just did 60 reps of whatever-the-hell-you-did in your thong, then you nakedly and with no shame got into the shower with the door wide open."

"It's my apartment. And you shouldn't have quit Hangars. That was stupid. Four's not even allowed in, anyway."

There is an insanely long drawn out pause while the hot water finally starts in. But I waste it by sticking my head out around the curtain—as expected, the Prior stoi-cry. It's like her own personality OTP, except this time it's accompanied by a glare.

"Sorry, am I not allowed to _mention_ him?" I ask, testing my boundaries. I kind of want to push her to the brink. That's when the real shit comes out.

I roll my eyes, pulling the curtain closed harshly because she doesn't even bother to answer. I don't know why I even ask. I need to ditch the ridiculousness that is Tris and Four. Plus…she's way off on all of this. _Fuckin' chick doesn't know how good she had it._ I squeeze my eyes shut and scrub at my hair, feeling the chills making their way up my arm signaling torturous memories.

"Are you gonna be all pissy because I'm not all tangled up in your shit? Because I'm not going to pussy foot around your feelings?"

"No. I just—"

"I'm _not…_ Christina."

"Well, ain't that the truth," she mutters loud enough so I can hear her…as if that's supposed to hurt my feelings. _Please._

I shave my legs like Speed Racer because the water is getting cold, but I still feel the presence of Prior at my door. "Look, if you want to talk, then talk. I'm not gonna ask you questions. I don't roll that way. If that makes being friends with me a one-way street, then fine. But, that's me."

"Ah… I see. So we're friends?"

I can hear the jest in her annoying voice. "Ish." _I don't do friends!_ I rip the shower curtain open and grab my towel, drying off quickly and then wrapping it around my head.

Tris sighs as she wipes under her always-swollen eyes before finally giving me some space. "By the way, not that you care, but I don't want to run into… _anyone._ _That's_ why I quit Hangars and…other things…"

"Yep. Run away from those problems," I whisper, rifling through my underwear drawer. "You can't just avoid everyone, ya know? I mean, for fuck's sake, you're in my sister's wedding!"

I need to fully prepare myself for the drama that is going to plague this unnecessary archaic tradition. Weddings are traumatic enough, let alone— _Wait…just one fucking minute…_ I trip into my panties, practically hopping like a rabbit into Tris's Potter closet.

" _Aren't_ …you…in…their…wedding?!"

No movement, no aloof shrug of shoulders, no tears, no scoffing—nothing! Just her, cross-legged on her prison mat, flipping through MY Ruth Glint book.

"Gimme that!" I rip it out of her hand and toss it into the sink. "You're backing out," I state incredibly pissed.

"Do you blame me?"

"No. I would bail on that shit post fuckin' haste! But, that's me, and you're you, and you don't bail on people…ever!"

"Why are you so fucking pissed?" she asks like a bonehead who understands nothing. "Ahhhh…you don't want to play 'wedding.'" _Apparently, she picks up on some things._

"Exactly. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't care enough to figure it out! I need a wing-woman!"

"Aw, Lynn…," she sips at her tea that she hates and purposely blinks her weird but oddly intriguing eyes at me. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Eat shit," I slam the door in that dumb bitches face, which just makes it bounce right back open as she snickers.

I walk, or stomp, whatever, into my room and take my anger out on my hair—putting way too much product in it so that it sticks up, making me look like a 2005 middle schooler. _Great…_

"Not that I care, but you're going to break my sister's heart!" I yell to her. "The Andersons don't do 'friends' well."

"Hmm… I got on with Shauna, right away. You? It's taken til now."

I glare at her as she leans on my doorframe. "I don't consider this getting along. Personal space! Per…son…al space!" I steer her the two steps to the living room and push her toward the couch.

"Or maybe you should lower your standards. I obviously did."

I grab my brush and run it through my short hair, starting all over again, spiking it properly this time. "You are kind of like a dog begging for scraps."

"Does that make you a scrap?"

"Fuck you," I quip lightly, as I start in on my make-up.

"Not into chicks," she droles as I hear her flipping through one of my books again. I can tell exactly which one by the drag of the pages.

"Pity. We're all way better in the sack. Ya know, we know we like and all that. And put my Annie Leibowitz down! Stop touching my shit!"

"Ugh…"

I hear Tris mumbling crap into her pillow, and I can't help myself, so I lean around the door to listen in…not that I care. "… _he_ knew what I like… Fuck, I can't believe… …so damned…good. … … …I can't do it right…"

I choke back a laugh at her literal pillow talk and then tip toe away. "Freak."

Sighing in annoyance, I start to put on my usual—black bra, tight white tank top, short black skirt and my FM boots, getting ready for my 3:00 shift. While I do my eye make-up, my mind wanders a bit to Tris, not too much, just a little.

I didn't see her once, not even once, the day after the epic battle of bullshit. _Did she pee in a bucket? Damnit! My five-gallon bucket?! Maybe she stuck her ass out the window? Dunno…_ I put a shoe right outside her door before I went to work so I'd know if she left or not. The shoe was still there…chillin' outside the door. I didn't care enough to knock. I just hoped she didn't off herself! _Can't have that ju-ju in this place_!

Finally, I ripped her a new one, basically, telling to get over herself and get up. After that, she did leave twice. So that's good…or whatever. But she came back, each time sourer than the last. _Do I really want to know why? Do I care enough?_

I've observed her and Four plenty of times and overheard enough shit to, at least, "get them"…ya know, to some extent. Plus, I heard enough from Shauna and her own personal dumbass. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask—for Shauna's sake. Ya know, her being my sister and all.

I add the last layer of my mascara, now fully satisfied at my don't-fuck-with-me look—

"You put an ass-load of make-up on."

"Whoa! Geez! Personal space…again!" I push past her doorway-leaning self her and into the kitchen. "And…I _have_ to, so I look like I can hold my own! You may want to try it some time," I suggest looking her up and down.

"Just saying, you're much prettier without." She shrugs and walks away, looking out the window, waving at Rosa.

"Fuckin' sound like my girlfriend," I mumble, popping one of my anti-anxieties inconspicuously.

"You have a girlfriend?!" she asks as if that's insane, turning back to face me.

"Yep." I smirk at the image of the most beautiful girl I've ever met, who I am not good enough for, but somehow seems to like me just fine.

"She said she thinks you look prettier without make-up?" she whispers with a faraway look.

"She says she 'prefers me without.' Ya know, can we just _not_ talk about my personal—Holy shit. _Now_ what the fuck is wrong with you?!" _She's crying…again!_

"Nothing, I'm fine." Tris wipes her eyes as if that'll erase everything. "Let's just keep talking about you."

"Um…" I pour myself a cup of amazingness, knowing I need a pick-me-up. "I don't want to chit chat in the first place, but if we have to, we're talking about _you_ because I'm not the one who's fucked up." _Yes, tell yourself that. That's what you're supposed to tell yourself, Madelynn. You are not fucked up._

"Are you serious?" Tris seethes getting all up in my face suddenly. "You're the one who pretends not to give a shit about people. You wear way the fuck too much make-up—like you're hiding your true self or some bullshit. Your face screams, 'Stay the hell away from me!' You're evasive. You deflect _all_ attention and you, basically, close yourself off from the world. Now what the fuck good does that do anyone?!"

I tap my foot as she recites my personality. "Feel better?"

"No!"

"And when did you become _this_ awful?! Ya know, I may be hella flawed, but, at least, I exit my room on a regular basis."

"I think the mix of breaking someone's heart and then having mine be the one broken on the rebound gives me an excuse to hole up for a while. And I've always been this awful!" She passes me, purposely bumping my shoulder as she gets a mug out of the cabinet, smacking it on the counter. "How does your own medicine taste, by the way?"

I clench my jaw at her sneaky-sneaky way of calling me awful. "You broke up with him, _by…the…way,"_ I point out, changing the subject.

"You heard what he said…and I… How am I just supposed to—ya know, you don't know the half of it! You just don't fuckin' get it…"

My face starts to heat up at that comment, and I'm pale as shit, so I need to retreat. "And I don't want to." _The dumb bitch has no clue…_ I take momentary delight in seeing the look on her face as she just about burns her tongue on the coffee she just poured herself. Until I realize it's not from burning her mouth— _Ha ha! Bet she can't handle strong coffee!_

"Where…did you get…this coffee from?"

I roll my eyes, picturing Sofi's psycho 'Auntie' and her beyond-weirdness. It doesn't help that she hates me. But a promise is a promise.

"My girlfriend gets it for me. Too strong for your sensitive taste buds?"

I watch her eyes glaze over while I move to the side as she goes to the sink. _She looks a little nuts! Is she gonna add water? This is not great water!_

"Hey, use the Brita—What the hell?!" _She just dumped it down the drain!_ "You could have, at least, put it back in the pot!"

I don't get an answer. Just a quietly closed door…well, sorta closed.

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

I sit back and stare his smug ass down. Now that all the dudes I would call "extras" have left, it leaves me with the opportunity to grill my best friend. "What…the…hell, man?" I direct my baffled and undivided attention at Four and his backassward Fantasy Football team.

"What?" he asks as he concentrates on his laptop.

"You're on to something, aren't you?"

"Ezequiel, how can I be 'on to something' if the season hasn't even started, yet?"

But, his dumb follow-up smirk is all the answer I need; he has a plan. I don't know what it is, but by the look on his face, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Worry about your own damned team," he sighs while he types away.

"Damn it, you win every year! And you always start out with the biggest group of misfit hobo players—"

"It's called strategy." He takes the last drag off the beer he's been nursing like an infant. "You should try it sometime."

"You really win every year?" Will asks.

Four shrugs, only confirming Will's question in the most annoying way possible. _Dick._

"Yeah, and he doesn't even like Football," Uriah mutters to himself as he types away on his phone. Uriah has been just straight up quiet tonight. _Somethin's up._

"Why do you even play?" Will laughs.

"Anytime I can beat Zeke at something, count me in."

I shoot him a dirty ass look because…well, he beats me at everything.

The server makes her rounds…again, as in, again-again—paying special attention to Four…again.

"You guys need anything else?" she asks, leaning her hip on the table between Will and Four so her butt is practically in Will's face. She's an amateur—her booty should be in Four's face if she wants his attention. _He's an ass man. And I must say; she's got the goods._

"I'm still on sip #2, so I'm all good," Will responds purposely leaning over the table, around her to get her attention off of Four's face.

I almost don't blame the girl. He hasn't been outright flirting, but he hasn't shooed her away, like he usually does. He's actually been really fuckin' polite and smiling at her—not the I'm-going-to-take-you-home-tonight smile, but pretty damned genuine. I can't decide if it's because he doesn't notice or because he doesn't mind anymore. And I don't know which one is more disturbing?!

"So, you're sure you don't need another? I'm off in ten, so this is my last round."

"No, thanks. I'm good." He locks eyes with her, making her face heat up a few degrees I would imagine, before she walks away.

"Subtle," Will comments. "But no number, this time."

Normally this would be the point that we all start making fun of Four, or thanking him for the wonderful service, or, at least, suggesting he offer her the option of a threesome with him and Tris…but, instead, we just sit there. He seems truly back to his old self, pre-Tris—kind of a jerk, but not really; keeps to himself; funny in a non-funny way.

"I'm headin' out guys." Four stands, pulling on his too-stylish-for-his-own-good leather jacket. _I'll bet that sonofabitch has a personal shopper._

"Why?! It's only 7:00," Will adds…or pleads. I'm no Will expert, but I think he needs some guy-time.

"Yeah, man! This is one of my favorite nights of the year!" I add. It's really not anymore. New Year's with my lady is, but I'm trying to back Will up.

"Time to get a life, bro," Uri comments. He doesn't even seem to give a shit that Four's leaving. _What the hell is up with him?_

Four waves, he actually waves, to the server as he leaves.

"Hey! What about dinner at Mom's?" I yell before I can even see the lovely lady's reaction.

He's half-way out the door and all he leaves me with is a, "We'll see."

"We'll see," I repeat, sighing and sitting back. "Damn! He's good. That's the same shit he used to say! Vague—won't commit to any social shindigs. What a…"

"What a 'what'?" Will asks, wanting me to finish my sentence.

"I don't even know. I feel like an asshole if I call him a name."

"I'm not sure he'd care, TBH."

"What the hell is TBH?" Uri asks with a yawn.

"Fuckin', Christina…" Will groans with his head in his hands. At least, he's open with his feelings—the dude's heartbroken.

"And… _why…_ wouldn't he care if I called him a name? I mean, granted, he has thick skin…but your response has intrigued me, my friend."

"Look…" Will leans forward onto his forearms. "I see the guy every day. It's like Back to the Future, time hop central—ya know, like he went back to the past, erased the last several months, and now—"

"We know what Back to the Future is, William," I interrupt.

"Oh, yeah, sorry… Anyway, he's been uber professional at work, again. For a while there, it was cool…watching him be human. But now, it's like he's dedicating his life to being the best partner he can be. And this time…he's my boss!"

"Wasn't he your boss before?" Uri asks.

"Yeah…but now he's like me paycheck-signing-I-can-fire-you boss. Way less fun! So, please, God, someone tell me what's going on with him!"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I knock loudly on Four's door. There's no need. The dude at the desk already rang me up, but I thought it would be funny. So I knock again, even louder._

 _"Four! Ya home?! Hey, Four! Four! Hey, man! Ya home—"_

 _The door swings open and he walks away shaking his head. "Door was unlocked, idiot."_

 _"I know."_

 _"What's up?" he calls over his shoulder, heading back into his room._

 _"What's up?" I mumble, following him into his room. "You know what the hell is up! Got the low down from Shauna."_

 _That's not entirely true—all I know is he made her open the gym, where he commenced in murdering the bags until Shauna kicked him out when the first member walked in at 6:00. All I really got from her last night was a very tired, "Talk to your friend. He's a hot mess," before she collapsed face first onto the bed, passed out from being at the gym for sixteen hours._

 _"Okay," he shrugs, making his damned bed as if I'm not even here._

 _"What happened?" I ask, crossing my arms. What I'd rather say is, "What the fuck did you do now?"_

 _"Tris broke up with me."_

 _I close my eyes, really hoping I didn't just hear that and also, really hoping I was imagining that tone of I-don't-give-a-fuck in his voice. "Why?" I ask calmly in near whisper._

 _He fluffs all the pillows as if he works in a damned hotel before he continues. "Short version?"_

 _"Please."_

 _"Well…" He walks over and stands…really close to me—as in, just about in my face. "Let's see…as it turns out, she was phasing me out…high school style. Oh, yeah, and I'm a shitty drunk; we think the worst of each other just because she misinterpreted one damned conversation; she equates me to my father; she thinks I don't give a shit about my mother; I need anger management and therapy. But because she happened to be the one to mention it, it wouldn't count if I went. What else? Oh, I was told I need space, and that nothing I've done or said to her has been authentic. Apparently, I've been a walking talking fountain of internet searches, nothing more nothing less; finding out that she was not…raped…" This is the first time he pauses to take a breath. A really fucked up look crosses his face. I can't even describe it. "…um, was bad news…and she has a hatred for definitions. So, she said she's done with me and I wished her good fuckin' luck with life."_

 _"Well…shit." I, honest to the Good Lord, have nothing to say to that story. But, I think I'm missing a good 10%._

 _"Yep." He passes by me and grabs jeans out of his drawer while I draw at about 100 straws, not knowing what to say, and trying to hold in my own emotions on the subject._

 _"Yo! We match!" I joke, pulling down my jeans about an inch, exposing the same pattern of boxers we're wearing. "Although, these were yours to begin with… Ya want 'em back…?" I go to pull them down as a joke, but he doesn't find it funny._

 _"Nope. Got new ones."_

 _"Riiight… So, hey, uh… I feel like we should talk more or something. I fucked up big time the last time you guys broke up. So, maybe this is where I make it up to you."_

 _"Mmmmno. No, it isn't." He shakes his head, passing me again and putting his belt on._

 _"Well, uh… We should do something today! I mean—shit, what about my wedding!" I interrupt myself and then I want to immediately smack myself. "I mean, damn, this is not about me!" I follow him into the kitchen ready to apologize, but I catch him staring at an open drawer. There are about twenty protein bars, organized by color…and Oh, I gotta make a joke about this one! "Man, only a douche alphabetizes their protein bars!"_

 _He starts laughing. Success! But…wait, this is not the Zeke-said-something-awesome laugh. This is like some male version of Maleficent thing._

 _"Well…fuckin' played," he says to the bars._

 _I lean my head in, parallel to his. "Are you…uh…mad at them? Or me?" I suddenly realize I'm at a bit of a low. "Are these of limits?" I reach in to grab one, of course, waiting politely for confirmation._

 _"Nope." He suddenly turns with, still, no explanation…whatsoever. "Grab me one will ya? Let's get the fuck out of here!"_

 _"Really? We're not…? What are we doing? You really want to hang out with me today?" I ask so damned confused as he comes out of his room with his shoes._

 _"I really do. I really, really do."_

* * *

"Dunno…exactly what happened, but…my assessment—he's pissed. And guys…I like Tris, but, he was pulling out all the stops for her. And this is how she treats him?"

I look between the two and both of them are concentrating on their beer bottle labels.

"Well, on a positive note, last Sunday, he and I had probably the best time we've had since the last Cubs game we went to. He was ridiculously fun to hang out with!" _But I knew that shit wouldn't last long._

"That day was not cool man, not cool," Uriah starts. "Spent half the time trying to get over Four's ninja mind games, and then your fiancée had my new girlfriend convinced that I went to a strip club!"

"Do you blame her? You have honest to God _made_ Four and I go into strip clubs before—What was that one called? Lula's Love Lounge?"

"Oh, yeah, I had to try… _real_ hard to get you in there!" he defends sarcastically. "I believe a quick look and a shoulder shrug between you two and that was it. Fuck, it wasn't even worth it—watching Four's disinterested ass get free lap dances while I got charged double."

"Were you dating Shauna when you did that?" Will asks as if it's crazy. And I must admit, my lady is one of a kind.

"Yeah, but, she doesn't care. She knows I think she's a goddess and that all those places do is reinforce how much I love my woman." I shrug raising up my bottle to the server who is not paying us any more attention.

"How…does a strip club…achieve that?"

"Well, William, here's the thing." I lean forward because I'm about to say something profound that I have thought long and hard about. "When I see those girls, I mean, some of them are hot, but, my standards changed of what 'hot' actually was…once I met Shauna. She's it for me. Damn, she bends over in front of the TV and it's equally as hot a stripper spreadin' her legs on a pole. Not judging the exotic dancing profession, by the way."

I look to my brother who is concentrating really hard, obviously trying to process this. Will just nods his head and keeps on playin' with the label on his beer bottle.

"How are you doin'?" I ask, even though I already know. He's much more vocal than Four.

"Put it this way, Four seems to be doing a lot better than me."

"Is that our cue to not talk about it?" I ask.

"Yep."

"So, how is Christina?" Uri asks…like an idiot.

Wills sighs and raises his bottle to try to get the servers attention like I did. _No dice._ "She called me to tell me she got settled, I told her to call Tris because apparently the break-up did not go well…and that is…it. Now, seeing as you didn't get the memo the first time, I'm not up to talking about it right now."

"So you're pissed?" Uriah asks. _Jesus, Uri…_

"Yep."

"'Least you're in good company. Like I said, pretty sure Four's pissed. I think that's why it's easier this time. Uri, what do you think about Four?" I kick him under the table so he knows to stop grilling Will.

All the little shit does is shrug, like he has no opinion whatsoever.

"Ya know. You're so busy worrying about Four. Have you thought about Tris? Because last time I checked, she was your friend too," Will points out more defensively than he usually is.

"Yeah, but Four's my brother. Brother trumps lady friend. Right, Uri?"

Again…the Uriah shoulder shrug.

"Dude! What's with all the…" I start movin' my shoulders up and down like I don't give a shit about anything—mimicking, Uriah.

"Tris is Marlene's friend, so…I have to hear about it. She doesn't work at Hangars anymore; she doesn't go to The Studio; she changed her number. Marlene is worried. So, that's where I'm at." Uriah lifts his beer to the now-completely-indifferent server.

"Yeah," I sigh, remembering Shauna's look when she saw the note on her desk about Tris. "Tris canceled her membership at Dauntless. Shauna's worried too. Especially because she's in our wedding—"

"Fuck! I'M worried!" Will shouts…if Will was capable of shouting. "She moved out of their apartment. Like no furniture, no sign of her!... But I'm an asshole. If I were a better friend, I would just call Christina."

"So, what do we do?!" I finally ask as the server sets the bill down on our table and walks away.

"No idea," Will answers.

"I'm out." _Typical Uriah._

"Well, I know _I_ got nothin'."

I look down at the check to see a nice note: ( _Give your hot friend my number: 312-676-9836 –Ginnie)_

 _Yeah, let's talk about what I will not be doing!_

I'm walking, or more like trotting down Halsted St…or up Halsted Street, I suppose, seeing as I'm heading north—north on North Halsted. _That…is…fucked up. Or maybe I'm a little fucked up?_ Either way, I now have my celly in hand, thanks to a very nice male bartender who put it behind the bar when I blatantly left it on the table. He was definitely hitting on me. My suspicions were confirmed when he programed his number into my phone right in front of my face. I told him I am a heterosexual virile male, but if I were gay—he'd be at the top of my list. I played it off well, and thank my lucky lucky stars that Will picked up on none of it! So, now five messages from my beautiful fiancée later…and I am on my way home—

"What...the…hell…?" I blink my semi-drunk eyes several times to make sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing.

Coming out of whatever random bar about a half block in front of me is…Uriah with…Four? _Did I miss my invitation?_ I stop and watch Uri lean him up against a cab, bracing him with his body weight and opening the door at the same time.

I remember Uriah leaving early, claiming he was meeting up with Marlene. And I don't think he and Four said two words to each other tonight. Even Will noticed. I get closer, but Uriah is definitely occupied with shoving Four into the cab. And seeing as I am an expert at getting people into the back of vehicles, plus, I want to know what the hell is going on, I walk quickly to their aid. But, before I can do anything, Uri has him in the back.

"Hey! Uri? What the hell?!"

He makes quicker than quick eye contact but gives me nothin' but a groan as he goes to get in. I can see Four already resting his head on the window.

"What are you—"

"Leave it alone," he says in a low voice that I swear I do _not_ recognize.

"I'm not gonna fuckin' leave it alone—"

"Yes…you will. I've got this."

I nod my head and back away at the certainty in my idiot brother's voice along with the eye contact. Then I watch the cab pull away.

* * *

 **Marcus's POV:  
**

I walk into the unkempt office, cash in hand, not at all appreciating the tone of voice I was presented with by the Good Fake Doctor DuBois. He's frantically throwing things into plastic bags, but immediately notices my presence and stands.

"You didn't tell me the whole story," he all but growls. "This went beyond 'briefly abused by an ex-boyfriend years ago," as you so informed."

"Unnecessary details. You had one job...and..." I toss the envelope full of cash onto his desk. "...I'm paying you heftily."

He glares at the envelope as if angry at it.

"Did you do your _one_ job?"

He laughs and runs his hands through his hair. "You made me take away her... _support!_ She was sexually assaulted! Attacked! I thought I was just planting simple ideas in a girl's head who was obsessed with your son!"

"And did you do that?" I ask blandly, not wanting to engage with this flippant fruitbag.

"Oh, boy, did I," he laughs in shame. "I took his words, twisted them and handed them right back to her! But, all I saw was pain on her face, so I may as well have been twisting a damned knife rather than his words!"

"Good!" I quip. "Excellent knowing you! Safe travels...as I can see you're leaving."

He looks down at the envelope in guilt and I can't help but enjoy the moment. _I just love weak individuals._

* * *

 **Thank you with the utmost sincerity for reading!**


	23. Reflections Pt 1

**Chapter 23 - Reflections**

* * *

 **Uriah's POV:**

"All right, Katie. Five knee-ups," I order, staring at her and giving her absolutely no other choice.

"What? I can barely do two—"

"Ten knee-ups," I add, as a small form of punishment, basically, telling her to suck it up.

"Are you ever going to cut me a break?"

I step back and look her up and down—Katie is 36 and _was_ pushing 215; hadn't worked out a day in her life when we started. Now, she's 160, according to her latest 'update,' and still going strong. I've told her a thousand times to stay off the damned scale. She's in the best shape of her life. But _I_ need to keep pushing her…not her scale.

"No." I point right at her face. "And you don't want me to. When we started you couldn't even do one leg lift. Now look at you. You've got a ten-minute mile, and you can plank and wall sit for three minutes straight. Did you ever think you could do 25 burpees with full tri-cep push-ups?"

"No. But I'm still 160.7—"

"I don't care about your weight. Now… _twelve_ …knee-ups."

If she were a tiger, she'd growl at me. But, I ignore her, even though, I'm scared of women. Raising the bar enough so she can dangle without her toes touching the floor, I gesture for her to hop up. She starts her knee-ups…hardcore. _Good. She's pissed._

I hear my brother laughing across the gym and I turn my back to him, not wanting another damned interrogation. If he really wants answers, he better man up and talk to Four. I know Zeke's all worried because of the way he acted the last time, and he fuckin' should be, but, at the same time, he needs to get over it—if that makes any sense. _Makes sense to me! Makes sense to my girl!_

"Fuck you, Uriah…mmm… _ten._ Fuck you, Uriah…mmm… _eleven._ Double fuck you, Uriah…mmm…twelve!" Katie lets go, landing on her feet then her knees like a drama queen "Ha! Did it, asshole!"

I can't help but laugh at my clients when they pretend they hate me. _No one hates me! It's impossible! I'm far too loveable!_

"Are you _ever_ gonna cut me a break?" I ask, mimicking her hi-pitched voice, bending down and even gesturing like her—a complete over-exaggeration, of course. "Go easy on me, Uriah! I'm sooo out of shape!"

"You're obnoxious," Katie mutters while giving me a hi-five and standing. "Are we done? I'm meeting my hubster for a private yoga session."

"Seriously?" I ask because that's just fucked up—

"When the neutral mind is strong and healthy, all experiences become blessings—the ebb and flow of life, now unfazing," George cuts in as he floats by us. "It's also excellent for the libido," he adds looking over his shoulder at… _ME?_

"Does he live in the walls?"

"I think so. Hey! I saw that look! I have an excellent libido, George! Top fuckin' notch—"

"Uriah Pedrad!" Shauna sticks her head out of her office. "Don't yell across my gym about your sexy time skills! Or lack thereof!"

"Does she hear herself?" Katie asks as I grind my teeth at my future sissy- _in-law_ …stressing the in-law part, right now.

"No. And just so you know, I _do_ have quite the skill set—"

"Don't care," Katie states walking away. "Who's married with a great sex life? This gal!" she walks backward pointing her thumbs at herself. "See ya, Thursday!"

My face is red because I'm well aware that I say the most unnecessary, dumb, shit—like just now, when I insisted on telling my _client_ about my outstanding sex drive.

I pick up the bands and watch Katie meet up with her husband. He looks like he's in his mid-thirties, losing some hair, bit of a beer gut. But the way they greet each other—an ass grab from him and a kiss from her, ignoring the fact that he has a handful of butt cheeks. _You can tell they're in love. Married love. Am I in 'married love' with Marlene?_

I picture her long legs as she dances, the way she swerves her hips, her perfect curves, and an ass that I just want to bite every time I'm near it. And boy does she know it. _The things she does to me… Shit, the things I do to her!_ _Nope. Not married love!_

"Little man, what the _hell_ is going through your mind?"

The hard, hard, _hard_ clap of Zeke's hand on my shoulder, shocks the shit out of me. "Nothin'! And that _hurt_ , you fuckin' idiot box."

"Didn't look like 'nothin'. You had the Pedrad Pose goin' on."

I wrap the bands up and head to the training room, knowing he's going to follow me. "Don't care what it looked like. And what the hell is the Pedrad Pose?"

"The one where you're puffing out your chest because you're thinking about the effect your masculinity has on your lady. I know you, little man…or, I know _me_ …and you had my face on."

I roll my eyes, but silently wonder if I looked like half as much of an asshole as Zeke does most of the time.

"You still not talking to me?" he asks.

"Since when was I _not_ talking to you?"

"Since last Tuesday? Four hangin' on you in the street? Ring a bell, dingleberry?"

I smack his hand away and look toward the gym as he tries to mess with my hair. "Don't call me dingleberry in front of my clients!" I grit out, throwing the bands into the corner.

"They are…all aware of your dingleberry status—"

"Fuck off."

"Seriously, Uri." He puts his hand on my chest, looking at me all serious. "Where the hell have you been almost every night? You even ditched dinner at Mom's last weekend!"

I groan as he continues blabbing.

"She blamed it on Marlene, of course. But, I think she still wants to roast your ass on a spit. In fact, how is your ass still attached to your body?" He leans over grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking it up.

"Let go! This is a new…shirt! _And…_ I'm a grown man…" I look over my shoulder. "…who doesn't need to check in with his mama," I whisper.

"Why…are you whispering?"

"Because I'm pretty sure she can hear me."

"Got it, got it," he sighs understanding. "Well, I'm supposed to tell you—Ma went back to the outlet mall to get you those new dri-fit socks. She knows how much you think the black ones look 'way-more-awesome' on you."

"Finally! An explanation! I didn't want to be a dick and hound her about it, but I'm runnin' low, ya know?" I sigh, thinking about how great those socks are going to feel on my feet.

"Oh, I _definitely_ know. Yeah, uh, and the cell phone bill just came in—you owe her for that. What else is there?" He taps the side of his face as I wait for him to move on because I don't have time for this shit. " _And_ the car insurance bill comes next month. So, ya know…be prepared," he warns.

"Yeah, yeah…" I trail off thinking about my lack of budgeting ever since I started dating Marlene. I make an okay living…but pretty soon Obama's gonna kick me off Mom's health insurance—"

A swift crack over my head makes me retaliate immediately, jabbing my brother in the shoulder. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Damn! You don't have to punch me that hard!" He grabs my shirt as if he's going to punch me back—he won't. Plus, we're too even of a match now. "Look, I was just giving you several stark, stark, stark reminders of why you do, _indeed_ , need to check in with your mama. Get your name off her bills, and we'll talk, then, idiot!"

"Hey!" I yell, now catching on that he was being a sarcastic dick. "Do you know how much money I save? I call it being frugal! We have a family phone plan! Do you know what my car insurance would be?! I'm a 23-year-old dude! And you can _not_ talk to me about insurance. You work for the state! I _pay_ your damned insurance! You could have gender reassociation surgery, or whatever the hell it's called, and it would be covered! In fact, I think Shauna might just be marrying you for your insurance," I state, crossing my arms.

"It was a deciding factor!"

I clap my hands, laughing at my sis-in-law's loud voice down the hall. She has now redeemed herself.

"Fuck you…and mmm mmm," he grunts, pointing to Shauna's office.

I use this as my exit until my arm is pulled back in Zeke's version of a death grip. _I should pop a knuckle out of his socket like I did in the fourth grade._

"Bro, all joking aside. What's going on with you guys?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _Growling at nobody, probably looking like I see dead people the way I'm carrying on, I walk down Clark not even knowing where to go. Honestly, I just needed some damned air after watching Marlene's show._

 _"Show. That word has taken on a whole new meaning," I say to myself._

 _When I first met Marlene, watching her dance was the hottest thing I'd ever seen…and I've seen girls dance before...like, dance dance. But, at the time, we weren't dating, so my eyes were 100% glued to her, not giving a shit if other guys were checking her out or not. I mean, I knew Four totally was. How could any man not drool when they watch my girl dance? But at the time, I thought it was cool that another guy was checking out the girl I knew was gonna be mine. But…what the…fuck…do I do…now? Because at this moment, in this current situation, as it turns out, I DO give a shit. She's in the Urban Exhibitors Dance Company as a principal dancer. This is not just any ole' dance place…nope, nope, and nope. My woman may as well be having sex on stage…with a dude who is not me…in front of a crowd. Thank God for clothes._

 _I chuckle to myself, as an image comes up—Four's face when he saw Tris on stage with Kevin. Hell hath no fury like Four watching Tris on stage! Oh, man! And they weren't even together! And Kevin is gay!_

 _My phone buzzes in my pocket—coincidentally, a text from Four._

 ** _(11:55) Four:_** _This is Kirsten. I can't get a hold of Zeke. Four is at Dick's Mill. Come get him before I leave his drunk ass._

 _I stop in my tracks. "Kirsten? Who the fuck is…?" Oh…yeeeeaaaahhhh. Cute teacher/bartender who was into Four—"Shit, shit, shit!" I start at a quick jog heading south on Clark. Who the hell knows what I'm going to find. "Shit, two times!" I stop in my tracks…again…and text Four's phone._

 ** _(11:56) Uriah:_** _Where the hell is Dick's Mill?_

 ** _(11:56) Four:_** _River West, on West Huron._

 _"Mother…fucker," I groan aloud, heading to the street to flag a cab._

* * *

 _20 minutes later, $20 later, and a very pissed off Uriah later, I arrive. "Why the hell is he in River West?"_

 _The cabbie had no clue which bar I was talking about, so I just start walking—West Huron not being that long of a street. This neighborhood is kind of a sub-neighborhood. It's small, and there aren't good bars—a few uppity, touristy ones, but even those are few and far between. Also, if he's by himself, he likes a place off the beaten path—dive bars. But he's NOT by himself. Tell me he is not that stupid!_

 _"What the hell, there is nothing—_

 _"Uriah?"_

 _"Huh?" I look right, left and spin in a circle._

 _"Down here."_

 _Squinting my eyes, I look down the street—_

 _"No, I'm literally down here."_

 _Walking forward a few steps, I see Kirsten sticking her head out of some wrought iron bars. I stop when she comes into full view and see her standing half-down a flight of stairs. She huffs out a breath and walks down to where there is definitely a bar with nothing but a License Plate hanging over the door—Richard's Mill House. This place is genius—no one would go looking for it unless they were a local._

 _Kirsten stops half-way down and points through the window to Four, who is lying on his arm, swishing whatever is in his glass around and around._

 _"Took you long enough." She looks me straight in the eyes. "Do you even remember me?"_

 _"I was in Wrigleyville. And, yes, I remember you. And I've heard about…you…too..." I trail off remembering her and Four's almost hook-up. "But…good things! Only…good things!"_

 _She rolls her eyes at my extreme awkwardness before looking at me like I'm a weirdo. "Wait, why were you in Wrigleyville? The Cubs didn't play today."_

 _"I…uh…" I scratch my neck and pretend so be super interested in a piece of broken cement on the stairs. "…live in…Wrigleyville." I close my eyes, expecting her long pause, and preparing myself for the embarrassment._

 _"Are you sure?" she finally asks. "People who live in Wrigleyville don't think Chicago exists outside of Wrigleyville. Wait…" She leans in, talking softly. "Did you know this is Elsewhere?"_

 _"What?" I look up and down the street. This is definitely River West. "You can't just go and make up neighborhoods—"_

 _"Oy vey, never mind." She waves me off and looks down at Four again while I start down the stairs. "But I am curious, how did you find your way?" she asks sarcastically._

 _"Very funny," I sigh, giving in to the classic neighborhood banter. "Where do you live?"_

 _"Pilsen," she proudly answers while I gather my ammo about her beloved village._

 _"Tryin' to make a statement? Unless…Wait, are you a starving artist? No, no, no—You're the 'original' hipster! As in, the 'real deal'—too legit for Bucktown and Wicker Park? Those fakers!" I joke, nudging her in the side as I pass which she returns with a hip check._

 _"Now, now, now...don't get all pissy just because I didn't peg you for the type to crush beer cans on your head. Take it as a compliment. By the way, do you sleep with your shotski?"_

 _"Do you pay your Uber driver in carne asada?" I ask, chuckling over my shoulder._

 _"It's been known to happen."_

 _We both laugh as I hold the door open for her—something Four taught me years ago._

 _"Hey, I never knew you were funny! Four always made it sound like you were annoying—ugh…sorry. I'm too blunt for my own good."_

 _I shrug because none of this is brand new information. I've spent most of my life purposely annoying Four because it's fuckin' hilarious. "Well, Four never really talked much about you, so—wow..." I pause realizing how that just sounded. "I'll take your sorry and raise you two."_

 _"Ha! It's fine," she answers seemingly genuine. Phew. "I never really talked about him much either. Honestly, he's not entirely interesting—just hot, very hot." She stares at him as he throws back the rest of his drink and runs his hands down his face._

 _I nod my head because, damn, he is one handsome dude…even when he's not at his best. Then the other part of her comment comes to me—"…he's not entirely interesting."_

 _"Then you didn't get to know him very well," I answer defensively._

 _"Yep! If only he would have let me. Ya gonna get him out of here?"_

 _"Yeah. But I'll probably sit with him for a while."_

 _"Have fun with that. He's not making much sense right now. But, maybe if you do a keg stand it'll wake him up?" she suggests, so so proud of her joke._

 _"Enough already. Look, the rent is cheap. I realize Wrigleyville could very well be the most retarded place to live in the city—"_

 _"Retarded? Really?" she interrupts looking at me like I said something offensive. What did I…?_

 _"Oh, shit! Sorry! Do you have, like, a retarded brother or something? Every time I say retarded, someone always knows someone who's retarded and then I feel like an ass—"_

 _"You are an ass…if you use the word retarded. And, no, I don't have a 'brother with developmental disabilities—'"_

 _"What are those?"_

 _"I…am…a…teacher…and, apparently, it is up to me to educate the masses on acceptable vernacular."_

 _"What the hell is a vernacular?"_

 _"God, help me," she groans. "Just remove that word from your vocabulary, and I may just forgive you for living in Wrigleyville."_

 _"Retarded is a bad word?"_

 _"It's a derogatory term referring to a person…person being the operative word here, with developmental disabilities." Still, don't know what those are…_

 _"Learn somethin' new every day," I sigh, wondering why no one ever told me this about this whole ver-can-ular thing._

 _"Yes, Uriah, welcome to the 21_ _st_ _century. Well, I'm out! Catch ya on the flipside—"_

 _"Wait." I pull on her arm before she leaves. "Did he…call you?" Please, say no…_

 _"Ha! Mmmmm…no. I came here for drinks after my shift was over and—"_

 _"You came here when you were already at a perfectly lovely bar?" I ask because O'Reilly's is awesome._

 _"Yep. Anyway, I bartend in the West Loop now. I learned not to shit where I work."_

 _"What does that even mean?" I ask, trying to decode that level of nonsense._

 _"Never mind. So, when I saw the man who never bothered to return my texts after inviting me back to his place and then leaving me with the female version of blue balls—"_

 _"That's…um….a visual—"_

 _"I was going to give him a piece of my mind…but…" She tips her head sideways and looks down the bar at Four._

 _"He was a son-of-a-bitch, so you figured 'why bother?'"_

 _"No," she chuckles. "The opposite, actually. I couldn't even get a word in. He saw me and did that smirky thing he does, so, I briefly melted and pulled up a stool. Then he asked if I was 'really there' or is he just 'drunk enough where he's imagining people.'"_

 _"Hmm."_

 _"He seemed legitimately disappointed when I told him he wasn't imagining me which is slightly strange seeing as….yeeeeaaahhhh, people don't usually like to see imaginary people. However, he then gave me the most eloquent and appropriate apology any man has ever given me."_

 _"For real?"_

 _"Yeah," she says suddenly losing her light personality. "He said it was disrespectful of him to bring me back to his place when his motives were less than genuine."_

 _"At first, I was all like, 'It takes two to tango so don't trouble yourself, pal.' But he friggin' kept talking! Something like—I'm very pretty, funny, nice, smart, with a great body, and excellent breasts—"_

 _"Oh, no—"_

 _"—and I always smell good, relatively speaking. Oh, and he actually said 'relatively speaking.'"_

 _I laugh uncomfortably, unable to explain away Four's ridiculosity._

 _"What else?... Ah, yes. He feels something is inherently wrong with him for not being interested because on paper I am the perfect woman."_

 _I look over at her and laugh because she's totally blushing._

 _"Shut up!" She smacks my arm and then pinches it. "He never said nice things when we were sorta-dating, so I'll take whatever I can get. Anyway, I knew what he was really saying."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"That I'm not perfect…for him."_

 _"Hmm. Perceptive," I nod with a grin._

 _"He's…sad. Just…like, fuckin' sad. So…yeah, I…can't be mad at a guy when they're in that state."_

 _"Aaaaand…why's he sad?" I ask as I, myself, feel some cringe-worthiness coming on now that everything is adding up._

 _"His girlfriend, same chick as before…broke up with him."_

 _"Fuck!" I yell through a clenched jaw. "Not this again—"_

 _"Uri? What…the hell?!" Four is staring at me as if I'm the last person on the planet he wants to see. Then shaking his head, he turns and starts talking to his glass. "What're you…doing here?"_

 _"Taking you home," I answer strongly, not wanting him to sense weakness._

 _"I know where I live," he mutters._

 _"But do you know where you are?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Bye, guys," Kirsten chimes in as she passes by Four's barstool._

 _"Hey! C'mere, c'mere." He waves her back over as she slowly retraces her steps walking backward. He gives her a one-armed side hug which is really really awkward because she's facing the opposite direction of him._

 _"Hey, did I text you to…meet me here?" he asks, trying to be quiet…and failing._

 _"No."_

 _"Thank God," he groans dropping his arm. "Don't need that shit on my conscience. Got enough…up here. No more regrets allowed! Uri…make me a sign—NO…REGRETS…ALLOWED."_

 _"And that's my cue," Kirsten adds smacking his face not at all lightly. "Bye, Wrigley!"_

 _"See ya," I chuckle as I pull out the stool next to Four._

 _"Why'd…she do that?" he asks rubbing his face._

 _"You were insulting her."_

 _"No, I wasn't. Oh, God…why was she here? Did I…test, text…her?" he asks. From the look in his eyes, I doubt he even remembers talking to her._

 _"No, dude."_

 _"Good. No more…women allowed…up here." He puts his head in his hands and leans on the bar. "One's too many. That's my decision. Uri…make me a sign." He sits up suddenly, his hair standing on end. "NO…MORE…WOMEN…ALLOWED."_

 _The bartender comes over with a wide-eyed look and a bottle of whiskey, filling Four's glass. "This guy has a liver of steel. What can I getcha?"_

 _"Heineken, please," I answer nodding my head._

 _"Lemme guess. You're 'spectin' me to…buy your drink s'all night."_

 _"Yep. But, first—what the hell happened?"_

 _"The…fuckin'… rumor train hasn't started, yet? Choo…chooooooo…"_

 _"Not yet."_

 _I wait for him to answer, but he's not in any hurry. So, I pull out my phone to see if Marlene has posted anything on Instagram about her show. I hope not. That last picture was…so not cool—_

 _"She's the smart one. Turns out, I'm the idiot." He swishes the alcohol in his glass that is shockingly low, all of a sudden._

 _"You're not an idiot," I sigh. "I mean, I don't exactly know what happened, but, I'm sure it'll be—"_

 _"Shut up," he deadpans. "Just…shut up. I don't want pep talks. I don't want anything…from anyone." He tosses back the rest of his drink, raising his chin to the bartender for a refill._

 _"So, drinking is the answer?"_

 _"Drinking…is…the answer, right now."_

 _"I need you to explain that."_

 _He frowns, shaking his head. "No, you don't."_

 _And those are the last words he gave me…all night._

* * *

" _'Us guys?'_ There is nothing going on with _us_. But, Jesus, have your balls _not_ dropped, yet? Ask…Four. It's not like you don't see him."

"Let me explain how all that shit goes down. We box every other day and teach _one_ self-defense class a week together. While we're in the ring, he answers all questions as if he's a robot and then after class he bolts. I can even give you some classic examples— ' _Hiya, Four! Where'd you and Uri go the other night?'_ " he begins making himself sound all happy-go-lucky. " _'Out,'_ " he replies in a pretty damned good Four voice. _'Oh, really? And where was my phone call?'_ " Now he's even changing angles, trying to act all loose for himself and stiff as a board for Four. " _'It didn't exist.' 'Oh, okee dokee. So, Four, what have you been doing most nights?' 'Depends on the night—'_ "

"Okay, enough, man. I get it."

"And…" he continues while I grab a clean towel. "…if I push too hard, he makes up some excuse to leave."

"That's his _prerogative_ I guess."

"Prerogative? Look at you usin' your big boy words!" Zeke grabs the towel, snapping it at me.

"Gimme that! And…yeah, Bobby Brown's made up word—real 'big boy.'" I shake my head at his low standards.

"Bobby Brown did _not_ make up that word," he says, but I can tell he's questioning it himself.

"Yes, he did."

Zeke's eyes look up to the ceiling; he does that shit when he's thinking hard. "Are you sure?"

"Why don't you ever believe me? Yes, I'm sure! Remember how ticked Dad was when Britney Spears stole it?"

"Okay, okay… I think I _do_ remember. Excellent memorial skills, little brother—"

"Did Hana drop you two on your head when you were babies?" Shauna interrupts, leaning on the door. "Don't answer that. Babe, I'm heading over to Lynn's—"

"You text me _immediately_ when you get there…" he interrupts pointing at her. "…you text me when you're _leaving_ and—"

"Yeah, yeah, and I'll text you when I _get back_. Got it, got it." She rolls her eyes and kisses him on the cheek. "Your class is almost ready."

I put my lips out for a kiss as she passes, but I get a not-so-light smack to the face instead.

"Well," I put my hands up to back out of the room. "…this has been fun, but—"

"Uri? Give me five more minutes."

"Two."

"Fine. Look, I know this man. I _have_ to keep things lite with him because he shuts down when things get heavy. So, I try to sneak my digs in very, very carefully but it takes finesse and patience, and I have none of that! Throw me a damned bone! Uri, please—"

"I've been helping him, okay?!"

"Helping…him…how?"

"He drinks…every night. So, I just make sure he gets home. It's not an invite-only thing…because trust me, I'm _never_ invited! He does _not_ want me there."

"Then how do you find him?"

"Kirsten—"

"What the hell is up with that chick?!"

"Relax! She saw him at a bar; he was pretty wrecked, so she texted me from his phone. His nasty whiskey tolerance is way-way up which means he's been hitting it hard for a while now—makin' it a habit. So, I swiped his phone, turned off his app notifications and 'made sure' he shares his location with me on Facebook."

"But…he's never on Facebook."

"Exactly, you retard—Shit! I mean, you…personal with disabilitied things…" I trail off because I think I got that all wrong.

"I have no idea what you just said, but good call with the Facebook thing. Sometimes I think you may just have a brain attached to your head."

I slump my shoulders like a kid. I can't help it—It drives me nuts that my closest friends and family think I'm stupid.

"Aw, come on, Uri!" His annoying arm wraps around my shoulder attempting to shake me. "I'm your brother! That was a brother thing to say!"

"Whatever." I look out toward the gym, pretending that shit doesn't bother me.

"Ya know, maybe you should leave him be," Zeke suggests.

I shrug out of his grip and walk out toward the ring, with him, unfortunately, trailing behind me.

"This is how he deals with shit, and he always seems to come out in the end. He _will_ move on from her—"

"Maybe it's not just about Tris, Zeke? Did you ever think of that?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _For the fourth night in a row, I show up to check on Four—this time, some place on Division called Nuggets. So far, each night I've just been sliding into a random booth or table, out of sight, but, I think he knows I'm there. Then I'll step in and take over when he stumbles off the barstool, or if I see the bartender getting pissed. But tonight, I'm taking my chances. I slowly, very slowly, as if I'm approaching a sleeping lion, sit on the barstool next to him, ignoring the fact that I'm sticking to the seat._ Nasty.

 _"Figured out…how you find me," he mumbles, not even looking at me._

 _"Does that mean you finally checked Facebook? Because you've been tagged in about a million pictures by now," I answer trying to keep things light._

 _"Something was amiss when I suddenly wasn't getting_ …any… _notifications from TD Ameritrade and Etrade Mobile…particularly when Natural Gas prices spiked."_

 _"TD Ameritrade? Is that a new Fantasy league? And what does that have to do with gas?"_

 _"No…on both counts. Put it…this way. Could've made 'nough money to…buy you a car to drive off a bridge with."_

 _I can only assume he's talking about investments._ I think that's the right word _._ _I remember after he'd started at UIC, he was ticked at not getting enough hours with his part-time construction job. I don't even know how he could stand that shit in the first place—sweeping up sawdust, nails and picking up two-by-fours. He said he was 'learning' a lot, but, didn't sound like it to me. One day he came out of the basement all happy, for once—something about supplementizing or supplementificationing his income. Anyway, it was a bunch of numbers and scribbles and abbreviations. I don't know, all I know is somehow he put in $40.00, then lost it all and then some, but waited, and then was up more than that. I don't know, some number that was higher—_

 _"Yep. Suddenly…wow…I was 'sharing locations' with some_ douche… _who has a fuckin' pirate as a profile pic—Yer-eye-ah Pedrad."_

 _"Ha, ha, ha," I laugh at my cleverness. "Yeah…well, didn't mean to mess with your other tradery stuff. I was in a hurry."_

 _He swishes his drink and makes no further move to speak to me. I hate silence. The first night was awkward enough, me just playing Candy Crush my phone until last call. So, I decide speaking is in order._

 _"Why do you hang out at bars? If you're gonna drink until you can drink no more, why not just do it at home?"_

 _He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't want to die. And if I stay home, I'd drown in booze. This way…'least someone…" He tips his head toward the bartender. "..cuts me off. 'Cause the thing is…I_ feel _like I'd_ rather _die sometimes."_

 _I gulp at his words and my eyes widen without my permission. He must sense it._

 _"Don't get all…freaked out. I've had those thoughts…for many years. I'm not suicidal," he sighs taking a drink. "They're just fleeting moments."_

 _Memories suddenly hit me—memories of a place in my mind I used to visit quite often._

 _"I've had those moments."_

 _He nods his head because he's the one person who had a front row seat to that side of me. I wonder if that's why he hasn't kicked me to the curb, yet._

 _"'Learned years ago…to push those thoughts…way, way, way…down. 'Can thank your mom for that one."_

 _"Yeah." I know he confided in my mom...a lot—something I was never able to do._

 _The bartender shows up, giving me a flirty, bold, wink which I'm tempted to return because she's supremely hot. Curly black hair pulled up tight, brown eyes, milk chocolate skin. I have to control myself from checking out her ass._

 _"Now this is how I like 'em—tall, black and handsome."_

 _"Uh, ha, yeah, well, me too—wait, I mean—"_

 _"He'll have a Heineken," Four interrupts my foolishness._

 _"You got it." She walks away, and my eyes wander to her—_

 _"Ow!" I feel a rough jab to my ribcage, and I just about retaliate until I see a look in Four's eyes—his perfect eyebrows are squeezed tight and looks almost…pissed. "What? Don't get all crab ass because someone's not into you, for once!" I slap the bar and sit up taller and prouder._

 _"No," he answers looking at me…very seriously. "When I met…" He looks away and lifts his glass, finishing off his drink. "I couldn't even…look at another woman."_ Hmmm.

 _I check out all kinds of other women. Marlene still takes the cake, though. I take note of the fact that he didn't say Tris's name. "Felt guilty?"_

 _"No. Jus' didn't want to. She was…it. Well, was…it. Past…tense. Just…cherish whatcha got, man."_

 _"Did you just use the word 'cherish?'" I ask, laughing at his Hallmark lovey-doveyness. But, it does make me think_ —Do I cherish Marlene? I think so, yeah.

 _"I don't think about her," he mumbles, changing the subject, leaving me at a little bit of a loss._

 _"Hmm?"_

 _"She's put away on a shelf, locked in a safe, in my head…way in the back…all day."_

 _"Tris?"_

 _His quicker-than-quick nod gives me my answer._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Gotta function, ya know?" he says with a laugh. "And I don't_ wanna _think about her. 'Makes me miserable. But s' fuckin' unavoidable. I know this. So, I get drunk. Then, I get to think about her…but, 'least, I don't have to 'member it the next day."_

 _"Got it."_ _That actually makes sense. It's hella fucked up, but it makes sense._

 _"I gave up the first time. Towel in." He tosses an imaginary towel over the bar. "I mean, how many people were fuckin' with my life?"_

 _"Uh. I don't…know—"_

 _"Nita the whore, Jack fuckin' Kang, Marcus fuck him, Carlos, Joseph_ …Eric."

 _I'm trying to go along with this but I really only know, or know of,_ some _of those people._

 _"'Never slept; barely ate; jus' worked out, drank a lot, and spent every spare moment worryin' 'bout her—missing her, wondering if I…did the right thing. Maybe I shoulda…trusted her and told her everything."_

 _"What's everything—"_

 _"Hey, Tris! So, this guy—he's like a murderer…and the crazy thing is—he wants_ you _dead. Should we just, like…leave?"_

 _It takes me a second to pick up on his sarcasm. And another minute to become officially freaked out._

 _"Oh, yeah, and my father's kind of in the middle of this shit. FYI…you know nothin' 'bout him. But, he's…ah…totally corrupt, so there's that. Oh, and my father and your_ _ex-sociopath's father…are partners-in-shade. So…that's cool, right?"_

 _"Dude, I don't even know—"_

 _"Hey…babe, by the way, your ex-stark-ravin'-crazy-ass has been lookin' for you. So…just…go ahead and turn into a hermit—ya know, agoraphobia'll pro'lly suit you just fine—"_

 _"Agora-what?"_

 _"By the way… how_ do _you feel about Alaska?"_

 _At this point, I decide to just stop because I'm as lost as lost can be. The bartender hands me my beer. I decide to take Four's advice, so I make no eye contact_

 _"But…then I was, like…, 'fuck that…not…lettin'…her…go." He points his finger at each word, telling me the alcohol is definitely getting to him. "So I tried and tried and tried and tried. Research, research, research. Fuckin' obsessed. Try 'na find connections—and boy did I!"_

 _I sit still, trying to understand him. "Uh…you did?"_

 _"Hell, yeah!" He says louder than anyone's voice in this bar. "Turns out, my only memories of my mother are now_ …fucking _…tainted."_

 _I have almost no memories of his mom, so adding anything to that statement wouldn't do_ anyone _any good._

 _"But in the end, ya know…le's look on the bright side—got to spend the next four weeks fighting for what turned out to be a…one-sided relationship. Cheers, bro."_

 _I clink drinks with him, unsure if that's the right thing to do. "I don't know what to say, man." I can't exactly disagree with him. The only time I saw them together was at his rooftop pool, and he definitely seemed to be putting the time in…not her._

 _"I jus' wanted her back. It was selfish."_

 _I pull the label off my beer as we sit in silence. I'm not going to try to make him feel better because he'd see right through it._

 _"Anyway, 'never_ really _got her back. 'S funny 'cause, it's like I have a new pair of eyes—I've been…looking back at…everything. Renewed…vision." He sits back and crosses his arms, staring off like he's running conversations through his mind. "And I've come up…with the following…conclusion—this whole time…I was jus' pickin' and choosin' what I wanted to see because…I was so…_ bullshit _in love with her. What I din't pay attention to...at the time…was the way she looked at me…ooooooorrrrr…the way she_ _didn't look at me…like I look at her. 'N fact, she barely looked at me anymore."_

 _I grab a peanut out of the bowl thinking about how I would feel if Marlene wasn't interested in me…ya know, in the physical sense._ Impossible! Right? Shit, if Tris lost interest in Four…then—

 _"I figured that one out…'bout a week before we broke up. She was sitting on my lap…which was awesome…and she looked into my eyes…" He zones out, and I'm not sure if he's finished with that thought._

 _"Is there…more to that story—"_

 _"'Caught me off guard 'cause it wasn't until…that…very…moment that I realized she hadn't_ seen _me…in months."_

 _I close my eyes, not wanting to be a dick. But, I just don't understand it when he talks like this—_ What does he mean she hasn't seen him in months?

 _"But she stayed…. 'Cause she felt bad. But she was just…miserable. And ya know what? I don' want that for her_. I _can handle me being miserable—I'd be fine bein' miserable every day…if it meant I could have…her. But, that's not how shit works. She knows it. She's the smart one. I'm the idiot."_

 _"So…I take it, she broke it off?"_

 _"Said, she's done with me."_

 _I'm trying to keep a level head, but I kind of hate Tris right now. "Ouch."_

 _The hot bartender pours him more Jack, and I'm tempted to stop her, but he's an open book for some reason right now, and I don't want to fuck it up._

 _He laughs to himself again. "Took her 'bout an hour to…finally get the words out—words I_ never ever, ever, ever _coulda said. But she seemed to have waaaaaayyyyy fewer issues…with that. Fuck, Uri… I_ never… _would have_ never, never, never _been able to say, 'I'm done with you,'…_ ever never."

 _I clench my jaw in semi-rage, but then Marlene's voice rings in my ears—how worried she is about Tris because she has pretty much disappeared._

 _"I'm not trying to be a dick, but…is there more to this story?"_

 _"Fuck," he says under his breath. "I jus' wanted to help her move past_ …him _._ _She wasn't, she just wasn't…living…anymore. She was…existing. I din't wanna watch—I couldn't watch…anyone…just_ disintegrate… _again. I couldn't let it happen to…anyone else I loved. I jus'…couldn't."_

 _"Anyone else?"_ Who the hell else?

 _"'Least, now she knows." He shrugs, ignoring me._

 _"Knows what?"_

 _"Even though she doesn't know the…half of it."_

 _"Half of…what—"_

 _"Because it's all…up here. And I'm keepin' it." He points to his head. "She doesn't get to have it…ever. No matter what. She…doesn't get to know…things." He turns to look at me as if I'm supposed to say something. "Ya know?"_

 _"All I know is that she knows something. But she doesn't know everything and you won't tell her. Right?"_

 _"Yes! See…Uri…" He claps me on the back…hard…really hard. "You're a smart kid. Hey, by the way, knowledge is not power. Don' let anyone tell ya different. Knowledge…sucks dirty asshole."_

 _"Yuck."_

 _"Turns out,_ knowledge… _gives you nightmares." He lays on his arm spinning a peanut around on the bar top. "Really, really, bad ones. I hope…she's not havin' 'em anymore. Ya know, then it…would be worth it—knowing she's doin' better."_

 _"She broke your heart, but you still hope she's doing better?"_

 _"'S what used to get me through the night…after my Mom left—hoping that wherever she was…she's better. I was fucked," he grins lightly as if his feelings are meaningless. "But she wasn't…getting beaten anymore, so…'least, there was that."_

 _That's the second time he has brought up his mom. He never talks about her. "You don't talk about your ma. Why all the sudden?"_

 _"Didn't try hard enough with one; tried too hard with the other. They both left."_

 _If my memory serves me correct, Evelyn died of an accidental drug overdose._ So…what the hell? "Your Mom didn't leave you."

 _"Uri—"_

 _"My Dad_ —he _left us. Gave us a verbal suicide note, telling us he knew he had cancer but didn't go to the damned doctor and then decided_ against _treatment._ That _is a parent leaving. Four, your mom—she loved you, man. She did."_

 _"You have no fuckin' clue." He sits up quickly and runs his hands through his hair, making him look like Teen Wolf, especially when he growls a little. Then he starts…laughing—like, mad-laughing; the kind that makes you look over your shoulder. "Evelyn…killed…herself."_

 _"What? No—"_

 _"She had enough alcohol n' drugs…in her system to give a…water buffalo a coronary! And I received_ no _suicide note—verbal or otherwise."_

 _"Jesus, I had…no idea."_ And here I am…talking about my dad! Four never did that to me when I was having a tough time!

 _"Don't beat yourself up. You're one of two people...I've ever said that to. Fuck, I'm so mad at myself…" he trails off, leaving my mind reeling. "I should have known."_

 _"Should have known_ …what?"

 _"Those who fail to learn from history… are doomed to repeat it," he says talking into his glass._

I know this one! Who said it? Who said it? Oh, yeah! _I nod my head and take a slow sip of my beer. "William Churchfield—"_

 _"Winston Churchill."_

 _"Yep, him." I look up at the ceiling giving myself a mental face palm._

 _"Never wanted to think 'bout my mom—when she died, how she died, how it made me feel. Forgot about it. Made myself do it. Pushed it back. So…far…back that…I don't think I could have…even…accessed it. But…I sure as hell remember now!"_

 _"So, just reading between the lines here…but, sounds like you're blaming Tris?" I cringe realizing how that sounded like I was accusing him of something._

 _He stares off, flexing his jaw. I know he won't answer. But he's clearly—what's a good word? Resentful._

 _"I can't think of anything good…'bout her, right now. I jus'…can't. S'not true," he interrupts his own thoughts. "I got one thing."_

 _I almost miss the small smirk of a smile as he pauses._

 _"Her smile. That was always good."_

 _"Yeah," I agree. "She's got a great smile." It's actually pretty damned contagious when it comes out._

 _"They both did," he whispers._

 _I don't think he meant for me to hear that._

* * *

"Please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD… _ANSWER ME!"_

"What? Answer…huh?" I look into Zeke's freaky face, and try to figure out where the hell my head went.

"What do you mean, 'It's not about Tris?'" _Oh, yeah…that._

"Well, maybe it's not _just_ about her. Look, I'm not saying she doesn't have the starring role, but…there may be other things at play."

"What…" Zeke takes my arm and pulls me aside, lowering his voice. "…like…Marcus? Hey, did he tell you about all that nonsense? All the shit that went down when they weren't together—"

"Just stop, dude. I'm not talking to you about this." I make my 50th attempt to cross the gym.

"Why are you so hell bent on helping him by yourself?! What make you so _damned_ qualified?!"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I wake to lights that are way-too-bright, a bed that is way-too-hard and I'm all tangled up in…something._

 _"Relax."_

 _I immediately recognize the deep voice coming from my right, but I still don't know where I am. I blink, trying to clear the fog, and bring my hand up to my face to rub my eyes, but a feel a pinch around my wrist. I look down to see tubes attached._

 _"What the—"_

 _"That's an IV."_

 _Suddenly, my mind seems to work on overdrive as I make the most out of my vision, looking around now in complete panic—I'm in a hospital bed. And not the comfy kind like when I got my tonsils removed!_

 _Then pieces of what I can only assume is last night, start coming back—a warehouse, loud music, then everything just feeling so good, so so good, too good._

 _"Sit back."_

 _I do as I'm told, based solely on the tone of Four's voice—it's not commanding and condescending. It's even-toned and calculated._

 _"What happened?" I ask, just now realizing that my throat is burning._

 _"You ODed." His relaxed expression, how he's sitting back in the chair resting his face in his fingers shaped like an 'L', makes me think I heard him wrong. That's a damned casual display for a serious accusation._

 _But then the choking comes on, the burning inferno in my throat, a reminder of what I may have done._

 _"So, Uri…" Four runs his hand down his face and sighs heavily. "…let me fill you in about street drugs here in the U.S."_

 _"I don't_ need _to know_ …anything _—" The mass amount of dryness in my mouth is making it so friggin' painful to talk._

 _"The cocaine you've been recreationally snorting—"_

 _"I haven't been…ah…recreationally…doing...a damned—"_

 _"Don't deny it." His don't-you-dare-fucking-argue-with-me voice alerts me that he has information._

 _I swallow back the humiliation and pain and brace myself for what's to come._ _Can't be that bad, right? He sighs as if he's suddenly bored, and switches arms, leaning more toward me. A weird energy is coming from him. I usually wouldn't believe in that shit, but I swear to God it's there._

 _"What I'm telling you is the coke you've been using has, most likely, been like the Miller 64 of beers. You see, coke in the U.S. is almost always cut with a filler. It can be anything, really—anything from dishwasher detergent to baking powder to boric acid. That's assuming it isn't also_ laced—LACED!" _he roars, making some person in a light blue get-up trip and face plant in the hall. "You see, 'laced' means the chemical make-up has been fucked with."_

 _I try to clear my throat as he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes_. _Can I take this moment to do the same?_

 _"Now last night, I'm just guessing, but, you probably thought you could take the easier route. You wanted to try_ …crack. _Because you didn't have to snort it, maybe? It's a quicker high? Less expensive? Whatever your reason; you did it."_

 _"How do you know what the_ …hell… _I did last night—"_

"DON'T…" _he shouts as something crashes in the hall. "…interrupt me." He clears his throat and smiles nicely…way-way-way-nicely. "Now, let me tell you about crack—crack is like cocaine's red-neck uncle who no one wants to talk about. In fact..." He rests his elbows on his legs and leans in like he's going to share a secret. "…let me tell you about Uncle Jim Bob—"_

 _"I…ah…don't need to know about—"_

"YES, YOU DO!" _he yells making some little kid in the hall whine for his Mommy while I do the same in my head. "So, there were three brothers," he says suddenly freakishly calmly. "Stephen and Pierre, the older of the three, were very successful entrepreneurs. They founded an off-brand whiskey blend. And through trials and tribulations, successes and failures, they grew the business and took it to_ great _heights, selling top-shelf liquor from their distillery. It took years to perfect, but they were hard-working and knew it would pay off eventually. Then there's little Uncle Jim Bob." He makes a strumming noise that I think is supposed to be a banjo. "His brothers, feeling sorry for him, let him rent out the basement of the distillery for pennies on the dollar. You see, good 'ole Uncle Jim Bob is the family dipshit who decides…moonshine…is the way to go—cheaper, easy as a $1.00 hooker to make. It tastes like horse shit, but his friends all smell like horse shit so who really gives a damn, right?" He pauses as if…I'm supposed to—_

 _"Answer me!"_

 _"Yes, yep," I yelp like a puppy._

 _"So, Jim Bob's in the cellar crushin' corn, makin' gutter whiskey—now this shit'll donkey punch you in the face with one shot. It's basically rotgut in a jar. Well…one night, apparently, Uncle Jim Bob decided to break into the whiskey distillery just to try the good stuff—he was_ …really _confused and…" He stops and laughs sarcastically as if he were truly finding this story to be at all hilarious. "…holy shit, he mixed up the moonshine with the top, top, top-shelf, private reserve, single barrel because Uncle Jim Bob is a fuckin' idiot. So then he went out to the hillbillies that buy his hot garbage in a jar, and he gave them the single barrel—the good stuff, primo shit. Went down real smooth! They drank the hell out of it. And they went nuts, let me tell you—lit shit on fire, lit each other on fire, screwed their dogs, milked their cats. Appalachia gone wild, if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean? ...Uri? … Hello? You look a little pale—"_

 _"Get to the point! Put me out of my misery!"_

 _"I'm glad you're so intrigued." He smiles warmly, and it really creeps me out because I have no idea what to make of any of this. "So, here's the analogy—last night, you thought you were getting a quick high, similar to Uncle Jim Bob's moonshine—crack cocaine. But it was a much smoother, right? The effect was better, right? Didn't taste like you licked the bottom of a boot afterward, right? Well, that's because you were into the good shit! Just like the rednecks guzzling the top shelf single barrel whiskey." He looks me straight on and ice cold. "That is if you consider fentanyl-laced heroin…top shelf."_

 _Heroin? Did he just say…no, no way. "I…I…"_

 _"You ODed on…_ HER-O-IN _last night!_ Laced…heroin," _he chokes out, the chair he was sitting on crashing into the wall as he stands._

 _All I can do is stare between Four and the IV in my arm—taking in the burning feeling of emptiness and pure stupidity. Four walks to the door rubbing his eyes. I want to do the same, but I don't think I can even blink. He leans on it facing the hallway, which is good because I have a feeling if I saw his face, I'd break down._ And that shit is not happening!

 _"Have you ever wanted to jack someone in the face and hug them at the same time?" he asks, laughing a little…which is weird._

 _"Yeah," I whisper, being very familiar with the emotion. The useless feeling of being both mad and sad—when my Dad told us he had colon cancer. The added bonus being that he had never had a colonoscopy because he already knew what the results would be. And then the real kicker, him deciding against chemo because he wanted to "die on his own terms."_

 _"Where's…ahem…where are…where are…uh… Mom and Zeke?" A mountain's worth of nervous energy rushes at me, and I feel like there's nowhere I can go to avoid—_

 _"Hana is at work and Zeke is still at the academy."_

 _"What? They don't give enough of a shit about me to—"_

 _"Grow the fuck up and get over yourself! They don't even know you're here!" he spits, turning to look at me. The redness in his eyes, making me look away again._

 _"Oh." I twiddle my thumbs, feeling like an insecure ass wipe. "Why…why didn't you…tell them—"_

 _"Because Hana coddles you and Zeke would kill you."_

 _"Four, I swear I didn't know it was heroin! You know, I mean a lot of kids do coke and, well… It's not a big deal! It's just…fun. That's it. Fun with my friends. If you want me to stop, I'll stop—"_

 _"Oh, you're gonna stop, alright. In fact, you're gonna ditch all you're dipwad friends—no more Rafi, no more Casandra and no more Simon."_

 _I cross my arms, unable to hide the small noise from the back of my throat from the pinch of the IV. "What…you're just gonna…ground me from my friends? Are you fuckin' kidding me? You're not my…you're not… Don't act like my Dad!"_

 _"Oh, I'm not," he says as if he's so sure of himself. "Your Dad may not have been around as much as you wanted him to be, but when he was…he was no fool. You know better than anyone that he would have had your ass nailed to that wall, instead of cozied up in a bed with a saline drip if he knew what you did…or what you've been doing."_

 _The usual anger when I think about my dad suddenly comes back, making me want an escape. But I suppose my 'escape' landed me here. But, how the hell did I get here?_

 _"How did you know…I was here—Wait, what do you mean 'what you've been doing?' What exactly do you think I've_ been _doing?" I ask seeing as he has no idea what the hell I've been up to—no one does._

 _"Not going to classes, hanging out at dirty clubs—'cause only the real classy ones let underage kids in, drugs, more random hook-ups than any 19-year-old should have under his belt. I hope to hell your wrapping your dick. VD isn't easily explained—"_

 _"You would probably know. You aren't exactly the role model for sexual charity—"_

 _"Chastity."_

 _"Whatever! Just don't lecture me, okay?!"_

 _He bites his lips, which he does when he's holding something back, and then sits again. "I'm not trying to lecture you." He takes a breath and rests his elbows on his knees. "I, uh, was on Van Buren after my internship interview, so I stopped by your dorm. Uri, your roommate hadn't seen you in weeks."_

 _"Well, we have opposite schedules." I shrug feeding him total bullshit. I avert my eyes because he knows it._

 _"Yeah, okay," he laughs. "Anyway, when we were all at your mom's for dinner the next week, I followed you after you left. You didn't get on the Metra. You've been crashing at Rafi's house."_

 _I sigh and lean my head back, wondering how the hell I'm going to talk my way out of this one. I fucking hate my old friends, and I fucking hate school because all I could get into was Malcolm X and I know my skin tone was a deciding factor. I don't even want to go home to see my own damned mom! Everyone in my life is getting on just fine, and I'm…NOT! My dad would understand. He never went to school. I miss my dad. I hate him._

 _"Look, college is just… hard and…it's not like I'm at the best one. So, yeah, I've been staying at a friend's apartment from high school. Who cares? I've been going to class!"_

 _"You don't have to lie to me. I know you haven't been going to class. And Rafi isn't your friend from high school. You just_ happened _to go to the same high school. That guy's bad news, and you know it."_

 _"Whatever."_

 _I roll my eyes and brush him off, even though he's right. But still, Rafi, Simon, Casandra…they're my friends. They understand me, right now. How does Four not see that?_

 _"And, ya know what? School's just not for me! Okay? I… I'm young…and maybe I'll just take a year off! Why am I going if I don't even know what the hell I want to do with my life, anyway?"_

 _He narrows his eyes at me again. I swear I can feel him sucking out my soul. "So you're going to take a year to find yourself?"_

 _"Somethin' like that, yeah."_

 _"Or take a year off to fuck around, use your mom's money to buy drugs and hit up clubs."_

 _I notice that he repeated his earlier statement of what I've been up to. I thought he was just guessing._

 _"Yeah, I've been watching you." He looks at me as if he isn't sorry in the least!_ What a dick!

 _"Don't fucking stalk me!"_

 _"Don't you mean, 'thank you?'"_

 _"Why would I possibly thank you for being a creepster?"_

 _He gets a faraway look in his eyes, and I just want to smack them out of the back of his damned head!_

 _"Who do you think called the ambulance when your friends left you sputtering on your back at that party?" he whispers._

 _I suddenly have no words._

 _"Who do you think kept you_ …conscious _…until it was no longer mentally possible for you?"_

 _I watch on in awe as if my mind has detached from my body._

 _"Who do you think…gave you…CPR until the ambulance arrived?"_

 _I see the pain. It's all over his face. I put it there. Say something! Say anything!_

 _"Look, I know what it's like to be in your head, right now. You blame college. I get it. It's easy to place blame. But you and I both know what's really going on."_

 _The stubborn look on my dad's face hits me head on, along with his words— "Boys, we all have our time. Mine is almost up. I want to die on my terms—my terms." I think about it every day. What about_ our _terms?! Where were_ our _terms?!_

 _"You don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to talk about it with you. But I won't let you ruin yourself. You're going to stay in school. Don't use your learning disabilities as a crutch. The school has resources. Use them. Then at semester, you're moving home where we're going to hang out every night together—playing cards, shooting hoops, video games, whatever the fuck you want."_

 _How do I say "hell no" to the man who saved my life? The man who almost watched me die? I don't._

 _"And…one more thing. Every day after classes, you're meeting me at the gym to blow off steam."_

 _"The gym? I don't need to fucking work out! Have you seen me?! Come on—"_

 _"I'm teaching you how to box. You need to learn to cool your jets when you're pissed—channel that energy elsewhere."_

 _"Are you…? Did you just say 'channel my energy'—"_

 _"Every…day. After class." The low tone of his voice gets to me. DAMN IT!_

 _"What the hell are you going to do if I don't?" I ask, trying to use my last ounce of dignity._

 _"Tell your mom and Zeke. She'll send you to rehab and wipe your ass for you for the next three months, and Zeke will cut you off until he figures shit out in his own head because he'll blame himself."_

 _"So, this is…our secret?"_

 _"Unless you prove to me that this can no longer be just our secret."_

 _I tighten my lips and nod my head, now realizing this is a hell of an offer. "I do have one question, though."_

 _"What?" he sighs running his hand down his wrecked face._

 _"How long did it take you to come up with that Uncle Jim Bob thing?"_

 _He picks up his phone off the side table and looks at the screen. "Sixteen hours, 29 minutes, 34 seconds."_

* * *

"Ur-i-ah!"

"Get off me!" I shout as my neck jolts forward, allowing Zeke to grind his knuckles into my scalp.

"Then pay…attention…to…me."

I twist his nipple hard, making him let go of me, whining like a baby.

"Those are sensitive! Now, answer me. Why are you taking all _his_ shit on your shoulders?"

"Returning a favor." I walk away, finally successfully.

"You do know what today is, right?"

I stop in my tracks and shake my head at the man who I sometimes think knows nothing about me. "Thanks for the credit, bro."

* * *

 **AN:** Yes, that's a lot of flashbacks. But, they're important. I know you're waiting on more Tris and Tobias, but I can't be sorry about this chapter. I love writing about relationships with fierce loyalty, and that's what these two have. And, in the state of mind that Tobias is in, we'll get the most out of him through other people's POVs. It's also cool to see him through other people's eyes. Uriah had a lot of unexplored potential and it all kind of came out in this chapter, unexpectedly on my behalf.

So, this will be a double update week too!

Thank you for reading, reviewing and chatting. The song suggestions and memes and thoughtful discussion have been so awesome. **"Like"** the Facebook fanpage **Kris Daniels** and then I can friend request you to the private page if you're interested.

* * *

 **Songs that Inspire:**

Grace is Gone - Dave Matthews Band

Bartender - Dave Matthews Band


	24. Reflections Pt 2

**Chapter 24 – Reflections Pt. 2**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I trudge up the rickety stairs leading to Dr. DuFuck-face's office. I really need to stop calling him names. He has, after all, opened my eyes to many things I was apparently blind to, which is good, but sucks at the same time because I had always considered myself a more perceptive person. I sigh, stopping only briefly to rest in the tattered chairs on the landing—his makeshift waiting area. Rubbing my eyes, I momentarily forget the amount of eye makeup I have on…per Lynn's advice. Mascara now covers my knuckles. _Great._

I can only imagine what I look like now—something only the effects of mental exhaustion from unidentified-nagging-feeling-at-back-of-brain-concerning-ex-boyfriend, depression, unemployment, lack of both proper diet and proper roommate could bring on. So basically I look like Golum…with clothes on. _Shit, at least, Golum had motivation._

 _"Preeeeecccciiooouussss… My prreeeecccccciiiooouusss—"_

"You, okay, ma'am?"

I freeze at a man's voice behind me and turn slowly to see a custodian half-way up the stairs looking at me like I have two heads.

"Shit. Yes, I'm…yes. Just…uh, here to see…Dr. DuBois."

"Mmm hmm. Sounds about right to me."

I turn away from my source of embarrassment, take a deep breath and stand, ready to hopefully discuss _me_ …and only _me_ with the good doctor. I knock on the door, and it squeaks open, not having been fully closed.

"Um…" I walk the few steps into the tiny office, taking in the scene before me—an empty room. The desk is there. The nasty chair is there. Apart from that, the only thing left are his empty shelves and tack board. I zero in on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs hanging sideways by the only tack left on the board. "What…the…fuck—"

"You a student?"

"What—No…" I turn toward the custodian who followed behind me. "I'm a…um—"

"Ah," he nods in understanding. "A subject."

"What the hell?! No," I say with intended disgust.

He puts his hands up and backs away, laughing lightly at my expense. "Not tryin' to offend; I promise. Just here to clean the office. You were out in the hallway, whisperin' to yourself like you was of unsound mind and body. Figured on you bein' one of his studyin' people. Didn't know he had friends."

"Oh, God, no. We are _not_ friends. I just saw him for—Wait, what do you mean 'subject?'"

"Well, was he studyin' you?"

"Nooo. I was coming here…for therapy."

"I ain't never heard him call it that. But okay. Do you mind? I got business to do." He gestures toward the door, my cue to leave.

I swallow as tears come into my eyes because as much as I hated this guy, he was the only person who seemed to be giving me some kind of answers—pointing out things I hadn't even realized were happening. I turn to walk out the door and notice a piece of paper sticking to my gym shoe. Grabbing it, I read Columbia College's letterhead and something to do with some Humanities, History and Social Sciences crap. But what catches my eye is the name in the top left of the professional looking paper – Dr. Ronald DuBois, Professor of Sociology, Chair of Behavioral Research Science program.

My heart starts to race. _Professor of…Sociology? Behavior?…Science…? Was he... Was he studying me?_ I decide to take some 'George breaths'…which make me sad because I miss George. But, it seems to work as I take a step back and be rational—something I'm trying to do more and more seeing as living with Lynn makes me nuts.

 _Okay, okay, okay. I went into this knowing it was free. Free…therapy. Did he ever say he was a therapist?_

My kneejerk reaction to Dr. DuBois comes back in full force—I thought he was off his rocker for concentrating so much on my relationship with Tobias! Was it actually less about my relationship, but more about my reactions? I got the feeling a few time that he was goading me…so…

I shake my head to clear it of my paranoia and jog down the stairs.

 _So, he was paying attention to my behavior! So what? Doesn't a good therapist do that? But…was he a therapist? He sure didn't act like one! Even so…he seemed to know a lot about relationships and could tell that I was in an unhealthy one. Yes. Tobias was trying to fix me. He just wanted me to be who HE wanted me to be. And I'm obviously not that person and probably never was! I was also bringing him down—I practically lured his father back into his life, in turn bringing out the rash and unreasonable side of Tobias. I did that. Plus, he needs help—the kind of help that HE seeks out. Not some idea I planted in his head. It needs to come from him!_

I step onto the pavement, the wind hitting my face delivering a burst of chill to my cheeks—the kind of temperature change that takes place when air meets water. I'm crying, and I didn't even know it.

For some reason, the look on Tobias's face when I told him I was done hits me head on—how his mouth dropped open slightly, and the lightning bolt of heartbreak that crossed his face as I backed away. Confusion, heartbreak and shock all in one fell swoop _._

 _But, ya know what? No! He realized real quick that I wasn't worth the effort! I gave him the out he needed! And boy did he show his true colors at the end! Dr. DuBois helped me see that. Okay, okay… You're fine…_

And then the real question—"Where the fuck did he go?!"

* * *

I slump…which I've been doing a whole hell of a lot, lately…into the apartment and open up the bag of Cheez-its Rosa sold me on clearance. Apparently, she's saving up enough money to buy her newest boyfriend's cat a sweater. She could be the weirdest person I've ever met. And I've met Gertie! _I miss Gertie. Who knew I'd miss Gertie, of all people? Maybe I should just check in? No. There will be no checking in. I can eavesdrop through Lynn. Lynn…who is dating…Sofi._ I laugh aloud at the insanity of that non-OTP, and then I laugh again at the fact that I actually know what an OTP is. _God, I miss Christina—_

A hard slam makes the apartment shake, and I'm on my feet with the Cheez-its on the floor before I can even make the connection that it was from Lynn's shoulder hitting the drywall.

"Lynn?" I walk toward her quickly as she slinks along the wall toward the kitchen. I've never seen her look worse—haggard is the best description. "Jesus, are you okay?" I get as close as I dare, hoping she won't elbow me in the face.

"No need for…uh…commentary, okay?" she mumbles.

"Don't have it in me, right now. Can I…help?" I ask because she looks like she may just fall over.

"No. Wait, uh, I don't know...maybe." She grasps my forearms just about landing on me. "Um…water. I need…food and…uh—"

She walks her right foot over left, as I move my head to an eye-to-eye position. She looks at me and widens her eyes, trying to focus. And then I see it—huge pupils, heavy eyelids, slack expression.

"Did you take something?" I ask sincerely.

"Yeah," she breathes out.

"What was it?"

"Don't be all…accusatory!"

"I wasn't," I grit out, wanting to smack her. "I just want to help."

She must realize she needs it because she nods her head slightly. "I just took it twice—um…my medication." She diverts her eyes almost as if she's… _ashamed?_

"Okay, what do you take?" I ask again.

"Just get me some water!" she snaps. "I need to flush this shit…outta my…body."

"Okay… Here, sit…" I slowly walk her over to the couch, lowering her down carefully. I'm absolutely shocked that she lets me. "So, what do you take?" I ask, propping a throw pillow under her head.

I begin to close the horrendous mini-blinds, waiting patiently for my answer. She huffs and shakes her head as I turn each metal piece down one at a time because the damned string is broken. I already have a clue based on her sluggishness and exhaustion what type of drug it is.

"Just tell me. I won't judge…trust me. I keep Xanax handy," I add, shrugging my shoulders as if it's no big deal.

And honestly, for me it isn't. I've been nursing the same bottle for years—an original prescription for PMDD. I remember my mother thinking I was a hypochondriac upon explaining to her, horrifying as an experience as that was, that I felt like my insides were taking part in a Torture Device seminar, and my need to vomit, plot her murder, eat ten pounds of cookie dough all while sleeping, was at odds with anything the average goes through. Her telling me, with a smirk, 'maybe you should explain this to your father,' left me reeling. Even though it was her way of joking, it still made me feel alone. So, I waited until I was eighteen and then paid the doctor in cash for a damned solution to my misery.

" _'Handy,'_ " Lynn chuckles throwing her arm over her eyes. "That's funny. Dump that shit if you don't need it." She clears her throat.

"It came in _handy_ when I first moved to the city. Turns out keeping a job when you have developed agoraphobic tendencies is rather difficult. Add a little social anxiety into the mix, and it was quite helpful."

"Sounds more like you needed a therapist rather than a pharmacist."

I decide to stay silent and soak up her judgment, rather than deliver a broken nose to match the dark circles under her eyes.

"I take Lorazepam…" she mutters—her version of an apology. "…first thing in the morning. My alarm goes off, I reach for my five-gallon bucket, grab the bottle, pop the pill. Today I fell back asleep, my alarm went off again, autopilot kicked on, so I reached for the bottle and popped pill número dos. And here we are end of story now please get me that water," she moans.

"Ya know, you should measure out what you need in the morning," I advise. "Don't just leave the bottle by your bedside."

She flings her arm off her eyes, doing her best to glare at me. "And how is that sage bullshit helpful, right now?"

I open my mouth, trying to conjure some sort of snarky comeback, but quickly realize that she's right. "Sorry," I whisper sheepishly as I stand and head toward the kitchen. "Are you dizzy?"

"Yes. Feels like my eyeballs are shaking. Can't even…focus."

I pour her two full glasses of water. Then setting one on the floor, I help her back up to sitting. "Just keep your eyes closed and drink."

She takes down the water in huge gulps as memories hit me. "Christina gave me two Xanax after I had been drinking," I tell her, trying to be relatable. "Two…four-milligram…Xanax."

"Heard about that," she sighs, lying back down. "That night at The West, right? Jesus, Christina is…too many things to count."

"She doesn't know anything about benzos. Thought she was helping, I guess."

"'Thought'…as in, _no 'thought'_ process."

I nod at Christina's terrible crisis management skills.

"Bet you had some apologizing to do the next day."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _Based on the radio silence in the hall, he left. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or experiencing a mountain's worth of disappointment and shame, knowing that I drove away the man who barely knows me, yet still made the trek across town…in person—not just a random millennial text—to make sure I was still breathing. Holy shit, Tris. You fucking…IDIOT—_

 _"Tris?"_

 _"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God," I whisper into my pillow, even though the sound of his voice went right to my ovaries._

 _"You know it's nothing I haven't seen before," he says sarcastically._

 _I raise my head in sudden annoyance. His attempt to get me out of my abode of shame is by mentioning the fact that he's seen other women in their panties? He can't be talking about me, can he? Should I test the waters? Or let him dig himself into a hole? He definitely got a quick view in the back of Will's Jeep. Please, God, don't let him be a total douche and flaunt his conquests through my particle board bedroom door!_

 _"Not full-on-panty shot!" I shout, desperately hoping he's referring to me._

 _Christina's not-at-all-subtle laugh from the kitchen gives me hope._

 _"I like them. The red ones were nice, too. But, yellow is equally as nice on you," he remarks as if this were an everyday conversation—as if we are on that level!_

 _I smash my face back into my pillow. "Pleeeeeeeeaaaasssse, stoooooop…"_

 _"I will if you let me in. I have the best coffee and scones you have ever had in your life."_

 _Aaaaaaand…he now has my undivided attention—not that he didn't before, but now treats are involved, so that just automatically heightens my mood._

 _"Hmm…" I pretend to be pondering his offer. "Fine!" I scramble up and look myself over in my mirror. Oh…my…word—sweats, hair piled on head, dark circles. Plain, plain…and just plain. Well, this'll be a deal breaker! I sigh and swing the door open. Then, not being able to look at his hotness, I slump back down on my bed._

 _"What?! I was betting on at least a half hour!" Christina shouts. I lean over so she can see me and give her the finger along with mouthing, "I'm going to fucking kill you!" Her evil smile and the way she just waves the tips of her fingers at me don't earn her any brownie points._

 _"Shit! How do you take your coffee? I didn't even think—"_

 _"Black," I mumble still unable to look at him, even though he has positioned himself adorably-cross-legged on the floor right in front of me._

 _I glance up, seeing the look of utter relief on his face—as if him getting my coffee preferences wrong would have been the end of him. He's soooo cute! I almost wish I would have said, fair trade soy double espresso with unrefined turbinado cane sugar. Ha, ha! God, I'm mean…_

 _I take a quick sip, hoping to God this perks me up a bit—"Oh, my God…" I close my eyes, savoring the bitter, aromatic, bold, perfection that attacked my taste buds. "This is the most amazing….mmmmmmm…" I open my eyes in horror at my this-coffee-gave-me-an-explosive-orgasm reaction. And based on the widened, surprised, amused deep, sexy, blue eyes looking back at me, I know he's thinking the same thing. "I can only imagine how that sounded," I mumble before taking another sip to hide my humiliation._

 _"Sounded pretty amazing to me," he comments with a smirk._

 _I tap his shoulder with my foot and stifle a laugh. "Seriously, where did you get this from?" I look over the non-descript paper cups and brown paper bag._

 _"That…is a secret."_

 _"A secret?"_

 _"Indeed. You literally have to prove your undying love for coffee before I can include you."_

 _"You're serious?" I ask in disbelief of his weirdness._

 _"Very serious."_

 _I quirk my head at him and wonder why having a verbal orgasm wouldn't qualify as "proving undying love for coffee."_

 _But, he holds firm, taking his own innocent drink from his cup._

 _"Fine." I shrug, feigning indifference. "Be difficult."_

 _"Me? Difficult? You're the one who locked yourself in your room, pouting."_

 _"You saw me in my underwear! It's embarrassing!"_

 _"You looked amazing." He waggles his eyebrows and winks._

 _I can't tell if he's joking or not, so I decide to smack him in the face with a pillow._

 _"I'm being serious!" he exalts, which makes me believe him…a little._

 _I rifle through the events of last night—We meet at a bar; I think he likes my friend; we have a very, very, very sexy moment in the car; I still think he likes my friend; I lose my mind on the dance floor; I wake up in his arms…and I remember very, very, very little after that! So, what the hell—_

 _"Yes, Tris?" he interrupts, looking at me expectantly._

 _"Why are you here?!" I yell, not really meaning to yell._

 _"Because I was hoping to catch you in your underwear again. Turns out I was in luck." He shrugs and sips his coffee._

 _As much as I'm a huge fan of cute banter with this guy; I need answers._

 _"Okay," he concedes. "I'm here for several reasons apart from panties, coffee, and scones. I feel like I misled you last night."_

 _Oh. And that's all that comes to mind—Oh. Well, what the hell were you expecting, Prior? You made an ass out of yourself! Threw yourself at a guy, then unthrew yourself, then passed out, then woke up, then time traveled—_

 _"Wait. That's not what I meant…" he trails off in thought. "You're getting this mixed up…"_

 _I wait for him to collect his thoughts, but it's really hard because now I just wish he'd leave._

 _"…or I am. Not really sure right now—"_

 _"Four, just spit it out."_

 _He looks at me with a mix of shock and amusement before rising up on his knees, his face coming dangerously close to mine. God, everything about this man's face radiates gorgeousness._

 _"I know we don't know each other very well….at all. But I would really, really, love to change that. I like you."_

 _I try my hardest to hold in a gleaming smile that would give way too much away. He likes me! He likes me! He likes me!_

 _"I think you are fascinating and beautiful and funny and, by the way, equally as awkward as me."_

 _"I never said you were awkward." Shit, did I?_

 _"You have said it twice now."_

 _A quick flash of an off-hand comment registers. "I said you were 'semi-awkward' at the bar. And it's because I was frustrated!" I grit remembering how I felt when I thought he liked Christina._

 _"You also said it to me on the car ride home…and you included the adjectives 'funny' and 'hot' as well."_

 _I moan in ridiculous embarrassment and crash face first onto my pillow, the show I'm giving him heightening my humiliation._

 _"May I finish?" he chuckles._

 _"Please!" As in, "please just get this over with." I suddenly feel a warm pressure on the back of my head, the feeling traveling down my spine, giving me an array of goosebumps all down my body. I turn my head to look at Four, who had rested his hand on the back of my head_

 _"Did you know you asked me if I would kiss you last night?" he whispers, inching closer to my face, making verbal response impossible. "You did. But I said no."_

 _Bits and pieces come back to me in the form of déjà vu—this bed, endearing eyes, closeness, warmth._

 _"I told you that I want to kiss you when I can look into your perfect eyes and tell you, without saying a word, how much I want you and only you. I told you that I want to wait until that moment comes."_

* * *

"And anyway, what kind of crack…doctor…prescribes people of your size and stature…four mil pills?"

"Um…" I feel like the wind has momentarily been knocked out of me at the very fierce memory of Tobias and I. I can almost feel his breath on my lips as he was talking to me—nothing but adoration in his eyes—a look a wasn't even aware of at the time.

"Someone back in Bumblefuck W-I?" she continues as I try to keep myself together.

"Um…here, drink some more—"

"Ya know, alcohol and Xanax affect the knock-you-on-your-ass part of your brain," she comments as if that's some doctoral term. "It's a neurochemical hell storm—a tag team effort. Shit'll creep up on you. How the hell are you alive? Do _you_ know how that shit works?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"But...um...Christina said you… Well, _she_ gave you… She said it was an anti-anxiety...and...I know you take Xanax, sometimes. Which is fine! I'm not... It's, it's fine. I know I have no right to ask you to…do, well, anything because you're obviously a grown woman. I just… I laid in bed just... _holding..._ you last night, and you fell asleep...so fast. I was happy, at first, because you deserved to rest, but then I became increasingly more and more nervous and I couldn't sleep because I was just thinking a lot and… Okay, I'm just going to say it—mixing alcohol and benzodiazepines... Um, sorry, those are anxiety meds—"_

 _"I know what benzos are."_

 _"Well, they can be…addictive and extremely dangerous when consumed with—"_

 _"I'm not a damned pill popper, Tobias," I state flatly. "I felt like I was having a freakin' heart attack last night. I _know_ you can relate to that. And the booze wasn't helping! And I know you can relate to that, as well. It's not like I take pills as some bullshit coping mechanism."_

 _He stays silent and continues to comb his fingers through my hair while rinsing out the conditioner._

 _"Can you sit up a little?" he mutters._

 _I sit more erect and look up to the ceiling as he runs the warm water over my scalp. _I wish this weren't almost over._ _Unless, I can return the favor?_ I turn my head just as he turns the water off._

 _"Your turn?" I offer as I scoot my legs over the edge of the bench. And then my eyes land on his face, seeing a mix of upset and annoyance._

 _"Were you _that_ worried?" I ask in all seriousness._

 _I watch him swallow as he answers, so his voice is a little distorted. "It _bothers_ me."_

 _"Tobias, it's not that big of a deal. I didn't toss it back with alcohol. I ate something!"_

 _He runs his hands through his hair and diverts all eye contact._

 _"Geez, are you really that upset about this? You know, Ambien is a benzo, too," I laugh incredulously at his hypocrisy._

 _"Yes, but…"_

 _"But what?"_

 _"It only hits one of the three receptors while, anti-anxieties, for example, Xanax, hit all three and cause—"_

 _"Okay, what the fuck? How and _why_ do you know all this?!"_

 _"Years…of…research on the effects—"_

 _"As a hobby?" I ask jokingly. It would be very much like him to obsess over something he didn't _fully_ understand._

 _He stands and tosses the towel at me, shaking his head and…laughing. He's laughing as if I'm ignorant._

 _"Tobias, people don't die from—"_

 _" _Actually_ , Tris...they do." _

* * *

"So did you black out?"

"Uh…yeah," I breath out at Lynn's insistence.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the one with the mental handicap right now. What's on your mind? Wait, please, don't tell me."

I swear I can still feel the water running down my back, his strong fingers digging into my scalp, the low rumble of his voice. I wonder why sometimes we spoke so softly to each other—as if we were telling secrets even though no one was around. The blank stare he gave me when I didn't understand him—as if he couldn't grasp my lack of mind-reading skills. And then his anger and non-explanation…and the walking out.

And suddenly, I'm angry. He left me in the shower and went about his day while I was stuck in torture-mode—and he fucking knew it!

I push off the couch, heading to the kitchen to try to distract myself. "So, what else can I do? And don't say 'nothing!'" Please, give me a task, please, please, please—

"I just need to lay here with my eyes shut."

"Okay."

I sigh and decide to ignore her request. Instead, I pull out the necessities to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I don't know if it'll work, but food helps with a hangover so…maybe it'll help with a prescription drug OD? Either way, it's happening because I can't just stand here and do nothing. I hum to myself as I spread the peanut butter—"On both sides, so the jelly doesn't seep into the bread," as my mom used to say. I smirk at the memory, following it up with an instant scowl as soon as I realize I was just about to have a fond memory. I don't want fond memories! They don't get to watch me from up there…or down there…and think that I'm thinking happy thoughts! You knew he was beating me! You fucking knew! And you—

"Oh, God," Lynn moans. "If you're going to talk…just… _talk_. Don't do the angry mumble."

I clear my throat, slicing the sandwich in half and hoping I didn't say too much aloud. The parent talk has nothing to do with my life as we know it, so relinquishing any information to Lynn would be a waste of words.

"I made you food. Eat it," I say curtly as I set the plate on her stomach. "Here—"

"Don't feed me, Prior." She slaps my hand away that is holding half the sandwich.

"Uh, sorry, not sorry—"

"Knock, kno-ock! Ooof! This… _fucking…_ door!"

I don't even make it my closet to hide before Shauna tumbles her way into the middle of our eight-foot living room.

"Tris?!" she yells with a dumbfounded expression.

"Heeeyyyeeee," I say in a hi-pitched guilty whisper.

"What are you doing? Where have you been? What the hell is your number? Where have you been? Why are you… _here?"_ She gestures her hands around the apartment in disgust.

"Um…I live here," I eek out, even though, I'm so happy to see her that I actually want to hug her!

"What?! Why?! No one should live here!"

"What the hell, Shaunie?"

"Don't call me that—"

"I, um…I just needed a change. And Lynn is, I mean, this neighborhood is…a change, a very drastic, drastic change."

"Okaaaay," she answers, seeming to resign herself to my situation.

I, honestly, don't know what I was thinking. She was bound to find out sooner or later, right? I should have just found my own place. But, then I _really_ wouldn't be able to afford my medical bills. _Shit, I am so stuck!_

"Why are you here? You haven't stopped by in months," Lynn remarks, trying her best to pretend she's not suffering from a fit of nausea.

"Madelynn—"

"Shauna. I'm _fuckin'_ serious. Don't call me that!"

Lynn's sudden abhorrence to her full name is surprising. I don't even react that way…and my name is the worst thing ever.

"Sorry." Shauna rolls her eyes and grabs one of our folding chairs that double has kitchen table chairs off the wall. " _Lynn._ I'm just stopping by to talk wedding—Wait, are you okay? What the hell's wrong with you?"

I am oh-so-grateful for Lynn's accidental dosage situation, seeing as it has caused a momentary detour of wedding talk. I need to make my escape.

"Just a little…under the weather. I'll be fine."

Taking advantage of this sister time, I slide off the couch and toward the kitchen, pulling off a stealthy side maneuver that probably looks more like an awkward side-winder Texas Two-Step. _Now I need to make up some excuse to leave. Where should I go? Where should I go?_

My thought process is distracted by the amount of uncomfortable silence happening in the living room. I peek my head out to see the two of them—they may as well be twiddling their thumbs! I've never experienced Shauna and Lynn alone together—it's like they're strangers. I wonder if they use people as buffers when they're around each other…which is often enough.

 _Who's gonna break the silence? My bet's on Shauna._

"Okay," Shauna begins.

 _Nailed it._

"So, how are you?"

I look around my broom closet, readying myself to pretend to dress up for some kind of escape occasion—

"Tris? Helllooooo?"

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I asked how you were."

"Oh," I answer, apparently misreading Shauna's attention.

"Tris, get out here…please," Lynn groans in obvious need of rescuing.

"I've, uh, just been…worried," Shauna begins as I drag myself out there and stand apprehensively. "We _all_ have been."

She emphasized 'all!' I heard it! Has Tobias been…worried? This whole time in my head I've been picturing him as writing me off completely. I want him to be mad. No, I'm mad! I'm the mad one!

"And what the fuck, Lynn? You couldn't have told me Miss MIA USA was living with you?"

"No, I could have," Lynn quips apathetically.

"So, what, Tris? Are you just…hiding from everyone?"

"No. Yes. I guess. I mean, I just…need to be away. I can't… Everything is just kinda messed up right now and… Shauna, I don't know what to say." I'm not sure how far honest is going to get me, but I think I, at least, owe her that much. Sneaking out isn't the best call. Face the music.

"Well, _Four's_ not talking…at all, about anything. Just carrying on with his life as if nothing happened! Which is such balls! He's completely full of shit."

"No, he's not," I whisper, even though, I feel like I was just struck by lightning, hearing from the horse's mouth that he's 'carrying on with his life as if nothing happened.' I have to use every ounce of whatever strength I have to hold back the tears.

"How can you say that after everything that's happened with you guys? Trust me, Tris; I know this man—"

"He's fine, Shauna."

She furrows her dark brown eyebrows that somehow always look perfect at him. "Have _you_ talked to him?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?" she laughs as if I'm totally ignorant.

I clench my jaw, trying to rise above. "Look, I don't want you in the middle of this. Just…be his friend; be Zeke's fiancée; just be…you. I want you all to go back to normal. Please—"

"Back to normal? What in holy hell does that mean?"

I look to Lynn for assistance, but she has her arm over her face again. "Well, you, he, um…you were all this group! I mean, you acquired me by default, so just no pressure to—"

"Be your friend? Are you fucking kidding me? You're in my wedding! You're kinda stuck with me," she chuckles looking at me with a kind smile. "You're still in my wedding, right?!" Her jaw just about falls to the floor when she realizes what I'm about to say, and I want to just pick it up, hand it to her and apologize a thousand times for being selfish and a wuss and for…ever meeting her in the first place!

"I just think it would be easier on everyone if—"

"If you aren't in my wedding? You think _that_ will be easier on me?"

"Yes. I think it will make all festivities entirely less socially awkward. And you're a fixer! You like everybody to be happy and drama-free."

"Yep," Lynn agrees.

"And it wouldn't be that way! You deserve a wedding to remember…for the _right_ reasons. And I know myself; if I'm in attendance…words will be had, many words, and…damn it, it would be so weird—"

"It's not like I'm getting married tomorrow! Shit, you guys'll probably be back together by the time I walk down the aisle!"

"No, we won't," I reply as calmly as possible. No matter how much it still kills me that he's not in my future, it doesn't make it any less true—the festering wound of his words still burns.

"Okay, fine. Let's say you're not. Then maybe, by that time, you'll be with someone else, and he'll be with someone else! Maybe everything will be fine by then?!"

"Shauna," I choke out. I'm not sure if my lack of words is because it makes me absolutely sick to picture him with anyone else or sick to picture me with anyone else.

"Tris. He's been…" She stands and breathes in and out, trying to collect herself. "You should've seen him the morning after you two broke it off. He was...wrecked, and when I say wrecked…I mean beyond repair."

 _Beyond…repair._

"Ya know what, Shauna? You're right. That about sums things up." I laugh, walking across the room—so, like, four feet. " _He_ did that. He crossed a line. Several lines. He…" I stop, not knowing how much detail I need to go into. _Does it really matter?_

"Tris, just tell me," she retorts. "Fuck, if you aren't going to be in my wedding, you owe me this much!"

I brace my hands on my hips trying to figure out where I would even start. And then it comes to me—"Funny, this line he crossed, well, he started drawing one of them the morning you asked us to be in your wedding. After you left he told me he was going to hang out with Zeke, and instead, he paid a visit…to Eric."

"Without telling you?"

"If blatantly lying is the same thing…then, yes."

"That's…wow. Why...why would he _do_ that?!" she asks.

"You don't think that's a question I've run through my head about a thousand times?"

"Hmmph," Lynn grunts from the couch.

"Well, what have you come up with?"

"It's because Tob—Four needed to know what… _happened_ to me. _He_ needed it. Therefore, _he…_ took it upon himself to find out! So, now, Four officially knows more about my attack than I do. He has that information! Not me! Who the hell does he think he is? Maybe I didn't want to know! Maybe I didn't want to remember!"

I see Lynn shake her head out of the corner of my eye, so I take me voice down a notch.

"Well…he did meet up with Zeke, so it wasn't an all-out lie. Not that it excuses any of Four's shit. Or Zeke's. Do you think Zeke knew Four was going to go see Eric?" she asks as if that has any relevance at all.

"Do I give a shit if Zeke knew?"

"Sorry…just, thinking…out…loud…" she lowers her voice and walks toward the kitchen, but then turns abruptly and widens her eyes.

"Shauna…?"

"Well, I hope this whole thing didn't start because my stupid fiancée lit a fire under Four's ass!"

"Not following, Shauna."

"Four asked Zeke for a copy of your statement, and Zeke got it for him. Please tell me you knew about this...please, please, pleeeeaaaase…"

"I knew…nothing…about _this,_ " I growl.

"Oh, shit," Lynn mumbles.

"I didn't know it was a secret! I mean, at first, it was on the DL because it's illegal, but…I just assumed it was…I don't know what I assumed…I guess, I just assumed it was for you or something! Like…you wanted a copy or—"

"What, like a fucking keepsake?!" I ask condescendingly.

"I—"

"Just stop talking…for a minute." I feel the need to hyper-ventilate come on strong, but I push through and decide to talk it out, instead. "Tob…fuck, _Four_ …had…my statement. _Why?_ " I ask out loud. "He was there when I gave it. Both he and Zeke were. Why would Tobias…need a…copy—Oh, God…"

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _"I was thinking maybe you should talk to Zeke," he gets out before I can officially exit the room. What the HELL is he talking about?_

 _"About…what?" I ask in amazement, turning back around to face him._

 _"Well, I've been thinking...a lot, and I feel like things took a turn when you got the results back from your…you know," he gestures._

 _"Rape…test?" I clarify seeing as he won't say the damned words._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Tobias, how often do you think about this? Seriously, how much time do you commit to worrying about me?! And what the hell does Zeke have to do with anything?" I ask in complete awe, upset, and confusion._

 _He purses his lips, and I can see he's trying to control his temper based on my tone. "Maybe there's a way to find out if…Eric…did or didn't. Zeke said at the hospital that Eric was planning to admit to…whatever you said happened, right?"_

 _"So I was told."_

 _"Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even have your statement read to him, or hadn't known the results of your test. Hell, he still may not know! I would even bet the DA forged his damned signature just to sweep this shit under the rug. Marcus lures that dirtbag here just so he'd get caught! Now Joseph has his psychopath of a son out of the way, and they can both make bank off insider trading. I'll bet the DA got a nice pay day as well. What the fuck!" he exalts as he paces like a wild animal and I just watch._

 _What…the…hell…_ _?_

 _"Anyway…Zeke could find out! I know he could. Fuck, Tris, the results didn't even get in until after…Eric…was already admitted to Masonic. I can't even fucking believe he's in that place," he laughs in bewilderment as I look on in bewilderment. "I know Jeanine Matthews looks the other way when it comes to Marcus, but now with the new DA, this brings shit to a whole new level." He stops and bites his bottom lip, staring at the floor, looking so God-damned pleased with himself. As if he'd just fucking cured cancer! "So, what do you think?"_

 _We make the briefest amount of eye contact as I back up, not wanting to even be near him._

* * *

I cover my eyes and walk into the kitchen grabbing the bottle of Kentucky Dale out of the cabinet. I pour myself a generous amount in whatever cup Lynn left on the counter and take a large drink of the worst whiskey on the planet, giving myself one moment of solace before I officially give verbal power to my inner thoughts.

"Tris, you may as well drink hot cat piss," Shauna remarks. "That stuff'll kill ya—"

"He read…my statement…along with the results of my rape test…to Eric." I sigh, resigning myself to that fact along with resigning myself to the fact that I am drinking hot donkey piss.

"You don't know that—"

"I fucking know that!" I shout. "Stop defending him, Shauna!"

"Okay, okay," she pacifies with her hands out. "Let's just say; he _did_ show Eric…your statement."

"Yes, let's," I agree sarcastically.

"Tris…I know I sound like I'm over-defending him, but…if he did it's because he was probably desperate! Scratch that! I _know_ he was desperate…and has been for weeks. Maybe he…felt like… I don't know! Shit! This could be a moot point. Why would Four show him your statement, anyway? I mean, Eric would have had to already know what he was being accused of, right?I"

"Nope. Just ask Zeke. The guy who supposedly keeps no secrets from you. Did Zeke tell you that Eric was just going to sign off on whatever was handed to him? Did Zeke tell you there were no formalities? Did Zeke tell you he knew there was a huge possibility that Eric never saw a damned shred, or heard a damned word of what I said?"

"No," she whispers.

"Well, he knew. And Four knew. So, do the elementary level math."

I know I hurt her with that comment; I know I'm hurting her in general. One of my few friends—driving her away.

"Look, Tris," she replies with way more calmness than I deserve. "You haven't exactly been…yourself. And I know he just…he just wants to help! It was killing him that he couldn't help!"

"You've always got the inside scoop into Four's mind, don't you?"

I have to admit; that does get a little tiresome. It's the unfounded jealousy that shows up between females. I fucking hate that she may just know more about how he's been dealing with all this than me—the girl he was living with, the girl he supposedly loved, the girl who supposedly loved him. I hate it so much that I can practically taste the emotion.

"We've been…friends for a while, so—"

"Well, did your _friend_ tell you that he said I deserved to be raped?"

A sarcastic laugh comes out of Lynn. "He didn't say it like that, Prior. Don't twist words to get a desired response."

" _Twist_ his words? And what exactly is a desired response?!" I exalt. "Do you think I like this? Do you think I _want_ your sister to hate him? I just want her to understand why—"

"I don't give a shit what the hell you want." Lynn shrugs. "It's just not what he said, nor what he meant, and you know it. Now stop talking so loud. Christ…" She covers her face with a pillow, disengaging again.

"He called it Karma, Shauna," I explain.

"No way," she disagrees vehemently, as if I would lie about that shit. "No… _fucking_ …way did he say that." She points to me in anger. "What _did_ he say?"

"I just told you—"

"I want to hear it from Lynn! You're too much in your own damned head."

The petulant part of my wants to give her a girly, "Uh!" But, I decide on whiskey, instead.

"Verbatim…" Lynn moans. "'Hope the fuckin' world treats you as great as it already has—Karma being a bitch and all that.' Then something about worthless property and a moronic, dictionarily inept therapist. Oh, yeah, and he paid her rent but wants cash money as a repayment—can't blame him on that one—"

"Fuck you, Lynn."

"Just sayin', Tris. You aren't exactly at your financial peak. So, don't bitch because he tried to do you a solid, crazy."

"You're calling me crazy? You're obviously not quite right yourself." I gesture to her current state.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shauna interjects looking between Lynn and me.

"Never mind," we both reply.

I feel bad for Shauna as she switches her weight—she obviously knows Lynn and I share something she isn't privy too.

"Okay, Tris," Shauna begins again, using her can't-everybody-get along voice. "You speak Four. He didn't mean it like that. I'm sure he was angry, and…it was his weird way of saying you're fucking up something and you'll regret it—"

" _I_ didn't fuck up _any_ thing!" I yell defensively, a nagging feeling yanking on the back of my head like a string being pulled.

" _I_ didn't say you did. Now just hear me out—Think about what his mom went through! And then he had to see you go through the same! Do you honestly think those thoughts even passed through his mind? That you karmically deserved that? Tris, he would go to the moon and back… _twice_ …for the people he loves—"

"Shauna! Enough! I don't fucking care what you say! I was ruining his life! And in the end, he's better off, and he knows it!" Fury takes over me as I cover my eyes and walk toward the kitchen, swallowing a sob—fury at myself, disbelief at what I just said.

"So, lemme get this straight—This is about _you_ ruining _him?_ I'm just reading between the lines here, Tris," Shauna snarks.

A spark—flint hitting rock, reignites something that has been smoldering in the back of my head since I ended things with Tobias.

"I… He called me a victim," I add, backpedaling.

"So, what? You are a victim."

"Shauna," Lynn warns, finally on my side. _Since when are there sides? How childish are you, Beatrice?_

"What?!" Shauna looks between the both of us. "You were hurt, attacked—victimized. Why is that wrong?"

I look down at my feet, not having the will power to have this very touchy discussion, right now. Were it a normal situation, I would welcome this—would share how that word cuts through me like a boiled, sharpened, knife.

"I'm sorry. I just don't understand!"

"And it's not my job to make you understand!"

"But I want to help. Tell me!" she begs. "Fuck! At least, tell _him_!"

And I officially can't take it anymore. "There's nothing to tell. I'm just…me. I want to be alone. I need to be alone. Leave me the hell…alone!" Just then, I realize that came out as more of a desperate sob than a command because at those words— I just lost my friend.

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

The door slams so damned loud that the five locks shake.

"Well, weren't you as brutal as they come. That was my sister, you know?" I'm not particularly defensive about Shauna; she can hold her own. But, Tris was unnecessarily shitty.

"She can take care of herself. She'll be just fucking fine," Tris growls, filling her glass with more gasoline.

"Hmm." I narrow my eyes at her as her hands shake and her bottom lip does this weird quiver—no tears, though. Guilt…classic guilt.

"Hey, uh… What happened to Four's mom?" I ask, but can't believe I'm asking. I wait for her to answer, but she seems to be having, like, World War Prior or something bizarre in her head. "Look, you two are already fucked. May as well just tell me."

"His father…was abusive."

"How abusive?"

She braces herself on the sink, looking over her shoulder at me. "Does it matter? Abuse it abuse in any way, shape, form or quantity."

"Don't get all preachy. Just tell me. Or do I have to guess."

"His father used to…" She takes a drink of the sludge-in-a-cup. "…lock him in closets while he…beat the hell out of his mother."

I blow out a long breath because I was _not_ expecting that. _My, my, how this changes things…_ "Where is she now?"

"She died." _Yep. Even more so._

"How?"

"Ya know, you try your damnedest to be bitchily ambivalent and then you choose _this_ moment to suddenly become interested?" she scoffs leaning against the counter.

"For now, yes," I quip, not willing to jump in on her all-riled-up fiesta.

"Fine. She ODed on opiates and alcohol—240 milligrams of Oxycodone, eight milligrams of Xanax—"

"Holy…shit," I whisper to myself.

"And in his words—'enough booze to tranquilize a horse.'"

I nod my head which feels surprisingly better, just like my feelings toward Four. "And that explains a lot."

"What does that explain?"

"Seriously?" I ask, seeing as Four's behavior is now plain as day to me. "Okay, let's start with the obvious—his mom committed suicide, Tris. Or she was murdered. Don't know which would fuck a kid up more. Probably the purposeful kickage of bucket, I would think."

"Lynn, please…connect your dots so I can nap in peace," she groans.

"So, ya know, I'm, like, the ultimate observer. I watch people from afar, and that's the way I like it."

"Yes. Relationships. People. Terrible things," she remarks like the hypocrite she is.

I decide to ignore said hypocrisy while I make my genius point. "I've noted that he's more protective of you than, well, to speak your language—more protective of you than Heathcliff was to Catherine. Don't you agree?" I ask with purposeful formality.

"I used to. Now it seems more obsessive than protective."

"They're not mutually exclusive, Prior. Why do you think he's like that? Tell me you've thought about this, otherwise, you very well could be the shallowest person…ever."

"Of course, I've thought about why he's like that! I've tried to rationalize him for weeks! He…he fell in love with the idea of me—someone who could relate to him; didn't look down on him for his insecurities. And then when things went off track, he had to make them right again. He _had_ to. It's in his DNA or some shit." She pauses and looks around the room. "Plus, he had something to prove to himself this go around," she offers as if that comment were some sort of gift to me.

"Yeah? Prove that he could keep a whiney baby, such as yourself, away from the big bad world? Away from Eric? You really think he was trying to prove that…to himself?"

"No. I think… What I'm saying is…" Her chest is practically heaving from the stress of this seemingly straight forward conversation—she's about to lie. "He was trying to succeed where he failed in the past and I'm not going to stand around and be his deflection because he couldn't do shit about his mother!" She takes the two steps back, leaning on the counter and wiping her eyes like a five-year-old with her first dry-erase board.

"You are just…wow, Prior. Did those words feel good coming out of your mouth? 'Cause you almost puked as you said them! And the guilt tears? Really? You're so full of shit! You don't even mean half of what say these days! It's just you trying to talk yourself into things. You know, you never used to be like this."

I remember the days of semi-fun Tris. The girl who could take a sarcastic dig and give you one right back. The girl who didn't take shit from douchers at the bar. The girl who had a high tolerance for ditsy friends and an odd loyalty toward anyone who showed her kindness. She always had low self-esteem, like physically. It was ingrained in her or something. She shouldn't. She has one of the most naturally beautiful faces I've seen. Flawless skin, full lips, long lashes…proportionate features. What would I call her? Undervalued beauty? Hmm. I'd bet she'd photograph well—

"Why are you staring?!"

"Because you have good facial structure."

"Can you shut off your weirdness, please? And don't you think I know I never used to be like this?! Ya know what? I have no idea who I am! History repeats itself! Beatrice Prior doesn't know herself…yet again!"

"Your name…is _Beatrice_? That's the worst name I've ever heard."

She laughs weakly. "Shit, you think my name was bad. You should have seen _me_ four years ago. You wouldn't even have recognized me," she mumbles. "But then I met Christina…and Tori… _you_ by default. And then…"

"Say his name."

"Four," she says lightly like it's nothing.

"Try again."

She huffs and walks away from the counter, cup of nastiness in tow. "Look, I know what you're thinking—'Why is it so hard for her to say his name?' I'll give you the easy answer. It's because I don't want to think about him. Good enough?"

"Mmmnnnno. I think it's because you feel guilty when you _don't_ think about him, so when you _do_ …it's a stark reminder that you crushed him." _God, I'm good!_

"I crushed…him? You have no idea what you're talking about. This brief look into our lives doesn't make you some kind of savant on our relationship—you're missing a good amount, trust me! And even based on what you _do_ know—he…was _lying_ to me! He fucking went to see Eric! He knows more than I know—"

"Everyone has to lie to you these days."

I know I hit a nerve there because she has absolutely no comment, just the blankety blank of a blank stare. My comment is really only part-true. She just needs more tip-toeage than normal. Which is fine. I'm just trying to get under her skin—to the good stuff. Because so far, our room-mate sitch has been less than pleasant. Turns out, I can't just pretend she doesn't exist while still eating all her food and accepting her rent checks. If I have to live with this little dementor, we have to get shit straight.

"And as far as Four's little visitation? Why _are_ you pissed about that? The real reason."

"Because it's a violation!"

There's that word again—violation. _She uses it so fuckin' flippantly. For a girl who has been truly violated… How does she do that? I can't even… Fuck, my head hurts._

I sit up quickly, trying to—no, not _trying—pushing, pushing_ , certain thoughts out of my mind.

"No," I disagree, bringing my attention back to the problem child. "You bared your soul to Four. There is nothing he heard from that psycho that you wouldn't have told him yourself had _you_ been the first bidder."

She swallows and searches my face, trying to figure out where I'm going with this.

I lean forward, ready to dish it out. "You're not mad because he knows more than you or because he just went ahead and did it. You're pissed because you _know_ you were too weak to do it yourself. You're mad…at _you_." I point right to her, pretty much rendering her speechless. "Far as I'm concerned, he did you a favor. Didn't you use to have, like, 'night terrors?" I roll my eyes and use air quotes at the juvenile wording."

"How…" She looks down at the floor, obviously ashamed. "…how, um, did you know that?"

My cheeks flush with guilt for making her feel embarrassment about something I'm all too familiar with myself. "You and Christina…aren't quiet. I've caught too many of your moments of consolation."

She nods her head, letting a tear slip by. I know she misses Christina…not that I understand why, but…doesn't change the fact.

"So, let me ask—How has your sleeping pattern been now that you have some newfound knowledge provided to you by your supposed back-stabbing ex?"

She purses her lips, physically willing herself to not answer. I already know the answer anyway—she's sleeping more than she's awake! No crazy screaming, no tossing, no turning. She sleeps like the dead.

"It doesn't matter. I still don't remember anything that happened that night, so Four did me no favors."

"It's not about your memory, idiot."

"Then what's it about, Lynn? Give me insight into my own mind, please."

"Gladly! Now you have proof Eric can't get to you. You know, verbal reassurance from someone you trust that he is safely in a facility."

I see something flash behind her eyes and I mentally hi-five myself for handing her such a realization—not that I care that much.

"You think you know so much about the mental effects of physical and sexual assault?!" she yells suddenly, catching me off guard. "According to Shauna you grow up in Pleasantville! One hour outside of the city—dogs, cats, barbecues, picket fences and pure stability. Not parents who brushed you under the rug! Buried everything!"

I take a deep breath, the oxygen getting stuck and making me choke. _"Madelynn…you need to think this through…"… "Is that the right decision?" … "Think about your father."… "Just take some time, sweetheart."_

"And ya know what?" I croak, pushing the memories away. "That…uh…that fight you had, right here in my fit-for-a-midget living room—You were baiting him, weren't you? That shit you said about his mom—the mom who died…when he was a kid. You threw that in his face."

"I…I didn't… I know I—"

"Well, guess your plan was successful. Your wish came true. You wanted something really good—some piece of emotional torture that you can latch onto and throw right back at him…just so he'll resent you. You wanted that."

"Yes, I wanted to make him mad! I can admit that! I wanted to push him away! But then—"

"No, 'but then'," I interrupt, knowing where she's going with this next part—a Pandora's Box I do not want opened. It was bad enough when I put my four cents in while Shauna was here. And the fact that I'm engaging at all! _Why can't you just shut the fuck up, like usual?_

"Oh, there is a definite 'but then.' You heard what he said. I truly can't believe you can defend him! Shauna…I get…but you? Do you even really like him?!"

"He's a straight shooter. I like that. And if you're referring to your verbal twist-fest of his words—What the actually donkey fuck is that? Ya know what, now you can perpetually be unforgiving and not feel bad about it. Good luck with life!"

"Fuck you, Lynn! You have _no_ idea what it's like to be me! No idea how empty I feel for a thousand reasons that started years ago. No idea what it's like to be treated like refuse and just be expected to pick yourself back up again. No idea what it's like—"

"Don't… _even_ … _begin_ to tell _me_ …that I don't know what _that's_ like," I grit out as my face burns to the point where I can't hide it. "But you know what you are right about? I have no idea what it's like for someone to support me, to want to go to ridiculously near self-destructive lengths for me! Fuck! If Eric is even half as crackbrained as you say he is, hearing his point of view of your attack probably made Four want to check himself into the nuthouse right along with the psychopath!" I grab at my chest and stand hoping the physical effect of moving will match the mental effects. "And…YOU have no idea…what's it's like…" I take a deep breath, the smell of grass coming back to me. "Jesus, at least, someone _knows_ what the hell happened to you even if you don't want to hear it! Someone who gives a damn! Someone who loves you! I had none of that!" I scream, feeling my finger nails dig into my palms. _Shut up, Madelynn! Shut up, Madelynn!_

"You had none of that?" she asks looking all smug and ignorant. "Don't say shit just to make me _think_ you have a clue—"

"I was raped, you dumb bitch!"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I wake, cold and clammy, nausea not even being the right word to describe how I feel. Something tickles my face, but I bat it away with my hands—it's damp, the smell of dirt reminding me of Mom's garden, along with the hum of a lawn mower. A lawn mower? What the heck—_

 _"Great. Another one."_

 _I push myself up at the sound of a guy's voice standing over me._

 _"Should probably get out of here. Our president'll be here any minute, and he doesn't like strays. He'll toss your ass out on the street. 'Least you're not that far from it," he laughs and walks away as I shiver from confusion and cold._

 _I feel cool air on my bottom, so I look down—my skirt is hiked up. Ashamed and beyond embarrassed, I pull it down and rise up onto my knees, the world spinning making me fall forward onto all fours. My reflexes take over, and I dry heave onto the grass, crying from even more humiliation knowing I'm being watched. Then I feel it—the dull, dry, pain between my legs…entirely unfamiliar, completely unwelcome. For a moment, I seem to lose track of time as my mind tries to preserve its sanity. But, the physical side doesn't really care as the tears drip, drip, drip onto the grass in front of me._

 _"Seriously, babe. You've gotta go—"_

 _"What…what am I doing here?" I ask…begging for him to tell me that I came here with full consciousness, drank just a little too much and then fell asleep on the lawn, no harm no foul. What I don't want to hear is the truth—that the last memory I have is being underage in a bar with my roommate and her being really excited because "…some hot frat guys want us to play pool with them. EEEEEEEE!"_

 _"Look, I am not the post-hook-up-walk-of-shame detective. All I know is…you better get a walkin' and a shamin' because, seriously, we can't have any more strikes on our record."_

 _I push myself up to standing, brushing the grass off the side of my face, the squish of the damp earth beneath my feet alerting me to my lack of shoes—I'm barefoot. Holding in my nervous sobs, I turn in a circle and see them nowhere._

 _"Aw! Shoeless is one of the worst! Not the worst. Topless…that was the worst!"_

 _I cover myself up, suddenly feeling very naked and start walking down the street—_

 _"Dorms are that way!"_

 _I turn and finally seem to get some of my dizziness in check and the ability to figure out where the hell I am._

 _"Thanks," I mumble as I begin my walk of eternal shame._

 _I scratch at the tickling feeling on my right inner thigh, stopping only to see the crumbles of dried blood in my fingernails. I look down at my leg, watching the cracks in the blood get deeper and deeper the more I walk until it's loosened up enough to slough off. I brush the blood off—just as easily as my innocence._

 _The pebbles from the sidewalk digging into my feet, the stares of the neighbors—a humiliation I will never forget._

* * *

"Lynn—"

I rip my arm away from Tris's pathetic hand. "Seriously, I don't need anything from you! No comfort! No touching! No weird faces! Just know…that you have…or _had_ …someone who would have walked through fire for you. Don't take it for granted! Don't fucking waste it! Or if you're gonna waste it…which, apparently, you are, don't place the blame on him just to make _you_ feel better. Appreciate…mmmggghhh...appreciate love, okay?! I'm never going to say those words ever again!"

"Okay," she breathes out in a rush.

I turn to face the window and quickly rub under my eyes, talking over my shoulder. "Is that…all you're going to say?" I ask warily.

"Who else knows?"

* * *

 **Review! Don't review! I'm just happy you're reading! Thank you, guys! For realski!**

* * *

 **Songs that Inspire:  
**

 **Disappointment - The Cranberries**

 **Empty - The Cranberries**

 **Grey Street - Dave Matthews Band**


	25. Reflections Pt 3

**Reflections Pt. 3**

* * *

 **Shauna's POV:**

I'm still standing here, hand on the door. 21 seconds ago, I was ready to bust back in and somehow work in a mix of raising hell along with apologizing for my slightly over the top defending of Four. But now I remain—the words of my sister playing in my mind like elevator music as I continue to listen _—"I was raped...I was raped…I was raped…I was raped…"_

The world stopped for a minute, or I stopped, and the world kept going—not really sure.

"Who else knows?"

I lift my hand off the door knob and lean in closer, for the first time being happy that Lynn didn't heed my advice to keep her windows closed.

"Tori and my therapist," she mumbles. "Well, and, uh, my mom."

I watch the goosebumps raise on my arm and feel the betrayal at hearing the words "my mom." _Mom knew?_

"So, um…I know you're slightly unstable, but…" Tris trails off, the combined chuckle between the two of them at her shitty comment making me nauseous. "…can I ask some questions? Just…don't answer if you're not comfortable."

"Whatever, I know there's no stopping you, so…"

"Okay, well, one of the few moments you have ever shown me empathy…ever… was when you found out I don't remember what happened to me. So, I take it…you don't remember… _um…_ yours…either…"

"I remember…nothing. So, when you boo hoo to me about Four willingly torturing himself just to give _you_ peace of mind—it made me want to kill you…a slow, slow death. Because while you, luckily, found out you weren't raped. I _definitely_ was, and have no recollection. And it follows me…everywhere. Thus the pills…'cause ya know, leaving the apartment is a must."

"When did this happen?"

I lean my head in, feeling the need to soak in every emotion that my sister has been holding back from me for years.

"Week two of my freshman year at Eastern."

I cover my mouth, to hide the whimper that just came out of it, but it does nothing to stop my bullshit tears. _Six years…six fucking years ago…_ That was when my sister changed. She became a different person. _I never thought… I didn't… I…_

"I didn't know you went to college."

"I dropped out…didn't make it through first semester. That shit tends to change you."

"And you're _sure_ you were?"

The long pause actually gives me an ounce of hope. _Maybe it was never confirmed! What if she just woke up drunk and thought…eh—coulda happened!? College kids, right?! I did some crazy shit! Maybe she—_

"What the _fuck_ kind of question is that, Prior?!"

"I'm so sorry… I wasn't trying to be insensitive. I—"

"When you've never been with a man, nor have had the desire, you _know_ when you've been raped."

I watch through the crack in the window and the blinds as Lynn sits on the couch with her head in her hands while Tris clunks around in the kitchen. I've never wanted to hug my sister so much in my life. _The shitty part is, I think it would be more for my own comfort than for hers!_

Lynn looks toward the kitchen and then down at her hands—once, twice, three times. "Oh, yeah…" She shrugs. "…the added bonus of an unwanted pregnancy and what _then_ turned out to be an unwanted abortion…was another clue."

There is a sudden ringing in my ears, like a dog whistle inches away from my face. I grab the wrought iron railing for stability. I can't hear anything, but I see my little sister, Madelynn, scrub the tears off her face.

"Oh, God, Tris. Now what?! Please don't tell me one of your sob stories, right now. Or…don't try to relate because I know you can't. It would be a pathetic waste of this already pathetic moment."

At this point, I see Tris standing there, stone cold, the mugs in her hand shaking a little.

"I… I wasn't or won't or…"

"You look like you're going to keel over. I'll warn you next time my language gets too explicit. Just…come, sit down. Geez…"

Tris hands Lynn her mug and sits down next to her. "So, you…uh…didn't want an abortion?... Sorry, you don't have to answer—"

"Fuck! Next time warn me before you deliver third-degree burns to my digits!... And, I thought I did...want one. _Want…_ that's an interesting way to put it. Anyway, when it came down to it, I didn't."

"Sorry," Tris mumbles still in her own world.

 _Pay attention, Tris! My sister is TALKING! PAY ATTENTION!_

"So why…why did you? Why did you…uh…go through with it?"

"Because I was already at the appointment."

Lynn's shoulders rise as if she's shrugging—brushing off this conversation. I finally collect myself enough to get the guts to knock. _I'm bold. I'm brash. I'm bossy. I can handle this. She needs me._

"And my mom kept saying, 'Sweetie, it's an easy procedure.'… 'You're only six weeks.'… 'It's no big deal.' … 'Things will be better this way.'"

My mouth drops open as the awfulness of hearing Lynn says those words so flatly, my Mom's words without the soft yet somehow always confident nature of her voice. Lynn's interpretation—like she's purposely distancing herself from the emotion.

"Well, _nothing_ ended up being better—I was still raped, I felt a hole in my uterus, and I still looked at men as if they were demons."

"Lynn—"

"Look, I'm better now. I see a good therapist; I know men aren't evil; I don't think the guy will try to 'find me.' How stupid was that? That I actually thought whoever did it gave me another thought?"

"That's not stupid."

"But…that hole is still there; I can't look my mom in the eye, and I'm still a shell of who I used to be."

"You mean, you weren't always like this?"

I watch in horror as Tris gestures to Lynn. _What a fucking…bitch!_

I come back to my normal self and unclench my jaw upon hearing Lynn's stifled laugh along with seeing Tris's soft grin. _Relax, Shauna. That's what Lynn needs. YOU should be what Lynn needs!_

"Nope. This is the way-less-improved me."

"Did you try to find out who did it? Or what happened?... Am I allowed to ask that?"

"At this point, you may as well come with me to my next gyno appointment—front row."

"No, thanks."

I rest my forehead on the front door, waiting for Lynn's answer. If I bust in now, she'll stop talking. And I haven't heard her talk this much since the summer she left for college when she was going down the list of everything she needed for her dorm room—telling me her roommate seemed 'super nice' and that she couldn't wait to start taking a 'real photography class.' _God, she was a different person…_

"Ya know, I just went to my dorm and…buried myself under the covers for days. My roommate called my mom and…she showed up at my dorm. Somehow I got the words out. I think I just needed to tell _someone._ "

"What did she say?"

"She didn't believe me at first."

I feel like the saliva has been sucked out of my mouth.

"Only because I didn't remember, and I didn't exactly go into stark detail with her. Then she asked why I was at a party alone as a Freshman. She also asked what I was wearing. And when I told her a short purple skirt—well, that's all she needed to hear. Her exact words were—'What did you expect would happen? You get drunk at a frat house wearing _that_? Everything about you probably screamed easy access! Did you put your drink down? Tell me you didn't put your drink down, Madelynn.'"

My heart is racing. It hurts. It's pounding.

"Then she looked horrified—as if she couldn't believe those words came out of her mouth. So she gave me a hug and apologized. In all honesty, my mom has always been…well, a great mom. I knew she loved me and that she really only wanted what was best for me. Fuck, she was crying as much as I was. So when she said most people would react the same way that she did, I just thought how much I couldn't fucking stand for my family and friends to look at me like my mom did."

"What about your dad?"

"I was always Daddy's little princess, so…I couldn't ruin that for him. Well, turns out I did anyway." She laughs gesturing to her piercings and shaved head.

"What about Shauna?"

"Um…"

I now listen with rapt attention, the fog lifting just a bit in anticipation of her answer. The one I'd been waiting for.

"She was…or is…my big sister. Shauna's strong and confident and normal and…I always sorta wanted to _be_ her—hung on every word she said growing up. She was athletic, pretty, down-to-Earth, funny. Everything just came easy for her. I was…just so… _fucking_ mortified. I couldn't… … … Anyway, I dropped out of school and stopped calling. Moved to the city. And then, well, we ran out of things to talk about, so…we grew apart and…it's too late now."

"No," I whisper as I hear my sister cry for the first time in years.

"Ugh! I'm fine! Stop touching me, Beatrice!"

"Nudging your pinkie toe doesn't count as touching—"

"Get off my turf!" a voice seethes in my ear.

I stumble down the few stairs and stare at the crazy cracker bitch who just dared to lay her hands on me. I glance back to the door, to the place where my life just flipped on end—my world overturned. _I can't handle this right now. I can't go in there._

"You're scaring away my customers!"

Instead of beating the piss out of the skank, I decide to take my anger out on her crackers. I wrench the plastic bag out of her hand, throw them on the sidewalk, stomping on them until they are practically dust.

"Get a damned job, Rosa!" I yell over my shoulder as I take off down the street, biting back the tears.

I flick off Nacho on my way past him, fully expecting some sort of smooth, creepy response, but all I get is "Respect" and a head nod—my face must be mirroring my rage.

 _My sister was raped. My sister was raped. I didn't know. How did I not know? No one told me. How did no one tell me? Why didn't Mom tell me? My sister. My sister. My sister had an abortion._

A sob from deep deep down comes out so loudly that I feel like my eardrums may burst. I grab onto a magical bench, trying to hold back my lunch from meeting the sidewalk. Things start to click in my head—Lynn's sudden digression from everything and everyone. She went from this innocent kid to someone I didn't even recognize anymore. I thought it was just her trying to distance herself from me—become her own person. I hated her for it.

 _Oh, she became some person, alright! She became a fucking hermit! Quit school!Quit friends! Shaved her damned head!_

I push myself off the bench, rubbing my eyes along with whatever make-up is on them, and make my way to the gym.

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

"I'm impressed, man. I would have thought several weeks out of the ring would have done you in. But I will admit—being a grown man who has recently learned to admit things; thank you, Shauna—that you haven't lost your touch."

"Yes, well you do make it pretty damned easy," Four replies even though he is slightly out of breath.

"Oh, really? What about that round house little nugget you didn't see coming?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I saw it from a mile away."

"Then why…did you not…block…it? Or make any move whatsoever to counter it?"

He shrugs and looks away all embarrassed. And I fuckin' love it!

"Oh, man! Yes! I do love makin' you look like a fool!"

"I still won, dick head."

"Hey," I put my arm around him roughly and shake his shoulders. "When it comes to you…small victories—it's all about the small vic…tor…ies!" I clap him on the back, and he laughs at me because let's face it… _I_ am the one who is the fool.

But I have to say; I gave him a run for his money. Ya know, kept him guessin;' keepin' him on his toes—

"YOU!" A not-at-all petite growl echoes through the gym.

I turn, trying to prepare myself for what's going to happen, even though, I have no idea what's going to happen as Shauna storms our way. Four and I both back away by instinct, but my lady is fast…in more ways than one—

I hear the loud crack of hand to cheek before my face registers pain, and then I hear it again…followed up by a deep growl. I look at Four as he glares at Shauna and then I look at Shauna as she glares right back.

"YOU…" She smacks Four on the chest, making a noise as loud as when her hand connected with my face. "…do _NOT_ get to look at me like that! Ever! Don't fucking try to intimidate me, you stupid prick!"

"And YOU…" I cringe before it happens—an equally hard slap to the chest. "…do _NOT_ look at me like a fuckin' pussy! Man up, pansy ass!"

Just then, I see that she's crying—my Shauna…is crying. _I'm out! I don't know what the fuck to do!_

But Four seems to be better at this shit, for some reason, so he walks closer. "Hey, you okay—"

"Don't fucking talk to me!" She wipes her eyes like she's pissed at them or something. "You lost me my bridesmaid! I have no female friends! She was it!"

"And you!" She grinds her finger into my pectoral region as I suck in a sissy breath. "I knew you were getting her statement. But, I thought it was so HE could read what YOU wrote…or some shit!"

"And you…again! You lost me my bridesmaid! My only bridesmaid! Had to go all caveman and put your overprotective dumbass face where it doesn't belong! You lost me my bridesmaid! And the SHIT you said to her… Karma? You think she deserved to be raped?! WHO ARE YOU?! I would never forgive you, and I fucking told her she better not EVER FORGIVE YOU!"

My mouth drops open as Four looks at her like she's speaking a different language. Like he's trying to decode her. His eyes are fuckin', wild but he's not moving.

"You lost me my bridesmaid!" She smacks him on the chest again, but the dude remains.

And he's damned speechless. _Fuck! So am I? What the hell did he say?!_

"Do you know how many times I defend your stupid ass?! And since suddenly you're some Karmic expert…how about a dose, FUCKER! I'm kicking your sorry fucking ass out of our wedding!"

"Shauna," I interject, receiving a hard punch to the arm. "Ah, fuck!"

"No, Ezequiel! If he's there, then I'm not! I won't let a man…who disrespects WOMEN…stand up in OUR…WEDDING! So…all this shit, right here?" She circles her arms wildly, and I don't think Four's mouth has ever been wider. "THIS is Karma, bitch!"

She stomps off to her office as Four and I stand there.

"You lost me my bridesmaid!" she shrieks. Her voice has never been higher. "George! You're in my fucking wedding!"

"Indeed, I am," George bows his head in passing.

I look slowly back to Four, praying to the Lord Almighty that he said nothing like that. "Tell me you didn't—"

"I've…gotta…um…go." He drops his water bottle to the floor, spilling it everywhere as he stumbles forward a couple steps, but I catch him just as he rights himself. "Zeke, I…"

I wait…and wait… Nothing. No speech, whatsoever. I have never seen this guy at a loss for words more than in this moment. And he is without words…most of the time. He just stands there…staring at the floor.

"Man—"

"Don't." He suddenly stands taller as he bites his lips between his teeth.

I swear he grew a good six inches. I'm not usually this observant of him, but in this case… Holy shit!

"See ya," he mumbles, walking outside.

"What did you do, Four?" I say under my breath as I watch him break out into a sprint toward the lake.

"Ezequiel Aurora Borealis Pedrad! Get your ass back here!"

I close my eyes, taking a quick moment to pray as I head back to Shauna's office. "Dear Lord. Tell me she did not just shout my middle name… Please, Lord. Father, Son, Holy Ghost… Please…" I jog…limply…back to her office and watch her scavenge through piles of paper. _She is not the most organized woman…_ "Hhhheeeeyyyy…" I whisper, testing the waters.

"Did your friend just teach a self-defense class without my permission?!" she asks as if he should be court-martialed if he had.

"Well, not exactly—"

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"He's helping some lady… _on his own time_."

"He doesn't get to use my gym to provide his own personal training sessions! I can get into serious shit for that! Not that he cares about people's feelings at all these days—"

"He's…not…charging…her…Shauna," I say clearly and quietly, closing the distance between the two of us.

"Well, then that's another problem. If she wants lessons at this gym, she needs to pay!"

"Shauna," I sigh, knowing this is a losing battle right now. "Hey, babe. Babe, babe, babe." I take her by the shoulders as turn her to face me. "So…uh…you saw Tris?"

I need to get to the bottom of whatever happened there. I am missing some serious pieces.

"Mmm hmm." She folds her arms and looks over my shoulder as if something on the wall is very, very interesting.

"Hey…" I tip her chin up even though she flinches away. "Did Four really say those things?"

"Mmm hmm." She shrugs, biting her bottom lips, tears building up again. "What? You don't believe me now?! Fuckin' typical, Zeke. Go on! Side with 'your boy!'"

"I'm not…siding. I—okay, maybe I'm siding because, no, I don't believe you," I say with 100% confidence.

The man doesn't even like it when I refer to Shauna as 'my lady' because it makes it sound like I own her and 'no woman should ever have to feel that way.' I can hear his serious and sure voice in my head. Plus, my fiancée is crying and…well, I've never seen that before, so something else is definitely up.

The look of I-want-to-staple-you-to-the-wall that she's giving me is… _frightening._

"Shauuuuuna, ahem, I mean, Shauna, you're crying."

"So?" she growls.

"So, you don't cry—not even when your lady parts are participating in their monthly civil war."

"Well, I'm a girl whose going to be a bride, and Four is ruining my wedding," she answers through even more tears.

"Babe? You wanted to elope…in Vegas. The big shindig was my idea—"

"Your mother's idea!"

"My point being, all this…" I tuck her short strands of hair behind her burning hot ears. "This is the Shauna version of insanity. And I know Four. I know what he's been through, what he's seen people go through. He would never say she deserved that…ever."

"Well, he said something like that," she squeaks…yes, Shauna Meyers just…squeaked.

"What is going on with you? Babe? Please, this is not…like you—"

She grips my shirt and pulls me close sobbing, sobbing without any control. I feel her tears through my shirt before I even have the gumption to hold her.

"Shauna…" I warn because now I know something so beyond wrong, and she can't hold that shit in! "No secrets. This whole no secrets business—that was all you. Your fault. I was fine with a few secrets. But, now you have to follow through—"

"Lynn was…raped."

All I can do is hold Shauna close and not let my anger boil up at what I just heard. No man, no man should…ever, ever, ever… And Lynn? I'm going to kill whoever—

"Her… She wasn't even… She was in school for two weeks! She… I didn't know. She just…changed. All of a sudden! She dropped out of school, moved away, closed herself off! She…got pregnant and she had—Zeke, I can't even. I just…"

"Okay, baby. It's okay." I run my fingers through her hair and sway her back and forth—I saw Four do this with Tris once. It seemed to work. "She's fine now, though, right? Is she okay?"

"I don't…know. I overheard…the whole thing. She…does _not_ know that I…know. Don't say a fucking word, Zeke!"

"I won't." I kiss the top of her head.

"I always wondered where Madelynn went… Now I know."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I flip the card over and over between my fingers, grinning inappropriately—unsure if it's ironic or coincidental that the card Lynn literally whipped at my face was the same one that Evey and Tori gave me. It was definitely fate— _Do I even believe in fate?_

"Hey," I hear Tori's groggy voice, putting me on instant alert as she walks in behind me, making her way to her desk. She seats herself haphazardly on her chair, looking like the dark side of Hell. "Thanks for coming in, right away."

"You didn't make it sound like I had a choice."

"Just don't ask me how I'm feeling, okay?"

"Wouldn't dare."

"I'm feeling the effects of a round of chemo, radiation, and insomnia. Plus, my _fucking_ hair is starting to fall out—No, I'm not getting a wig. But I need your help."

I sit up straighter in my chair, trying to hide the fact that she has just caught me totally off guard. Tori has never asked for help—she'll order people around, but asking isn't in her repertoire.

"With…what?" I ask carefully.

"I need you to manage the bar."

"You…what—"

"Lynn said you walked into Martineers and walked right out."

"Lynn needs to shut the fuck up."

Tori's penetrating stare along with the fact that I do feel guilty for bailing on the new job after she gave me a recommendation, makes me feel like I, at least, owe her some kind of explanation.

"Look, Osmar asked me to turn around so he could make sure 'the goods are in proper shape.' He tried to spin me like a top." The fact that I even _let_ him still makes me feel dirty.

"He's a chauvinistic porker. I'm aware. So what do you say? Don't bother answering me unless it's a 'yes.'"

I sit there, not purposely _not_ answering her, just trying to run through my mind how this would work out _. I don't want to see ANYONE! But, Tori needs my help. Damn it!_

"Tris, please?"

"Wow." It's the only word I'm able to say seeing as not only is she asking me for a huge favor, but she wants an answer now, and that answer has to be yes.

"Yes, it is a 'wow.'" She sighs and furrows her eyebrows at me.

 _Does eyebrow hair fall out when you have cancer treatment?_

"Has your parents' property sold, yet?"

I chuckle at her question seeing as I had gotten off the phone with my realtor not even two hours ago, the shock in his voice was unnerving—"Well, Beatrice! Someone actually put an offer in on the property!"

"There was an offer for $30,000. That's less than half of what I'm asking for."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Plus, it was some company, an LLC or something…whatever the hell that is. They would probably just rip everything down and develop it. I don't know." I glance up at her feeling ashamed because my problems are minuscule. "I know it shouldn't matter, but—"

"It matters. I get it."

I nod my head, gracious for her understanding. I can't imagine someone subdividing the acreage and building crappy track houses on it—the rolling hills, the pond, the orchard, my barn. _I really need to get back there to go through the house—_

"I can't be here right now, Tris. I'm too tired, and I'm making mistakes—"

"I'll do it," I say hastily and without forethought.

The relief that appears on Tori's face brings me more happiness than I've experienced in weeks, the feeling of actually having a positive impact on someone.

"I'll make this easy on you—You only have to go in front if there's a problem. You can stay in the shadows, watch on the monitors. I'll still do payroll and accounting from home."

"Are you sure—"

"Tris, be quiet. Now, I need you to do inventory, scheduling and daily management bullshit, which you pretty much already know how to do anyway. I just hired a new bartender. You'll like her, but she only works weekends. So Myra's coming back to help Mark during the week, and I promoted Juan Carlos to bar back. His brother just crossed the border, so he's going to be our new bus boy. We pay him and Juan Carlos cash."

I raise my eyebrow in judgment at the illegality of that little tidbit.

"What? Should I fire Juan Carlos?"

"No. But isn't there a way—"

"Until we have a path to citizenship that actually makes sense, I will gladly pay hard workers cash to send home to their families, rather than pay spoiled white kids in checks for their double caramel Frappuccinos. Lynn and Molly still cocktail. Al still bounces. Three Chefs cater happy hour on Fridays. The rest is gravy."

"Um—"

"I can pay you $4200 a month. I know you're used to more, but you can afford it now that you live in Humboldt-your-door Park."

"West Humboldt," I reply with a smirk.

"Even better. So can you swing it and still pay your medical bills and live the life of a carefree millennial?"

I laugh lightly at her sarcasm—as if there were anything carefree about my life right now. I briefly do the math in my head. I still owe four more payments of 10,000. My mind wanders to my Roth IRA account where my savings of $20,000 sits. I can use it. I can replace it. _Fuck._

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

I can see in her eyes that she knows I'm lying. _Maybe I can get another job? What the hell would I do? Hotdog vendor? Barista? Oh! Maybe Grounds is hiring!_

"It's a full-time gig so don't kill yourself and get another job. Oh, and Bud and I got married."

I sit back in my chair, my thoughts of getting a second job, flying out the window. Then the second part of her sentence resonates. Married?

"Why?" I ask in distaste because I know she always found the idea of marrying repulsive.

"Security of dual income. The tattoo parlor brings in a decent amount, and the bar does well. Also, the ALG Insurance is outstanding." She smiles with tight lips as my stomach clenches at the mention of ALG—Tobias in a dark suit; hair mussed up from a stressful day; his tie loosened; sitting at his desk; staring out at the lake. I miss his voice

Tori clears her throat, bringing me back to reality.

"He's cool with the fact that you married him for his money and insurance?"

"He understands. And it's very much for his benefit as well; trust me."

She flits her eyes around the room as I try to figure out what that comment means. But I soon realize, it's a lost cause.

"Okay… Well, congratulations…? I guess. Is that the right thing to say?"

She sighs in exhaustion. "I don't know."

"Guess that's not the way you imagined your wedding to be?" I joke, knowing full well, she had no intention of marrying…ever.

"Who says I wasn't married before?"

"Oh." I pause, not knowing how to respond. I had never even thought for a second that Tori even entertained marriage early on in her life. In fact, I know very little about younger Tori. "I didn't know—"

"So, I'll have better instructions for you tomorrow," she interrupts, rummaging through her desk drawers, leaving me hanging. "But for right now, I need you. Like tonight…like right now actually."

"I'm in sweats and a T-shirt. I look like a hobo."

"It's been your look for a while now. I'll have Mark take care of everything. Come out when the last customer is gone. Computer and tablet are at your disposal. There is a file on the desktop with instructions for closing out the registers."

"O…kay—"

"How are you? Make it quick."

"Fine." I resort to my typical answer, not missing a beat.

"Not that quick."

I untwist my pony tail holder, and shake my hair out, all while exhaling a long much-needed release. "Terrible," I whine, leaning my head back on the chair. "I did everything I was supposed to do…but did it all wrong. I'm not listening to my gut anymore. I feel like each person I talk to sways me in one direction until I talk to the next person and they sway me in the other."

"Hmmph. You have good instincts. 'Least you used to. You should find those again."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Quickly."

"Do you think he…Four…even realized that I was draining the life out of him? That I was making him lose himself?"

She crosses her arms, and I can feel her search my face. "No."

"I need someone to know, besides me, that I just didn't want that for him. I love him," I whisper, feeling the familiar bubble in my chest that rises to the surface when I think about Tobias. "I'm telling you this because I need to tell someone. I need to put it out there, and I trust you. I wanted him; I wanted us. But I literally am un-fucking-able to do it. He turned into someone he's not. I did that to him. Right now, I am incapable of doing anything selfless, and he is incapable of doing anything selfish."

She nods her head. "Anything else?"

"No," I lie. There are more things than I can count running through my head at all hours of the day and night. Almost all having something to do with him.

"What's that?" Tori gestures to the card in my hand.

"My new therapist's card," I answer. "Turns out…she does payment plans."

"Don't expect me to pay you more."

* * *

 **Marcus's POV:**

 **Flashback:**

 _My father pushes me toward a group of women lounging on the veranda. Toward one, in particular—dark brown hair, caramel colored eyes, full lips, pale complexion, about 5' 7", slim waist, acceptable amount of curves. She flits her hand about lazily as if she's bored. I've been observing her from afar for a while now at the insistence of my father. If it weren't for his meddling, I'd have her laid out already. But the stubborn side of me feels the need to prove to him that I will date who I want, not who he tells me to. I realize full well what a good match is when I see one. And, yes, we would make a good match on paper. I'm just not sure what she has going for her apart from her wealth._

 _"You will go talk to Evelyn Johnson, and you will put on a brilliant show of affectionate wooing. Now go!"_

 _I stumble and see that I have caught some of the women's eye from my fumbling, but not Evelyn's—she keeps her back to me. I now see that the dress she's wearing hugs her behind quite well._

 _"Um…hello, ladies. Evelyn, may I have a word?"_

 _I see her shoulders sink as she turns to face me, a look of boredom on her face that is pretty damned annoying._

 _"Um… That's a lovely dress—"_

 _"Lovely dress I'm wearing? Really, Marcus?" she asks, laughing. She's laughing…at ME?_

 _"Why, yes—"_

 _"Evey, let's just go."_

 _Her friend pulls her back in retreat earning a glare from me._

 _"It's fine, Anna." She shakes her loose, pleasingly. "Jesus, could you be more generic? You're Marcus Eaton, your father wants you to 'court' me like this is the early 1900s because my parents are dead, I have no siblings nor family to speak of, so I'm worth millions."_

 _"Um—"_

 _"Let's just move on from this, shall we?" She pats my cheek condescendingly. "I'm free next Saturday. Meet me at the docks at noon. Bring your whatever-fancy-boat-you-have. If I have to be abhorred, I may as well be doing something that brings me pleasure. Run along now, Marcus." She flits her fingers in the direction of my father as she walks away confidently._

 _I feel the corner of my mouth creep up into a smile. She is…intriguing. Pondering the way she spoke to me, I come to the conclusion that it was almost a turn on—a challenge, a match. I know I'm handsome—tall, tan and fit, worth millions myself, educated, business-minded; girls lay themselves at my damned feet. But she led the conversation—made it so she's in charge. Intriguing. I may actually like this one._

 _"Your ass does look fantastic in that dress, Evelyn!" I yell over my shoulder, not looking back even though I know for damned sure she did, based on the laughter from her friends._

* * *

 _I hold my hand out for her to climb aboard the boat, to which she just rolls her eyes and pulls herself up. She stops short and huffs to herself, which is quite amusing to me._

 _"Sailing? We're going…sailing? Couldn't have warned me?"_

 _"This is my whatever-fancy-boat. The one you told me to bring. So, this is, indeed, your fault."_

 _"You're either taking me sailing to impress me or torture me, which one?"_

 _"To impress you, of course," I reply, although it's a mix of both._

 _"Hmmph."_

 _I watch her get situated. She immediately discards her shirt, and I'm pleased to see she's wearing very very short shorts to go along with her too-modest-for-my-taste one-piece teal bathing suit. I decide to join her in removing my shirt before signaling to the dock hand that we're ready. Her glance up at me not going at all unnoticed, followed by her surprisingly sexy smirk gives me nothing but confidence. Grinning, I walk to the starboard side of the boat and—_

 _"Oooofff!" I find myself on the floor of the boat, sprawled out over the rope I tripped on, mortified—completely mortified._

 _I did not just fall in front of this girl! I push myself up before Evelyn can rush over to me, looking over my shoulder ready to brush her off. But I find…she hasn't even moved. In fact, she's laughing. Not just any laugh—an all-out condescending horrifically enjoyable laugh. I can't help but join in._

 _"Wow, Marcus. You were right. Definitely…impressive," she comments shielding her honey golden eyes from the sun. She smiles, and it's brilliant._

 _"I'd fall 1000 times today if I can see that smile again."_

 _I look away scratching the back of my head in disbelief at what I just said, but when I dare to glance back, there it is—her smile with a tint of blush added as a bonus. And I feel lighter._

 _What the hell is this woman doing to me?_

* * *

 _"Okay, okay, Marc… I already forgave you. Why are we out here?" she sighs swatting my hands away as I pat her perfect ass. I clear my throat at the reminder of my outburst last week, the one leaving regrettable bruises on both her arms._

 _"Stop throwing a fit and be quiet."_

 _I urge her forward on the concrete, the prize approaching on our right. Then removing the blindfold, I turn her toward it—an 11,000 square foot plantation-style brick house, situated on five acres of lakefront property, equipped with an Olympic-sized pool, guest house, and tennis court. It's perfect for her._

 _"So what do you think?" I ask, my nerves suddenly catching up with me._

 _"It's a house," she answers without emotion._

 _"For us, Evey. I bought it for us."_

 _"Marcus—"_

 _"Marry me," I blurt out as her eyes widen. "I know I can be a pompous ass and I've made some poor choices, but…you make me want to be better. No, you do make me better. You make me laugh, which in and of itself is a feat. You're the only girl I've allowed myself to share an ice cream cone with. You're beautiful, and I probably don't deserve you, but…I'm in love with you. Say yes."_

 _Her beautiful mouth opens and then closes while I pray to God this goes my way._

 _"I want to…but, just last week—"_

 _"I lost my temper. That's all. It's never happened before, and it'll never happen again. You know it won't."_

 _I see her eyes move back and forth between me and the house giving me a renewed sense of hope._

 _"Will you get help?"_

 _"Help?" I ask hoping she's not suggesting what I think she is._

 _"Marcus, you slapped me and then gripped my arms so hard you left fingerprints. Do you know how humiliating that was?"_

 _"I'm trying to propose, and you bring that up?" I ask, angrily._

 _"I want to lay everything out for you. I won't tolerate violence." She looks toward the house longingly. "No matter how much I love you."_

 _"So, that's a yes?"_

* * *

 _"Marc?"_

 _"Hmm?" I look up as Evelyn sways into the room rubbing her lower back. I'm often at war with myself about her physically these days—sometimes I find it incredibly masculating that I made her like that, that my manhood can make a woman's change to that extent. However, it's also slightly off-putting, how she has changed. She's still beautiful, her skin is actually quite lovely—but, some of the weight has spread to other parts of her body apart from her rather swollen belly. And the fact that she won't let me go near her finally-sizable tits is infuriating._

 _"Are you coming to bed?" she asks with a small, tired smile. She's always tired these days._

 _"Soon," I remark looking down at the three portfolios in front of me. My father is pushing me to the brink to see what I'm made of, and I'm dying to show him._

 _"Can you come now?" she whines. "There's a spot right above my ass that I can't quite get to. This little man may just be the death of me." She laughs as if the image she just painted me were at all funny._

 _"Assuming it's a boy already?" I ask, putting aside my thoughts._

 _"Wouldn't you be pleased," she states with a raised eyebrow. "A male heir."_

 _I nod my head in agreement. I've made it perfectly clear my desire for a boy and how I plan to knock her up right after delivery if it happens to be a girl. She usually laughs at my assumed jest while I laugh at the fact that she thinks I'm joking._

 _"Well, since you seem to be of little help, I'm off to bed. I'm meeting Anna at the club for breakfast—"_

 _"Using our membership again, is she?"_

 _"Marcus, we have enough money to buy an island nation. Why can I not bring my oldest friend to the club?"_

 _I can think of about a hundred reasons why she isn't suited—her lack of status alone being at the top of the list. She doesn't even have any relations to speak of whatsoever, apart from her questionable ethnic heritage. But, she makes Evelyn happy, and you know what they say—"A happy wife is a happy life." It is true to some extent, even if my satisfaction is waning these days._

 _"She doesn't wear proper attire nor does she know how to act. Her attitude where you may find it bold and daring is actually disrespectful and unbecoming."_

 _"Marcus, she dresses exactly the same as every other boring woman at that club. She just happens to shop in less than couture—"_

 _"Since when is Walmart only 'less than couture?' And she may just want to shed a few pounds if she is going to walk around in a swimsuit."_

 _"Since when did you turn into such a damned self-righteous pig? Do you really think you're better than her? That we're better than her? Get off your high horse! Don't get me wrong; you've always been snobbish, but your turning into your father more and more each—"_

 _She's on the floor, the palm of my hand stinging from the severe box to the ear I just delivered her. My heart races from immediate guilt, but also a slight satisfaction._

 _"Come on, darling." I lift her up, my arm under her neck and knees—she's actually fairly light for being eight months pregnant. "Are you alright?"_

 _Her head lolls slightly, her hand moving to her swollen stomach._

 _"I landed on…my—"_

 _"Off to bed for the both of us. Let's get you that back rub, shall we?" I kiss the top of her forehead that has developed a sheen of sweat.  
_

* * *

 _"I'm leaving you," she says defiantly, turning away from me like a dramatic soap opera star—particularly because she's in her satin pajamas and robe, holding a rocks glass of scotch. It's actually quite comical._

 _"Please. And where will you go?" I purr, indulging her fit._

 _"Do you really think I would tell you?!"_

 _"Fine, go. But you're not taking Tobias."_

 _"The son you show little to no interest in?"_

 _I grit my teeth at her insinuation that I don't pay attention to Tobias. Just because I don't dote on him, giving in to each and every one of his whims? Because I don't take him to the park? Because I don't take him swimming at the club? Please. He won't remember any of that. I'll be his greatest influencer when he turns old enough to give a shit._

 _"I'll show interest when he can talk, Evelyn. Now go buy yourself some new finger paints. Better yet, go to the club. Play tennis or whatever—"_

 _"I…am…leaving!"_

 _"And what reason do you have this time? These idle threats are painstakingly—"_

 _"This Marcus!" She pulls her robe free, showing a scar where her arm slide along the bookshelf as I dragged her behind me. "And this, right here!" The residual leftover bruise above her left breast from my fist. "Here! And here." She points to two places where I see nothing. "Constant…pain. From you!"_

 _I clench my jaw in understanding of her anger, but I feel no sympathy. She gets under my skin on purpose, I've decided. It seems to be the only way to get her to behave! The shameful part is the dark thoughts of satisfaction after I'm done with her. They're getting stronger._

 _"I don't… You aren't the same man, anymore! I don't know when you changed or if I was just blind and you surprised me by being semi-amusing when we first met, but…I'm done."_

 _"What will you do for money?" I ask, humoring her again._

 _"I have…plenty of that, as you very well know."_

 _"No," I correct. "I have plenty of that."_

 _I smile smugly at her confused expression, relishing in her naivety. "You don't honestly think anything is in your name, do you? But, yes, if you choose to leave…just make sure to fire the nanny. I'll need a full-time au pair."_

 _"Tobias is coming…with ME—"_

 _"You can leave me Evelyn, but you'll never get custody of our son…ever. Good luck hiring a lawyer with your complete and utter lack of money."_

 _I look her over—eyes sallow, lips dry. She's even thinner than before Tobias was conceived. I'm not even worried for a second that she'll leave me. I shrug my shoulders and walk around to the other side of my desk._

 _"When did you change?" she croaks._

 _"I've always been this way. Maybe you just surprise me by being semi-amusing. You always did have an amazing ass too. Well, at least…before."_

* * *

 _"Evey—"_

 _"Don't call me that."_

 _"I'm just…checking on you—"_

 _"Get out," she seethes._

 _I take a step back as she paces circles in our room. She left me for two weeks, and I had no idea where she went. I was, surprisingly, beside myself. It was a mix of embarrassment for my insipid wife taking off along with the fact that I missed her…quite desperately, in fact. It put my feelings in check. The relief I felt upon hearing her voice was worth the condition that she'll come home if I start seeing a therapist. So, I did._

 _It was humiliating and liberating at the same time. It was his suggestion that I be open with Evelyn about the plaguing thoughts and suppressed need that I was always too ashamed to even admit to myself. I invited Evelyn to attend one of our sessions, Dr. Rein being the facilitator. If she truly loved me, she would understand and help me work through it. If she truly loved me…_

 _"Look, I was… I've had these ideas for a while," I say aloud, trying to explain myself. "If you would just listen, I can better express—"_

 _"Your sadomasochistic…feelings? You can take those and shove them up your ass, Marcus Eaton. Did you really expect me to…participate in—I can't even say it!"_

 _The dishonor and mortification I suddenly feel is suffocating. I just admitted my deepest imaginings—domination, pain, sexual oppression—and her reaction is unbearable. Opening up to her about trying to get to the bottom of these needs—Why I am the way I am—a seemingly wasted effort._

 _"If this is your way to spice things up…then you are as unstable as your father! Apparently the rumors of his sexual appetite don't fall far from the tree! You're disgusting. Truly vile! Years of this, Marcus, years! How can I have you around our child?! Around…our children? You disgust me—"_

 _My hands are around her neck. I watch my fingertips turn white from squeezing—the juxtaposition of Evelyn's filthy purple face, a fascinating mix. I push lightly on the spot on the back of her neck that will put her into submission; she easily goes limp in my arms as I lay her face down on the couch. I march to the door to my office with purpose, en route to lock it. I step back quickly at the sight of my toddler son standing in the doorway._

 _"Mama's okay…? She seepin'?"_

* * *

 _"I lost the baby," Evelyn deadpans, her eyes glassy and red, haggard looking as usual._

 _"Tobias is hardly a baby anymore. Jesus, you spoil that boy. Have Marta find him. He couldn't have gone far—"_

 _"I was pregnant. I miscarried. It's the third time. I'm leaving for a while," she states lightly._

 _"Evelyn," I sigh holding her by the shoulders. "You never told me about—"_

 _"Don't say a word to me. Don't say a word to anyone, in fact. Unless you want me to call the papers and show them these pictures." She lays out several photos of her stark naked form—bruises everywhere. It's so odd how numb I am to them now._

 _"You took nude pictures of yourself?!" I ask in awe of her crass behavior._

 _She shrugs and walks about the room, removing things from her dressers._

 _"So, you're leaving me," I say, stating the obvious, but trying to hide my unexplainable panic._

 _"You know as well as I do that I won't leave you, Marcus. You've turned me into a person I don't even know anymore. And I now have a body I barely recognize. Yet, for some reason… I still love you, even though, you've destroyed me. Hell, you destroyed yourself," she chuckles. "Maybe it was written in the stars, though. I've turned into my mother, and you've turned into your father."_

 _I stand there…stunned. I had never wanted to be like my father. But I know I am. I fought it and lost. I wanted the power and the money and the name—I got it and then some. The part that got to me—"written in the stars." I had no control over who I was going to be._

 _"I'll be back in a few months."_

 _"A few months?! Where on Earth are you going—"_

 _"Marta will take care of Tobias. Just peek in on him to make sure remembers he has a father."_

 _"To hell with Tobias! Where are you going?!" I grab her arm as she sucks in a pained breath. I instantly let go._

 _"You lost the right to know where the hell I'm going the second you almost broke our marriage vows." She rubs her eyes and shuffles into her closet._

 _"What the hell are you talking about?"_

 _"Till death do us part?" she quotes._

 _I notice the very casual amount of clothes she's lining up—no formal wear._

 _"Seeing as you've just about killed me twice now…I think I deserve a little marital hiatus, yeah?"_

 _I take a deep breath and try to meet her eyes. "I have a temper. I…I tried to go to therapy, but you made me feel like a fool!"_

 _"Yes, you've rationalized the outcome of that argument on several occasions. I forgave you seeing as it wasn't in front of Tobias."_

 _The memory comes back of him standing in the doorway…observing my every move as I laid his mother on the couch, readying her for unspeakable acts. He saved her that day—from me._

 _"But I'll never forgive you for any of the times since then. Your appetites were never quite suppressed, were they?"_

 _I ignore her reference to my more coercive measures with her in the bedroom—they're the only things that bring me pleasure, although she seems to acquiesce with more readiness these days—resolving herself. It's both annoying and pleasing, both emotions that hold no pride for me._

 _"I've never lost myself in front of our son. Or anywhere near him!"_

 _"So, you think just because he doesn't see it, that he doesn't feel it?"_

 _"He's four years old. He doesn't feel anything as long as he gets his ice cream!"_

 _"He's five, you ass."_

* * *

 _You let you wife act like that! Get her a god-damned coffee or get her the hell out of here! Jesus, Marcus…keep her in check."_

 _"I try—"_

 _"Leaving behind that mess on her face! I may have lost my temper with your mother a few times, but I never touched her face. She is making you look weak! You don't think people suspect?"_

 _"I don't know what you're talking about—"_

 _"You're my son," he says steadily, a knowing expression in his eyes—a kinship. "You do know what I'm talking about."_

 _I clear my throat and raise my glass to a guest in passing._

 _"Son, look at your wealth, your power, your influence. People admire and respect you! Now, indeed, you harnessed a thoroughbred; however, you keep even a thoroughbred stalled for long enough, their bones become brittle. You know what to do with a lame horse, don't you?"_

 _"That is the mother of my child you are speaking of," I remark, defending Evelyn. Also because I'm unsure of what he's insinuating._

 _"Indeed. And Tobias is taking after her! Where are you in your son's life? I made you the man you are because I was with you every step of the way! Now, go take care of your dispirited nag."_

 _He pushes me roughly on the back, toward my blithering wife—the shell of the woman I used to know. The mother of my…child. There is darkness in me. I feel it…every day…more and more. My wife's smile, no longer pleases me. My primal desires being perpetually unfulfilled at her lack of willingness, the force with which I use becoming an inconvenience. The happiness and pride I felt on the day of my son's birth…a distant memory, disinterest taking over._

 _I look back at my father, as he raises an eyebrow and nods his head encouragingly. He makes me sick. I make me sick. The vomitus feeling of shame at the things I've done and the things I know I'll do make me shake on the inside. Suddenly I feel as if I'm bursting at the seams from anger. I make for the door, gripping Evelyn's arm as I pass, but only hard enough for her to know I mean business._

 _Pulling her out to hall, I grab her face. "Do you know that I loathe you? That I loathe…me?"_

 _The vacant look in her eyes, as if she's given up on life, given up on me, makes me throw her against the wall to which she laughs lightly._

 _"Father…DON'T."_

 _I look down at my son. He didn't even raise his voice, yet he commanded…no—demanded…my attention. For the first time, I see my eyes—just like mine are my father's. But his…Tobias's, have Evelyn's former vibrancy bursting at the seams. He looks like he wants to murder me. And it's in him…I've seen traces of it._

 _I let go of Evelyn, feeling, for the first time…pride. The words of my father suddenly ringing in my ears, "I made you the man you are because I was with you every step of the way."_

 _I hate myself, I hate my wife, I hate my life, I feel myself slipping…every day. I wish nothing like that for my son. He's the future._

 _For the first time, I walk away from Evelyn and make a promise—I'm walking away from my son._

* * *

 _"Mr…Mr. Eaton, sir? Please, come upstairs. Please, please…just…please—"_

 _"I'm God-damned busy!" I yell to whatever the hell maid is interrupting my search. "What the hell did Thomas do with—"_

 _"It's Mrs. Eaton. She's, well…sir, she's—"_

 _"Speak, for Christ's sake!"_

 _"She's dead."_

 _My skin burns as I feel the runner on the stairs meet my face—the rug burn from my harried trip up the stairs being a welcome distraction from the cold I feel inside._

 _"Did you call an ambulance?!" I shout to the maid as I push through the crowd of staff at our bedroom door. "Call 9-11! Immediately!" I rush to Evelyn's side and see her eyes closed. I grab her cold hand—she's freezing, poor woman. "Don't just stand there, you ingrates!"… "Evelyn?"_

 _I notice the hardness of her hands—unrelenting, almost calcified. I grab her face harshly and shake it—it's equally as unforgiving. I lift her eyelids—they look no different than they have for years. My throat burns as heinous noises come out of me—years of anger and emptiness pouring out completely at odds with one another._

 _"GET OUT!" I shriek to the staff gathered, all whimpering pathetically._

 _They file out, and the door closes. I'm alone with her—her light brown eyes, becoming lighter in the sun, the way flowing dresses clung to her body, how her full bottom lip rested on her teeth as she smiled, her laugh, her joy…her spiral—my spiral. I did this. Keeping up with the pills she demanded in order to keep her quiet. I look at her again—lifeless, soulless._

 _"You made me do this to you! I hate you! I hate you so…fucking…much!" Her mouth falling open scares the shit out of me and I relinquish my hold on her neck._

 _I slump down to the side of the bed and sob. It wasn't her. I know it in my depths—my depravity now takes up my soul._

 _I close my eyes and reach behind me for her unyielding hand, cradling it on my shoulder. I picture her warmth, her smile, her laugh, the look in her eyes when she held our son for the first time._

 _"I hate you because of me. I'm sorry. I loved you, Evey. I did…love you."_

* * *

The one night of the year I let the drink overtake me—torturing myself with the cheapest brand of scotch, hoping the hangover will debilitate me enough to purge me of further thought the next day, as it does every year.

Sniffing bravely, I raise my glass in self-deprecating honor. Standing up to my weakest of emotions like a man valiantly facing his true self.

"I lost myself, Evelyn. I…destroyed… _you._ Made you sink to…unthinkable lows," I tell her.

"I need to save…our son. I told myself that fate's been on my side. Didja know that? Oh, yes, yes—laid out all the cards for me…the stars aligning." I raise my glass and take a burning drink. "I'm full of shit. 'Cause as it turns out, fate has been on Tobias's side...and he doesn't even know it. The prodigal son who I talk myself…into hating, but…who I love…more than…anyone. That's not saying much…is it, Evey?" I laugh thinking of my shallow, shallow heart.

"I thought she was…no one," I whisper. "A fleeting…romance. So, I used her. I used him. And I…loved it!" I imagine the look on Tobias's face as he watched the concocted video in my office, and then in the guest house, followed by the subsequent paychecks and monetary goodness the betrayal gave me. "Because I'm FUCKED UP!" I wipe the snot accumulated under my nose readying myself for this admission. "But then…I saw you…in her. I saw it. 'Looked her…in the eyes—the fire, defiant, strong. But how quickly…her expression…changed—fear and weakness prevailing as I…" I scrunch my face up and make a squeezing motion with my fingers. "…ground her into the brick wall." I raise my glass again.

"Evelyn, he sees in her…what I saw in you. I'm a demon. I live every day…in torture…fighting my urges. I was… _stirred_ when I had my hands on her. Scared the hell out of me," I whisper. "S'like I said—the stars were aligning…for a _purpose._ Jus' not the one I thought," I mumble to her. "Turns out I saved the damned girl...saved her from…who Tobias is destined to become. It needs to end…this curse." I sniff loudly, tossing back the last of my drink. "I'm keepin' him close, Evey. Don't worry 'bout that. So, he won't be… _this._ " I gesture to the man I have become—a fiend, a hellion.

"Evelyn…my Evey… I did…love you…"

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Floating on my back in water. It reminds me of home. What else reminds me of home? Corn on the cob with basil butter, the smell of grass…real grass, Mom's apple cider in the Fall—my favorite season…Indian summer. Caleb and I used to put rum in it. I chuckle to myself and wonder what he's up to these days.

I move my toes back and forth and swish my arms out like I'm making a snow angel. Lake swimming never bothered me—although, I always did wonder what the hell was floating in the murky water beneath me. Oh well. The back of my head hits a duck, and I swat it away. Fuckin' things are worse than mosquitos out here. At least, they don't bite. Although, one did laugh at me. I decide to stand, my feet squishing into whatever nastiness and sludge are on the lake bottom.

The moon is so damned bright. I swear it takes up half the sky. And the stars…I round my hands and put them up to my eyes like binoculars—just like I used to do as a kid, to block out all intrusions, pretending nothing else exists except me and the stars. The night isn't particularly black. It's more of a dark blue, and the stars look like flecks…exploding everywhere.

Something hard hits me in the back, and I look over, startled—another fuckin' yacht. I push it away like the damned duck. Annoying. Flopping back down on my back, I go back to my own version of heaven—burying myself in the dark blue and flecks of stars. I smile slightly as something else comes into view—a small spot…a planet? Yep. It's Mars—

Water pours into my throat as something wraps around my middle and pulls me under water roughly. I kick out and swim back to the surface, choking and flailing, but I'm wrenched down again and flipped over and over like a crocodile does to its prey. Suddenly, a stillness overtakes me…overtakes everything…as my eyes adjust to being underwater. I squint at something coming toward me—sparse brownish hair flowing around a face, hollowed eyes…and the screaming.

I start to shake, but I'm not scared. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I sob as they screaming gets louder. I cry because I'm sad. This…thing is sad, desperate, longing, despairing—misery in its purest form and it's drowning me. I let it. I absorb it. And then I find out what's on the murky bottom of the lake—life's leftovers, everything unwanted and undesired sinks to the bottom, right? Life purifying itself. But I look up anyway, and I can still see the dark blue and the stars—so, at least, I have that still—

"…. …. ….up! … …. ….the hell up! Tris! Jesus, don't make me punch you!"

I sputter and wipe my soaking wet face, body, and arms…especially my arms because they burn.

"Tris Prior! What the actual fuck?!" Lynn's horrified face appears inches from me.

I cough and push her away sitting up. A chill hits me hard, and I start shaking.

"What's happening? What's going on? Are you having a seizure? Is this adult onset epilepsy? You do not want to go to the clinic! Trust me!"

"I don't know. I was." I feel my burning cheeks and the tears that accompany it. "I just… I'm…sad," I eek out crying uncontrollably.

"Yeah…we've been over this. God, was I way off with the whole no nightmares thing—"

"This wasn't a nightmare!" I protest…weirdly because it was kind of like a nightmare. Huh…

Lynn seats herself on my prison cot. "The screaming…may have been a dead giveaway."

"I don't know why I did that. I'm not scared. I don't even know…what it was…about. I'm…sad. It's not me! It's not…for me!" I say desperately with the humiliating knowledge that I'm making no sense. "What the fuck time is it?"

"2:20-something."

"I'm sorry for waking you. You can…go—"

"You should be a TV show—Crazy Person Confidential."

"Good-night, Lynn."

She stands and stretches, before shuffling her way back to her room—wearing a thong. "Hey, you made that appointment, right? With Dr. Ramos?" she asks over her shoulder.

I nod my head at my impending appointment with a…psychologist. _UGH_ … Pulling at my t-shirt to cool myself off, I look down at it and feel ashamed that I'm even wearing it—It was Tobias's, the one I never gave back from the hospital. It doesn't smell like him anymore.

I clutch at my heart and puff out my ribcage because my chest feels like it's going to collapse all of a sudden. I can't put my finger on my unexplained sadness. _Maybe tea will help. I hate tea._

"This shit better sooth the fuck out of me."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

The damp chill of September air at the lake should be one of my favorite things about Fall—joining the rest of the Midwest, loving their fuckin' sweater weather, football season, burning leaves, drinking homemade cider—shit I never really did. But, all it does is remind me of the worst thing that's ever happened to me—the one thing that's made me…me. The one thing that made me lose one of the best things in my life—my mother's death. I know I never got over it. I know I never will. I just hadn't thought it had tainted me to the point where I would destroy any and all possible emotional attachments. Alienating my friends…strangling whatever it was I had with Tris until the life left its body. I laugh at myself thinking about how desperately I tried to hold onto something because it gave me attention for a few fleeting weeks.

I lean forward and clear my throat, hanging my head to crush the clenching in my chest, adding to the pain—punishment for my parting words to her, words I'll regret until the day I die. Words that gave me official proof of my cruelty. I'm my father when I don't even know I'm my father. I drove myself insane all afternoon trying to come up with a reason why those words came out of me. It was a reflex, my first words of anger—unplanned, kneejerk, reactionary, authentic—referring to her abuse as Karma. I didn't think I meant it like that. But, I said it. It came from somewhere…somewhere buried, innate.

I'm reminded of Marcus's words to my mother when he was in the heat of anger—telling her she deserved what she got, that she brought out _that_ side of him. It makes me wonder if half the things that came out of him at the height of anger were intentional…or if there was something else behind it, something uncontrollable in him. Everything else I said I can lay claim to—her lack of funds, her house, her therapist. Those were my daggers. I used them. I knew it. Turns out, the irreparable damage had already been done.

Where at the time, Tris's strangulated cries were music to my ears, now the memory is like a guillotine to my nerve-endings. A bizarre pinch felt every time it crosses my mind…so, basically, all day.

I bite my cheeks, a re-instated habit I had started from the day of my mother's funeral—a way to stave off emotion. The habit _broken_ when I _broke_ down, the night I _broke_ Tris's heart—which has now been deemed the official day I lost her, seeing as I never really got her back. It's funny how I now look back on that night almost fondly—fondly because I still had her. She still loved me then. I ruined us, in that bed. I…ruined…us.

 _Or maybe not. Maybe it was always that way. What is that bullshit saying Pinterest 'alerted' me to—"One person always loves more deeply than the other." Thanks a lot, Nicholas Sparks. Whoever the fuck that is… He can take his spot-on quote and eat shit—_

"Tobias…James…Eaton."

I hold my breath until it hurts...then let it out slowly, closing my eyes along with it.

"Not drinking, I see?"

I let out a sigh as I feel the warmth of a human body uninvitingly grace me with its presence.

"I promised you I wouldn't."

"That was years ago."

"I keep my promises."

"Indeed you do, my boy. Indeed, you do. Show some damned respect and look at me."

I smile slightly because I can't help myself and look into the dark, wise, hardened from years of raising boys, eyes of Hana Pedrad.

"Hi, Hana."

"Hi…Hana? That's all?"

I lean in for a brief hug, but all I get it a smack up the backside of my head. "Ow!"

"I don't want your damned hugs! I want an explanation. You don't return my calls, and you disregard my dinner invitation. Now you know I look at you as a son, so when _two_ of my _own_ damned sons don't show their faces for dinner, I get a little…perturbed. I should knock you on your ass right now."

"I'm sorry," I say semi-honestly.

"Hmmph."

"What are you doing here? You don't need to do this anymore. I'm…fine—"

"You're fine? I'm not sure you've ever been less fine."

I scrub my face with my hands, knowing exactly her source of information. "Uriah," I growl. What the hell, Hana? _Why_ would he—"

"Because he loves you and because it was time," she says with strong finality.

"Time?"

"Yep. Your time was up."

"What does that even mean?"

She laughs and looks out at the lake crossing her ankles in front of her. "You think I don't know that you helped Uriah when Jo died? That you didn't tell him you'd keep quiet unless things got out of hand again?"

"How did you know—"

"Because I'm a damned mother who has been cursed with boys—boys who don't talk. So I get to be ultra-observant. What, suddenly, you two are stayin' in every night, eating me out of house and home? No hood rat friends anymore? Don't think Uriah had ever worked out a day in his life, yet, suddenly he's at the gym every day and keepin' his grades up like never before." She smirks and shakes her head. "So, I asked him what changed. And for once he was honest—You told him, 'Unless you prove to me, that this can no longer be just a secret.' Am I right?" She nudges me with her shoulder, expecting me to respond. "Well, he is now repaying that debt because apparently _this_ …" she flits her hands at me. "…can no longer be just your secret."

I stare out over the lake, the lights from the stagnant boats, dimmed and unmoving. I toss another piece of stale bread in the water…willing a lone duck to fuck with its migratory habits and come my way. It hasn't happened in years.

"What do you want me to say?" I mutter.

"That you're going to get off your butt and deal with the cards you've been dealt in a more productive way. But I know you won't say that."

"I _am_ dealing with it—getting on with my life, concentrating on my job. And…yes, I understand drinking isn't productive, but it's providing a much-needed purpose. I am fully aware it is temporary—a distraction, but, right now, it's what I need." I take a cleansing breath, fully aware I am pouring my heart out to Hana Pedrad…yet again. "Thinking about…Tris…is…both a relief and a curse—"

"What makes you think I give a monkey's uncle about some little hussy who broke your heart?"

"Uh—"

"I don't want to hear a damned word about her. I only…want to hear about _you_."

I open my mouth to protest, but I have…nothing to protest because I flat out don't understand.

"Separate…yourself…from her. Name three feelings swimmin' around in your brain…right now. Ingrained feelings—no surface level."

"Haaaaaanaaaa," I moan into my hands.

"Do it now, boy."

"Alone. Angry. Confused… _Guilty_."

"A bonus feeling? That's a first." She chuckles. "Now take each of those feelings and own them. Don't place them on anyone else. People don't make us feel a certain way. Alone? You're not alone, and you know it. Angry? You've always been angry. Confused…now to me that's an evolution—you're questioning yourself. And...guilty? Well, let's face it—in your world...tonight is the night for that."

"Hana," I begin, feeling the need to pacify her. "You're not a therapist. Don't act like one. When Jo died, if I had asked you why you're angry, would you not have said 'Because my husband had cancer, didn't tell me, and died shortly after on his own accord?'"

She doesn't answer, which makes me feel pretty damned good.

"You can't honestly tell me the anger you felt had nothing to do with how _he_ made you feel."

"I see your point. But you have to see mine. That anger…" She grabs my hand. "…holding onto it. "...that was my choice, and it was wrong. These decisions you're making... You're going to ruin yourself. She may have planted the seed but _you_ …are giving it sunshine and water, boy."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about Tris," I mumble.

"I wasn't."

"Fuck," I say under my breath, running my hand down my face, yet again—visions of my mother coming at me.

"She loved you, Tobias. She told you…she told you all the time."

"Didn't love me enough, I guess." I shrug.

"Ya know, I'm sad for the way I handled my boys when Jo died."

"Yeah?"

"Uriah and Zeke…idolized him…unnecessarily. And now they both…resent him unnecessarily because they saw what it did to me. The truth is—Jo just didn't have room in his life for pedestals and smoke. He never thought he was a particularly good man, and definitely knew he wasn't the father my boys needed. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that Jo _knew_ he had cancer, he _knew_ …and didn't seek treatment and...didn't...tell...me. What you just said about your mother—I said that for years about Jo. He didn't love me enough… Truth is, I'm not sure he loved _himself_ enough." She takes a piece of bread from the bag and throws it in the water. "My actions rubbed off on my family. That happens, you know?"

I instantly pick up on her underlying meaning. She always worried about her boys. "So, I'm rubbing off on your boys?"

"Hell no! They're grown-ass men making their own dumb ass decisions. You don't rub off on them…you af _fect_ them. They don't learn from you anymore. They _feel_ for you. _I_ feel for you." She rests her hand on her heart, right over the heart and cross pin she always wears. "I know you think, I helped you…" she adds, clearing her throat. "…when you turned eighteen and moved in."

"You did," I say confidently.

"No. You helped me. You helped me see that people were hurting…all around me, in different ways—my grief wasn't exclusive. You letting me in—letting me help you… Tobias James Eaton, you saved my life."

I laugh under my breath at her ridiculous statement because I was at my most selfish back in those days. Although, I think my heart may have just warmed a degree. Apparently, I like helping people.

"Now, people can affect you…but they don't _own_ you. You are the only one who fills that role." She inhales, slowly and deeply, and I feel it coming on. She's about to say it. Here it comes. "Are you prayin' these days?"

"Hana."

"Are…you… _praying_?"

"No. But feel free to send a shout-out for me."

"I'm not going to bring disgrace on myself from our Lord and Savior because your stubborn ass is too proud to spend some time with Jesus! Lord have mercy, I swear, the audacity of you boys is eternally infuriating." She fans herself, just like she does every time she gets worked up. "I help, you know. You'll feel closer. Closer to her."

I want to hold onto that fact, but the one biblical tidbit that Marcus instilled upon me lingers—suicide is equal to murder. Not sure she's up there hanging with Jesus.

Hana leans in and hugs me tightly which I return fully—she's one of the few who is allowed to do this.

"I love you, Tobias." She always waits a beat for me to say it back; I never have the guts. But she knows I love her too. "So, at this rate, I suppose the next time I'll be seeing you will be Ezequiel's wedding?" she asks sarcastically.

"If I'm even invited," I murmur, cringing after I said it. Shauna's words have been gutting me all day. Definitely shed a tear over that one.

"Lord…I know you're in a bad place, but, I'm certain the gates of hell wouldn't even stop you from—"

"I'm not in…the wedding," I say honestly. Lying to Hana Pedrad never got anyone anywhere.

"You said _no_? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I, um…fucked up and…just—It's deserved, okay?"

"Deserved?"

I throw another piece of bread in the water, unable to meet Hana's eyes. "I told Tris that she deserved her abuse—that she asked for it…aaaaand…then she backed out of the wedding. So, yes, I now deserve to _not_ be in her wedding because who the… _hell_ …talks to a woman that way?"

"My, my, the webs you weave and the tales you tell. Tobias Eaton, you said no such thing. Get your head out of your ass and tell me the God-damned truth."

I chuckle at her hypocrisy with constantly using the Lord's name in vain.

"Look, I've been reliving my blunder—well, I've been reliving many things today, but that… _that…_ one is particularly special. I'd rather not rehash it. Talk to Shauna."

"Miss thang thinks she gets to choose who Ezequiel has stand up for him in HIS wedding. Well, doesn't she just have another thing coming!"

"Hana…" I groan. "He's a grown man—"

"He's _my_ son… _my_ son! You both are! And no one messes with my boys!" She points her finger in the air and hastens away power-walking like a crazy woman.

"Damn it…"

I open my mouth to yell, but she's long gone, now practically running down the street toward the red line. There's no stopping that woman anyway.

I sigh and pull out my phone…doing what I haven't had the guts to do sober—looking at pictures of Tris. They're mostly just random absentminded shots I took at advantageous moments. I deleted most of them. But some…I don't know; I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I run my thumb across the usie I took when she was sleeping—she always passed out, almost immediately when I held her, resting her hand on my heart.

I don't know what makes me do it, but I select her contact info and hit call. I know she won't answer, I don't want her to. But I just need to—

"The number you dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again. Thank you."

I bite my cheek, tasting the warm metallic flavor of a reopened wound. She changed her number. But, I don't hang up. I decide to put something out there for the universe to pick up on.

"I understand why you hate me. But, I don't think it's possible that you hate me more than I hate myself. I want to apologize…for everything. I let you go, and I shouldn't have. I didn't protect you, and I should have. I took what could have been amazing…and twisted it until it was unrecognizable. You saw that. You knew it. I was blind. I'm sorry for almost taking you down with me. And, there aren't words in any language that exist today that can express my regret for what I said to you. You didn't deserve that kind of treatment from someone who loves you. And I do…love you. And I'll always be sorry."

I end the call and stand, suddenly realizing my cheek biting technique failed me. I wipe at my eyes, trying to push aside the enticing thought of ripping them out and throwing them to the fish. Then I walk to the water's edge and check the time on my phone 2:27 am. I glance back at the bench. My mom used to sit on the left side—always the left side. And I would chatter away, back when I _thought_ I was a normal kid. Just hearing the "mmm hmm" of her voice, as I threw stale bread, making it known that her presence was there, was a comfort I took for granted—someone was actually listening to me. So, I do what I only allow myself to do once a year—I talk to my mother…and just like when I was a kid…I don't look back at her.

"'Time of death: approximately 2:30 am Thursday, September 13th.' I didn't know who said it at the time. But now I think it was the coroner…or some tactless doctor who didn't realize a nine-year-old was in the room. Either way…famous last words. The last words I heard about you—you ended for me there, at those words. It's funny, as a kid, I thought 'how did they know it was 2:30? Someone was there? Why didn't anyone help her?' I never had the courage to ask, though. I was such a…feeble kid." I wipe under my eyes. "Feeble kid turns into a feeble adult, I guess. I mean, just me calling myself feeble makes me weak, right? You should hear the shit that goes through my mind these days," I mutter to her.

"Let's see… Upside? I'm a partner in an architectural firm now—Never saw that one coming, but, somehow, it happened. Zeke and Uriah are good. Hana is too. Marcus is fucking with my life, like always." I pause and lifting my head to look at the stars, a huge gust of wind hitting me hard.

"Ya know, this is the first year I truly found out how much I _didn't_ know you. Those specifics I will not be going into right now," I laugh lightly. "But I also found out what it feels like to love someone…and then lose them. Fuck that, though, right Mom? I'm all too familiar with that shit, as you know."

I close my eyes, picturing both of them. Memories…so many memories with my mom, not as many with Tris, yet somehow more meaningful.

"Loving someone one-sided is…unquantifiable pain," I choke out. "And I've now felt it…twice. Sooo…as it turns out, I'm the one who seems Karmically doomed. That is…total irony."

I stand and glance at where she would be sitting. "Happy Anniversary, Mom." And, like every year, I can't bring myself to say, "I love you."

I sigh and pick up the bag of bread, just as a duck swims by.

* * *

 **Double post! See you soon!**


	26. Karma

**Chapter 26** \- Karma

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

It's a Friday morning, a _fucking_ Friday morning, and here I sit…in Tori's office, waiting for the booze truck. Hangars has been packed for the last week, seeing as The Cubs actually advanced this year, so I had to do a last-minute inventory restock—paying rush shipping did not make Tori happy, but what the hell, she hired me! She did this!

And I've had shockingly more to do than I had anticipated. Thanks, Tori. Turns out, watching from the surveillance monitors isn't possible when you have to put out fires all night—Kristen called in sick all last weekend, and Myra hates me so she wouldn't come in. So, of course, I ended up bartending along with having to throw six patrons out for taking dick pics in the backroom, helping clean up after a friggin' bachelorette puked all over the dance floor mid-Rock Lobster, and then convincing a customer not sue us because Lynn lit him on fire. Also, let me tell you, Al is _not_ as good at his job as I thought. I command more attention than that guy! So basically, the cancerous bitch lied to me! _That was a terrible thing to think… Tori would approve._

I suppose I should be grateful because, at least, my attention is focused elsewhere when the bar is open. Otherwise, my mind has not been behaving at all—wandering to less desirable places…or more desirable if I were to be truly honest. I can't stop thinking about Tobias. Whereas before I was mad…and I'm still fucking frustrated at his dumb ass…now it's mixed with guilt—guilt for the way I handled things at the end.

It's been four weeks since I've seen him. I find myself wondering what he's _doing_ at any given moment, what he's _thinking_ at any given moment. And I'm starting to get those annoying butterflies again when his gorgeous face crosses my mind, or if I pass someone on the street who wears the same cologne as him, or if I get a whiff of Lynn's coffee which I refuse to drink, or any of the myriad of other things that remind me of him. And my first therapy session did nothing to help me!

 _Damnit! Is therapy bullshit?_ I made the trek out to the burbs, and she didn't even talk to me about anyone aside from myself. She didn't linger to ask any pertinent questions. It was all a get-to-know-me session.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I sit on the edge of a leatherback chaise lounger—as if that could be any more of a cliché—waiting for the infamous Dr. Ramos to make her appearance. I've been here ten damned minutes already! I look around the office, which also happens to be part of her house, and notice that it's a very masculine space—dark mahogany and ebony finishes and gray walls. Almost every inch of wall space is taken up by some random picture or knick-knack, but it annoyingly all makes sense—it's like the ultimate gallery wall._

 _I hear the door open, and I sit up even more alert than I had been not a second ago._

 _"_ _Hi, Tris." A woman in her early fifties walks in and extends her hand to me confidently. "Dr. Ramos."_

 _"_ _Hi," I respond curtly, giving her a terribly brief handshake, not at all up to my usual standards._

 _"_ _I'm sorry for my lateness. I had a patient show up on my doorstep, literally."_

 _"_ _That's rude," I remark, widening my eyes at that fact that I said that aloud._

 _"_ _Is it?" she asks, absentmindedly, as she drags a chair from the corner and then pushes it from behind. I notice it's a recliner and the scrape marks on the floor indicate she does this often._

 _"_ _Well, no, I guess…I just meant… I don't know what I meant."_

 _"_ _There's a reason my practice is at my home." She smiles warmly. "But, I still regret the lateness. It may be something you need to get used to if this works out."_

 _"_ _If?"_

 _"_ _Yes. You may not like me one bit," she admits almost flippantly._

 _I detect a hint of an accent. And, based on her olive skin and dark eyes, I would say she has some Latina in her._

 _"_ _Well, pretty sure you're gonna hate me." I do a mental facepalm at my sudden albeit accurate self-deprecation._

 _She smirks and seats herself. Is it weird that I expected her to disagree with me?_

 _"_ _Sorry for the leather chaise. It's been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that it belongs on a movie set. It's a nightmarish cliché."_

 _"_ _Didn't really notice."_

 _"_ _So, Tris. Why are you seeking therapy?" She kicks her shoes off, pulling her legs up and tucking them to the side. I see no notepad…nothing._

 _"_ _Um…" I pause at the question I was not at all prepared for. "I'm having trouble…coping with…everything in my life." I wait for the "such as" question, completely ready to tell her I was abused, I was reabused, and then I—_

 _"_ _So, where do you live, currently?"_

 _"_ _Seriously?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

 _I frown at her comment; unsure why where I live is pertinent. "In the city—Humboldt Park…west…" I whisper trailing off in shame._

 _"_ _Do you live alone?"_

 _"_ _I have a roommate." I wonder, briefly, if she knows Lynn is my partner in cohab._

 _"_ _Do you have family in the area?"_

 _"_ _Yes…or no… I mean, I did, but we…" I trail off for the second time as the realization hits me that Caleb is not the person that crossed my mind when I thought of family. Flashes of Tobias's grin when I told him I was his family make my head spin for a moment. "A brother, I have a brother," I spit out. "But, uh, he's in an institution; not that that's relevant. Or is it? I don't know. Anyway, he's at Kerrington. It's a facility for…the…" Why can't I finish a damned sentence?_

 _"_ _I'm very familiar with Kerrington. He's in good hands," she states with confidence._

 _"_ _Hmmph," I respond still not having gotten over the fact that they let Caleb starve himself._

 _"_ _Any other family?"_

 _"_ _No."_

* * *

The session overall was, upsetting—I felt so conflicted, and I made no progress! I was almost unfazed by everything she said. After I had left my first session with Dr. DuBois, at least, I was disturbed—I felt _some_ type of emotion, something that made me think. This was just awkward and…she didn't even ask me for more detail when I finally did tell her I was abused! Not even a "by who?" Nothing!

Her only advice was bullshit—I should develop a healthy daily routine and include, at least, one thing I enjoy. Of course, my mind immediately went to the tranquility and happiness spending hours in front of a piece of paper, dissecting it and turning it into something I felt proud of, brought me. But then it took a turn, the fresher of the two feelings outweighed the former—the scene at my apartment and the follow-up scene at Dalilah's. Now I think of my so-called 'art' as more frightening and humiliating. The idea of picking up a camera, brush, pastel, marker or pencil sends me right back to my apartment.

In fact, that very night, I had a nightmare.—I had walked back into the house, just to get my pictures out of my Prohibition closet. The entire space was empty, cold and dank. But the second I stepped onto the hardwood, my feet started on fire. I looked down and could see the thin skin of my feet bubbling and festering with each step I took. I woke actually able to smell the burning flesh and feel the warm tingle of flames licking at my calf muscles.

Yet, still feeling the need to follow the advice of the disinterested therapist, I went for the next obvious thing—dancing.

* * *

 **Flashback**

 _"_ _Tris, Tris, Tris, Tris, Triiiiiis!" Marlene shrieks as she rolls forward out of a horizontal split and runs at me. "Holy shit balls!" She grabs my shoulders holding me at arm's length. "Where have you been?! No one talks about you! It's like you don't even exist anymore!"_

 _My shoulders slump, and my throat gets just a little bit tighter than its normal tightness. "Thanks, Mar."_

 _"_ _No, no, no! I didn't mean it like that! Well, maybe I did a little. I just… It's like you're some taboo topic. It's like your name is a swear word or something—Uriah gets all quiet, Shauna's face turns red, Zeke looks up at the ceiling, and Four…well…he just kind of…walks away." She shrugs as if all of that information was just small talk._

 _"_ _So, you see them all? You're hanging out with Shauna? I mean, it's fine. But…do you guys, like, all go out and… That's good. You should—"_

 _"_ _Oh, no, we don't. At least, not really. I mean Uri and I practically live together, so I see Zeke often enough. Shauna I just run into at the gym. And Four, well, I see him at the gym too…like a lot…as in, he works out…like a lot a lot—"_

 _"_ _I get it, Marlene."_

 _"_ _And...yeah, like I said—he just up and walks away whenever your teeny-tiny name comes out of my mouth. I do it on purpose," she giggles._

 _"_ _You mention my name…on purpose?"_

 _"_ _Like any self-respecting busy body who likes to get a rise out of people would do, yes."_

 _I stand up straighter, realizing this was my intended outcome. "So, he's mad?"_

 _"_ _Suuuuuuuper mad! Like all-the-time mad!"_

 _"_ _Good."_

 _"_ _Just crabby, grumpy, moody and…pissed. Like beat-the-shit-out-of-the-bags-and-then-whoever-gets-in-the-ring-with-him pissed. Poor Uri. He usually volunteers—Wait, you…want Four to be mad?" She looks at me with the utmost confusion. "It would kill me if Uri and I broke up and I found out he was way-more mad than sad." It does kill me, Marlene! Just like you…are…killing…me!_

 _"_ _Be-ah-trice! Oye, mami!"_

 _"_ _Saved by the crazed Boricua bell," I mutter._

 _Rita saunters her way over to me, relieving the tension. "You here to dance or chit and chat? It better be to dance and you better still shake what your mamacita gave you! No couch patatas in my studio. ¡Vámanos! ¡Vámanos! ¡Acercámanos! ¡Kevin, el pelo se ve bien, deja el espejo en paz, por el amor de Dios!"_

 _I look around Rita to see Kevin look our way, his contagious smile instantly putting me at ease._

 _"_ _My partner has returned!" He claps his hands loudly and runs toward me, grabbing me by the waist and spinning me in a circle. "You ready to use me again?"_

 _"_ _Use you?"_

 _"_ _Uh…ye-ahh! My Exhibitors audition? You almost dying of a panic attack, pre-choreographical ode to your former lover? Ring a Tinker Bell?"_

 _I suddenly experience the same nervous tension I felt when I choreographed that number. Oh, God and then I performed it! It makes me both want to cry and jump for joy that Tobias never saw it—_

 _"_ _Oh, God! Uriah said the look on Four's face was like a mix of horror and…hmm…what's a good word here?" she taps her chin and I want to smack her…sooooo bad._

 _"_ _Awe. Definitely awe. You rocked the shit out of that song." Antonio wraps his arm around my shoulder, sensing my unease._

 _I shrug away and walk to the wall, slipping out of my shoes and sniffing away the tears. At least, Tobias didn't know that dance was for him._

 _"_ _Hey, is Tinker Bell your Halloween costume, this year?"_

 _"_ _Marlene, we have been over this—I am Peter Pan and Antonio is Tinker Bell—"_

 _"_ _Be-ah-trice! You make sure those hips digan la verdad!"_

 _I walk back to Kevin, him grabbing my hips and pulling me in front of him. "Did she just say she wants my hips to tell the truth?"_

 _"_ _I think she meant, make sure your 'hips don't lie.'"_

 _"_ _She is bizarre," I say to myself._

 _"_ _Not when you're in a belly dancing class, silly!" Marlene comments._

 _Ignoring her continuing nonsense, I look to Kevin guiltily as he stands closely, like really closely, as in flush-to-my-backside closely. "So, I may be a little out of shape and my right side is—Wait, Marlene, what the fuck did you just say?"_

 _Then Wyclef Jean's unmistakable voice pounds through the speakers. Belly Dancing…great…_

* * *

I stifle a laugh at the embarrassment of that moment, and how everyone around me seemed to be a natural at it, hips moving at 50 miles per hour, and I was worse than sub-par, getting glares from Rita the whole time. I caught on fairly quickly; that wasn't the problem. The legit issue was the partnering, and the subsequent grinding that goes quite naturally when your partner is holding you, ass to crotch, in a very intimate way. I've always been uncomfortable with partnering because I'm a terrible actress and I automatically connect the dance to real life.

* * *

 ** _Flashback_**

 _I feel myself do some sort of ridiculous pouty face at the sudden loss of friction on my backside than I was growing very, very, very, very, very accustomed to. I glance down to make sure I'm not imagining strong fingers holding my hips rather tightly to the intense beat of the music—they're there. It's all good. Maybe he's hot. I'm hot. I'm sweating buckets! And I don't even care! This is so great! I'm so awesome! I look over my shoulder to see Four with his eyes squeezed shut, lips between his teeth. Well, I'd much prefer those yummy things being in my line of sight, so I turn and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his lips out with my teeth. Seemed like a solid plan. I nod my head proudly at my work even though he gives me an incredibly shocked look._

 _"_ _Sorry—"_

 _Suddenly, he has my hair by the roots, his mouth on mine, holding me to him without giving me any option of pulling away. I whimper at the emotional reminder of times past, afraid to not participate, so I—_

 _The sudden access of oxygen brings me to my senses, along with Four's hands cradling my face looking deeply into my eyes. I avert mine, ashamed I'd even compare his advances to…Eric's._

 _"_ _I'm…I'm so sorry!" he yells over the music while searching my face desperately._

 _I shake my head in equal desperation to hide my feelings. "It's okay—"_

 _"_ _That was NOT okay! Ever, ever, ever, ever. Um…" He backs away, rubbing the back of his head. "Should we just…? Or, I mean, maybe I should just… I'm gonna…" He nods his head toward the door. "Unless you want to… But I'm…"_

 _A quick shot of guilt hits me as I realize I've left him flailing for the last few moments while I stare at him in wonder. From my experience, limited as it is, most guys would give you the 'What?' look if you froze up on them on the dance floor. Not a stumbling incoherent explanation for their warranted behavior. I did pull his lips out by my teeth, after all—that's kind of an invitation._

 _I hold him in place by his waist, moving slowly closer to him. I think I smile, but I don't really know because my head is swimming at the scent of his minimalistic cologne, the feel of his semi-damp shirt as I bring my arms up his back, the softness of his fingertips as he tucks my hair behind my ear, and then the teasing brush of his lips on mine. I close my eyes and rise up on my tip toes pulling him to me by the back of his head. Once his lips officially meet mine, I pretty much just dive in deep giving him the most unchaste, most rawly passionate, hot, blazing inferno-ness of a kiss I've ever given in my life. And somehow he's right there with me, almost fighting for dominance. Except neither of us seems to be winning. The expanse of his hand on my ass brings a whole new friction as I feel him hard against my lower abdomen. It's so empowering being able to make a guy react like this. I pull away and smile up at him proudly._

 _Biting his bottom lip, he shakes his head and leans down into my ear. "Well, aren't you smug!"_

 _I look away embarrassed. "Well…no…or yeah! But, only because…I don't… I haven't ever—"_

 _"_ _I have no idea what you're saying!" he shouts before leaning down. "But you could be quoting Leviticus right now, and I'd still be hard as fuck!"_

 _My eyes widen at his boldness, and I look up to see him scrunching up his face and peeking at me through one eye, gauging my reaction. He's so fucking cute! I kind of want to match his comment. Ya know, make it a competition. Like, "My who-ha is working overtime like a washing machine at a Laundro-mat!" I lean up to yell that in his ear, but he grasps my hips, pulling me into him again._

 _"_ _Do not…back away! Please, save me the embarrassment! I've been picturing Christopher Walken in his underwear for the last twenty minutes! But now all I can think about are red panties!"_

 _"_ _On Christopher Walken?!"_

* * *

"Ahem… Tris?"

I look up to see one of the last people I was expecting, the conflicting feeling of being turned on while simultaneously picturing Christopher Walken in a red lacy number quickly dissipating. _Amar…_

"Yeah, yes, hi, I'm busy, yeah." I rustle papers around on Tori's desk, rolling my eyes at my awkward response.

"Too busy to humor me for a moment?"

"Not feeling humorous," I mumble.

 _God, that's something Tobias would say._ I can just picture him working at the dining room table, glasses on, furrowed brow, scribbling something in mechanical pencil, then erasing it because it wasn't perfect. _"Are you reeeeaaaally too busy to humor me_?" I'd ask. And not even glancing up at me, he'd remark, _"Not feeling particularly humorous, Prior_." So, then I'd walk by the table and tap his 'emergency eraser' so it's not perpendicular to him anymore. At least, he'd shake his head and smirk at me, immediately pushing it back when he thought I wasn't looking. One time, I put my coffee mug on his precious A: LOGG, just to leave a ring. _Tee hee hee—_

"I apologize for my light tone. I'm slightly nervous to speak to you. Rather immature, I know," he grins sheepishly.

I shrug my shoulders, not knowing what to say, feeling like _I'm_ the immature one based on my performance now and during our last encounter.

"May I?" he gestures to the chair in front of Tori's desk.

And because I'm channeling the outer mannerisms of a five-year-old, I shrug again, seating myself slowly. Thousands of questions start to go through my mind—primarily, "WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE?"

"You're probably wondering why the fuck I'm here."

"Not really."

He chuckles and sits on the edge of the seat as I wonder why the hell I even said that. "Well, then can you feign a bit of curiosity seeing as I'm quite apprehensive?"

I nod my head, resignedly and sit back in my chair.

"I treated you…very badly—"

"Amar," I interrupt, now that I officially know where this is going. "Please…just… _don't—_ "

"Just…give me a moment of courtesy regardless of whether I deserve it or not."

I nod my head again, one of the three gestures I'm most capable of these days.

"You worked very hard on something, very hard indeed…" He smiles, but I can't tell if it's out of pride or condescension. "I wasn't my usual charming self that day. Honestly, I was very much out of sorts. I was looking for a target, and when I received a phone call from the infamous Dalilah, you became that target."

I cringe at the auditory assault of that godawful woman's name. Amar leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. I notice he's bouncing his knees; it's kind of freaking me out because he's _never_ nervous.

"I won't pretend to know exactly what transpired at the gallery, but if my deductive skills had been put to good use, based solely on my knowledge of you as a person and my knowledge of Dalilah as a person, I should have gone all in on you, my dear."

"This isn't a take-sides scenario…at all. She may be a horrible human, but I—"

"Let's not get off course, hmm?"

"I'm not exactly familiar with this course, so…"

"Tris, the way I spoke to you is against… _everything_ …I stand for, everything I be _lieve_ ," he sighs, hanging his head. "I treated you as if you were lesser than me, and I make it my life's work _never_ to make people feel as if they are _any_ less important than anyone else on this planet. You were my friend…and I used you. Tris, I am so very sorry."

His body language alone along with what I know of him before any of the mess I made, makes forgiveness very easy.

"It's okay."

Sitting up slowly, he raises his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"Um…yes…?"

"I was expecting quite a bit more excuse-making, lack of self-worthiness behavior, and a floundering of negative self-esteem tendencies to come bursting forth."

"You should hear what goes on in my head. I just figure everyone else is pretty damned sick of listening to me."

"And there it is."

I pause, trying to steer this conversation away from me. My trust in Amar's skills of being discreet have waned, and I'm fearful of leaked information if this conversation continues—no matter how much I secretly wouldn't mind him dropping my name to Tobias just so a small piece of me will stay in the back of his mind. I guarantee Tobias has put my existence away in a box in his head, just like he does with all unreconciled feelings—Jack Kang, his mother, his father. Anything he can't work out, can't understand, he shoves it away—lock and key. The sheer amount of grief and unresolved emotions in that man's head broke my heart on so many levels—for him because he's silently tortured, and for me because he never fully let me in; he thought he did, but he couldn't.

"So…yeah, um, what was going on with you...that day?"

His pause speaks volumes.

"Oh! You don't have to tell me if you don't want—"

"Thank you. I'd rather not make excuses for inexcusable behavior."

"I can relate," I mumble. "So, how did you know I was here?"

"Tori told my husband. Jesus, I said it again…" he chuckles.

"Husband?" I inquire, an instant smile on my face.

"Yes," he laughs in disbelief of my reaction.

"Oh! I didn't know…you were married. Have you _always_ been? I mean, since I've know you?"

"No, it's been a month-and-a-half." He appraises me while I do the math. "My apologies, I just assumed you knew."

 _Translation—he assumed Tobias told me._

I bite my lips between my teeth to hold back tears. Tears that spring forth because they just solidified the decision I made. Tobias didn't even tell me that his partner, mentor, confidant, father-figure got…married. He couldn't see far enough past my problems to share anyone else's happiness.

"Well! I wanted to tell you in person, anyway! It wasn't a big deal—just the two of us at the courthouse," he back peddles.

I give him a close-lipped smile and walk around my desk toward him.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to rehash any feelings—"

"Pshh!" I brush off all emotion and embrace him in a congratulatory hug. "I just, uh, would have gotten you some cheesy silver serving platter or some china you were bound to never use or a cake server that will collect dust in your cabinet. Man and husband salt and pepper shakers… Ya know, the usual shit." I wipe under my eyes quickly over his shoulder before moving back around the desk.

"So, the courthouse? No reception or party or anything?" I ask, assuming I most likely missed it because, well…

"We didn't want to make it a whole big to-do. It was just for the two of us, so we kept it that way. But, yes, we were thinking of a small gathering within the next month."

I smile in brief misguided excitement that is truly realized when I look at his face and see that I most likely won't be on the guest list. I share a look with him that says he's stuck between a rock and a hard place. He opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt him instantly.

"So, I saw Matthew… That was…nice," I mutter.

Running into Matthew at a gelatería in Oak Park, mumbling to himself about his misunderstanding of gelato versus ice cream was the one moment that made me legitimately happy in the last month. Until he systematically tore down my creative pride limb by limb. I could have done without that.

"Yes, our dear yet socially-misguided friend shared that information with William and me. Although, I think Matthew did it more to quell Will's worry. He has been wondering about you."

I look down at my hands, noticing I've been twisting my fingers. Some people are just way too nice—Will's one of them. He should waste his thoughts on more deserving souls because, if I'm being totally honest, I haven't put much thought into him. Apparently, I'm too self-absorbed.

"How's Will doing?" I ask to be polite.

Amar purses his lips as if he doesn't know how to respond. "He indulges in ice cream…frequently."

"Ah," I reply in understanding.

I had assumed he was doing fine, conversations with Christina being as they have been. _She's_ definitely…just fine. Maybe I should tell her to call him—

Amar rests his hands purposefully on my shoulders. "I must say one thing. Just one."

"Of course, you must," I deadpan, having fully expected the elephant in the room to be addressed.

"You are a now unapproachable subject with him."

"Him," I repeat finding it odd Amar won't use his name, yet appreciative at the same time.

"Yes…Tobias."

 _Damn._

"And I must respect that, for the benefit of _all_ ALG employees. No one needs to be in _his_ warpath; therefore, I don't broach the subject. Everything is business as usual. But, I can't help but think my actions set something in motion—"

"They didn't. Anything else?" I ask quickly. _It's better than saying "Shut the fuck up," right?_

He purses his lips and sighs, getting the hint. "Actually, yes. I paid a visit to my now least favorite gallery in the city." He walks backward toward the door. "I had an inkling she was holding out on you."

"Holding out?"

He opens the door and reaches into the hall. "Quite. Apparently, Dalilah Doofstraught—"

"Tell me that is _not_ her name."

"Indeed, it is."

"That could be the best thing I've heard all day."

"Well, maybe this will raise your standards."

I look down at his hands, seeing him holding an 8 X 11 framed picture at arm's length, admiring it.

"She takes delight in holding onto her artists' work."

My mouth runs dry, and my heart rate picks up the pace uncontrollably as the possibility of _which_ picture that could be runs through my mind.

"I told her you could sue her for it and she laughed at me. Until I said I _would_ sue her for false misrepresentation and contractual non-due diligence on behalf of a consumer. I made all of that up, entirely. But—"

"Give me the damned picture, Amar!"

* * *

 **Matthew's POV:**

I look down at my desk—papers strewn everywhere, candy bar wrappers, pencil shavings, my four Rubik's Cubes, sunflower seeds, emergency hair clippers… I'm not an organized human, but I'm not a hoardasaurus freakinator either. And this mess…does not reflect…who I am…as a person…at…all. I'm being so dramatic, and I'm not even speaking! Note to self—Stop Netflixing General Hospital. I tap my pencil on my head on my temple which ends up being even more of a distraction.

It doesn't help that I bit off way more than I can chew with this whole residential renovation thing. And then…the cherry on top of my stressed out, overworked, sundae—when the coolest guy ever, _Four_ , told _Will (_ He _told_ Will!) to request _me_ to help with the Connie G build. How could I turn that shit down?! Damn, I need a moment of respite. A breaky break, if you will.

"Hey, Zoe?!" I yell across the floor.

"Yeah?" she sighs as if I'm so annoying. _I totally am…_

"Can you get the National Guard on the phone? You keep them on speed dial, right? Or in the Notes section on your phone right next to the nuclear codes?"

"Can't say that I do," she answers as if she's bored.

"Hey, Zo! Zo! Zo!" I shout across the floor, peeking at her over the top of my cubicle, even though all I can see is the top of her super blond head. "Ya know, we have a _serious_ problem on our hands. This work environment is truly unacceptable. It's profane! Have you seen the ultimate profanity going on over here?!"

"Mmm mmm."

"I'm talking, like, worlds colliding. I need reinforcements. Can whoever-the-hell-our-governor-is—"

"Bruce Rauner," Will says from his office.

"Yeah, him. Can he declare a State of Emergency? It's like a tornado fucked a hurricane right on my desk!"

"Maybe you should clean it," Zoe suggests, still not looking up from what she's doing.

"Since when is that _my_ job?" I ask in fake disgust. "Did the custodian's go on strike? What kind of people are we hiring nowadays? America is going down the shitter—"

"Matthew."

I scrunch my eyes shut, and slowly look over my shoulder at the _ever-towering_ figure of Four. It's weird because he's not even that much taller than me! How does he do that? His eyes move over my desk judgmentally as I lower myself back down onto my chair, now noticing I was sprawled over the top of the cubicle.

"Sorry I was just kidding I totally know I'm responsible for cleaning up after myself," I say all in one pathetic breath. "Or after tornados and hurricanes," I laugh nervously. _Why does he still make me nervous when all he did was say my damned name?_ "Ha, ha… Weather patterns 'round here be ca-razy! But, that's The Windy City for ya, am I right?"

"That's not why Chicago is called The Windy City," he responds as dry as my grandma's banana bread.

"Pretty sure it is," I disagree wondering if he's fucking with me. It would be so awesome if he was actually messing with me!

"You're wrong."

"Come on!" I laugh, not falling into his trap to make me look stupid. "Have you walked outside today?! The Lake effect? Tall buildings? Wind a-whippin' through 'em—"

"Matthew!" Zoe yells across the room. "It's because our politicians have always been over-verbose, peacocking, blustery, braggart, jerk…wind-bags! Jesus…"

"Good words, Zoe-ster!" I yell back giving her a high thumbs-up. "Except 'blustery.' Don't think that's a word," I whisper to Four.

"It is."

Then a childhood memory whacks me in the head. "Wait, no, no, no… I've got this—Winnie the Pooh! _Oh, it's a blustery day_!" I shiver and give my very best Pooh Bear imitation. "Get it, Four? Blustery…windy? Wiiiiiindy…City?"

He gives me the same look he has been for the last month—inexpressive, masklike, poker-faced, nothingness.

"Started back when we hosted the World's Fair," Will adds walking by. "Some guy said our 'Windy City couldn't host a World's Fair even if we won it.'"

"Well, they were right, I guess." I shrug and crumple up my brown paper lunch bag, tossing it like a pro across the room toward the recycling bin. "Make it rain!"

Even though I missed, I gave it my all. Then I notice the silence. I spin in my chair to see the entire room is staring at me…and not speaking.

"What?!"

"We _did_ host the World's Fair, you idiot," Zoe snarks as Will laughs from his office. _Haven't heard that guy laugh in a while…_

"Yeah, okay. The 'World's Fair,'" I cajole using air quotes. "Like that's a thing. Nice try, Zoe!" I reply, playing along with their banter.

"You're all wrong," Four interrupts commanding instant radio silence. "The first known origins are from The Cincinnati Enquirer. They coined us " _That_ Windy City," basically, saying we're all full of hot air. In addition, upon submission of the article, there had been a damaging windstorm in Chicago. The writer used it as a double meaning. Geo-political trash talk."

"I'm lookin' that shit up!" Will yells.

At this point, my head is spinning from data overage. I'm dizzy. Damn it! I try to fit in with people from a huge Metropolis, but I keep falling flat!

"… … …discuss… … … … …the right direction… … …my office. … … … Matthew? _Matthew_!?"

"Wha—yeah? Sorry… What… What did you say?" I ask, shaking my head to rid the fog.

"My…office," Four states slowly as if English isn't my first language.

And right now, it feels like it's not.

"Got it."

I stand, knocking a set of blueprints onto the floor. Which wouldn't be a big deal, except I had almost every piece of garbage, my Danimal yogurt, and the entire folder of residential renovation notes and pictures, lying on top of it. So…yeeeeaaahhhh…now it's all on the floor…at Four's feet. Except for my Strawberry Explosion yogurt… _that's_ all over his pants.

"Ohhhhhhh…God, I'm so sorry. Like 1001 apologies I can't believe this is happening." I find myself on the floor, scrambling, just moving shit around, and fumbling. And all I know is that it's not helping…at all. "Ha, ha." I glance up at him while I wipe the yogurt off his pants with my hands. "So, I did kind of want to bow at your feet when we first met. Guess this is my chance!"

He slowly crouches down, freaking the fuck out me, as I try to back away…which just ends up putting me right on my ass. I try to pull it off as if it was purposeful, but the subsequent near side roll I did was the ultimate physical betrayal. He starts to clean up my mess, and I immediately feel like a total schmuck for thinking he was going to scold me…or injure me.

"Geez, uh, this is…" I make some sort of heaving sound as I try to push myself up, giving the rest of the office the finger as they laugh at me. "…this is sooooooo my fault. Here, just… Jesus, Four, you really don't have to…" I trail off, finally noticing…what he's…actually…doing—staring, just straight up staring down at my—

"Tris…did… _all…_ this…?" he whispers more to himself than to me.

I look down at exactly what his very intelligent eyes are devouring—the interior kitchen of one of the houses. "Huh? Tris…? Ohhhhhh _…._ "

* * *

 ** _Flashback_**

 _"_ _What in the ever-loving name of the Lord is with this town?! I mean technically, I'm not in 'town' or the 'City' as the locals call it. I really wish I was considered a local. I'll never get there, will I?" I ask myself aloud as I look at a menu with about twenty different flavors of something called gelato. "How do I end up at these places? Espresso. What the hell is espresso anyway? I mean, in Baraboo we have coffee. It's just coffee…out of a coffee maker. Folgers. We have Folgers. No need for machines the size of the first hard drive that could double as mini-steam engine locomotives. And, ya know what else we have? Ice cream. And it comes on a cone. Just a sugar cone. And it's delicious. What is za…ba…joooooon? Or strack…strack…eeee...aaaa...tell—"_

 _"_ _Not from around here, I take it?"_

 _I scrunch my face up as the familiar sarcastic tone of one of my favorite friends and former semi-infatuation who I feel like I haven't seen in an eternity rings true._

 _"_ _Well, ya know, I like to consider myself from the City. Or, at least, I'm workin' up to it." I shrug, still looking at the menu._

 _"_ _Ah, got it, got it. Well, it's pronounced 'za-ba-yon-ay' and 'strah-cha-tela.' Or some shit like that. I always get the accents wrong."_

 _"_ _Well, you're not exactly a native Spanish speaker, so…I'll let it slide." I nudge her side and turn to give her an appropriately friendly greeting, only to be met with a serious bout of laughter—as in, she's doubled over. "What?! Now what did I do?"_

 _"_ _Gelato…is…Italian," she informs, wiping under her eyes._

 _"_ _No, it's Spanish," I argue knowing I'm a total idiot and I have no reason to argue at all. I look at her sideways, and she tries to stifle a laugh…yet fails. "Okay, fine. I'm…not a world traveler. I can barely function in…" I look around and realize I have no idea what town I'm in. "Where are we exactly?"_

 _"_ _Oak Park…"_

 _"_ _Don't 'Ooooooak Paaaark…' me," I respond imitating her condescending tone. "Bud drove me here, and I was otherwise occupied looking at this mess!" I turn my body so she can see the blue folder of haphazardness tucked under my arm. "So…what the hell is Stracka—Wait, what's with the double 'c'—"_

 _"_ _Why do you have that?" she breathes out, pulling the folder out from under my arm._

 _"_ _It's….my…new…project?" I'm looking at her like she's nuts, because she's rifling through my project like she owns it! "Uh, did you want to…take a look?"_

 _She stops and must realize I'm a little confused as she closes the folder. But she's still glaring at me as she turns on her heel and stomps over to a table. "Yes, I do, in fucking fact!"_

* * *

And, connections are made, synapses exploding. It's like the Battle of Baltimore going off in my head. My blue folder…is _not_ my blue folder! I'm hit with a mix of images—A very very unfortunate day for Tris, pictures flying down the street on a blustery day, a crazy old man attack. She was talking to me about…a project… She was bringing Amar…a project.

"Oh…no," I groan in total agony at how shitty I must have sounded the other day as I babbled my way through each…and…every…detail. I glance up to see Four still not seeming in tune with the world as he moves pages aside and narrows his eyes, scrutinizing every detail…and there are a lot…of details. "Yeah, so…I'm _just_ putting two and two together here and…"

I look around the room as people stare, but pretend not to stare and I shrug at Will's mouthing of the words "What's going on?" I see Four lingering on the interior of one of the houses that had the most effort put into it. He stands slowly, holding onto the page showing the outrageously creative symmetry of the exterior—matching the restorations perfectly with the age and style of the house while still adding a modern flair.

Right then I realized I'm still crouching down and hovering, looking up at him expectantly like a trained monkey. So, trying to preserve my last bit of dignity, I stand, puffing my chest out just for good measure.

"You…you wanted…to see me in your office—" My phone makes it's obnoxious ah-OOO-ga noise, signaling a text. I look down to where it lies on the floor and what do I see? A selfie of that little jerk with a shit-eating grin on her face and a spoon in her mouth.

12:47 **Tris:** _Wise choice on the Stracciatella._

I chuckle under my breath in agreement, until I notice that…this picture is from…yesterday! "She ate my gelato!"

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

"… … …was in the bathroom! That little… … …"

I gaze at the phone, even after the screen saver took over, fighting the urge to close my eyes. Not that it would matter, I now have a mental branding of the picture stamped right on my cerebral cortex. She looked so perfect…

"… … … ….hanging out, you know?… … … …Wait, no… … …It's not like we hang out! Seriously, we ran into each other. Splat! Just…rammed right into each other."

I shift my stare back up to Matthew and realize I no longer have any idea what I even wanted to talk to him about. At this point, all I know is that I need to get the hell away from him—the twitch in my right hand being very, very, telling. Backing away slowly seems to be the best strategy, so I do just that, cracking my knuckles to occupy my fists. I can feel every eye in the office on me as I retreat, the heat rising up to my face like high tide.

When I finally reach my destination, I'm grabbing for my strategically hidden bottle of Jack before it even registers what I'm doing. I look at the bottle, not understanding why I feel guilty about drinking at work. Amar keeps full decanters sitting out on display in his office, why can't I do the same. So, off goes the top and out of the bottle I drink—

"Out of the bottle, eh?" Matthew's voice is the equivalent of 1000 hornets attacking my eardrums. "Am I allowed to do that?"

I slowly put the cap back on the bottle and place it gently on the side table, turning to face Matthew. "You're a grown man. Make your own damned decisions."

"Right," he agrees wary.

I can feel his eyes scanning me like a fucking MRI and he needs to stop!

"You, uh, seemed pretty interested in all this."

Out of the corner of my eye I see him toss the folder on my desk. Tris's scratches scream at me from the pages that slid out onto my desk.

"Not interested; just surprised."

"You hadn't seen it? 'Cause you made it sound like you had. And you certainly never informed me that Tris is the non-employee unqualified work horse behind it," he states as if I owe him some type of asshat explanation.

"It was irrelevant. Do you not want the project?" I ask over my shoulder as I look out over the lake, ready to jump ship.

"You're not over her."

I close my eyes, his unwanted comment trying to seep its way into my conscious.

"I mean, you put on a good show, an amazing show, a fantastic show, but…still a show."

Although his transparent comment was meant to get to me, it just provides me with much needed resolve. A 'show'—I've been great at that. I've been living that. _Continue the pattern._

"I was in Oak Park," Matthew continues as if I need a damned explanation of his whereabouts. "I wanted to meet with the builder on site before we make any concrete decisions. I ran into her at a gelato place."

"Gelatería," I correct.

"Whatever, look I just wanted you to know that—Jesus, why do I even care what you think?" he asks himself.

"That is something you need to reconcile in your own mind."

"I'm right, though. Aren't I? You're not over her."

I have no idea how it is possible that he isn't reading into the fact that I'm facing away from him, talking to a window, obviously with no desire to engage with him. I sense the professionalism I've been trying to maintain with him for the last month slipping away.

"Don't worry about me. Just do your job," I grit out.

"I'm not. I'm worried about me," he chuckles. "I just don't want things to get weird if I… Well, I may just ask her out again."

I clear my throat, nearly choking on the sandpaper that has replaced the walls of my esophagus and move to the other side of my desk. I will Matthew's comment, a debilitating blow, to wash right over me leaving not an ounce of thought or emotion in its wake. The only reason I know it affected me, is because my tie is asphyxiating me. I open a desk drawer, mainly just to see what's in it and how I can occupy myself.

The bottle across the room is calling my name, but I can't let that display happen again. I look down to see the care package Hana sent me with a note—" _More productive ways to occupy your time."_ Crossword puzzles, an adult coloring book, and Sudoku. I grind my teeth together, knowing I need to do _something_ to make me look busy—

"Is that Sudoku?!" I flinch at Matthew invading my space as he leans over my desk, inches from my face.

"What are you… _doing?!_ " I ask in an elevated voice, as close to yelling as I can get without actually yelling.

"Just seeing what you're intensely staring at. And…now you're intensely staring…at…me. I'll just back away slowly…"

"You do that," I growl. "Now…" I stand up straighter, loosening my tie so I can breathe. "We have a meeting with the drafters tomorrow at 2:00. I sense some confusion on their behalf. Are you prepared to field their questions?"

"For the Connie G build?"

"The _what_?"

"Oh, yeah. That's what I've been calling it in my head. Get it? Conrad Grayden... Connie G? Like Kenny G, but not—"

"You're an… _i_ diot," I blurt out and holy hell it feels amazing.

"Yeah, maybe." He shrugs. "Anyway, I've been putting my heart and soul into these beauties."

I watch on, willing my hands to stay at my side although they desire to be protectively covering my eyes, as he quickly begins laying out and sorting into piles all the work that was in that damn blue folder! Everything I never took the time to look over, even though, she asked me to. Although it was purposeful, my staying out of the project—I didn't want her to see that the whole thing was my idea, not Amar's. And that my underlying motive was not entirely…charitable.

"So, she made phone calls to Closet-Right. Have you ever heard of them? Anyway, they gave her all these crazy ideas for the master bedroom closet in this one. It's my favorite. My grandma used to run a boarding house, so it reminds me of her. Anyway, this random barn house—she was all over the map with it, I almost think it made her mad. Look how her handwriting changes. You can tell she was aggravated."

I grind my teeth staring at him as he fucking pretends to know Tris better than I do, based on her handwriting alone.

"Did you know she called the historical society for all of these houses to see if there was a story behind them?"

Clearing my throat, I glance down by sheer accident, to see thorough notes written next to the Old English house.

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew continues with stupid excitement because he thinks I care. _And, unfortunately, I do!_ "It's in the notes. Look! This one was a boarding house for World War 2 soldiers on leave. Oh, and this one was the original barn in the area." He unfolds the familiar topographic map, and I just about choke because she had to go to the damned county for that! "This was all farm land. And then…there's this one…" He stands back shaking his head as if he's so fucking proud of her. "This one she was proud of. Her handwriting, actually, doesn't suck! Did you know she even had cabinetry knobs picked out—"

"That's enough." A strangulated voice that I don't recognize as my own comes out.

"What?"

"You don't…need…to show me…any…more."

"Oh, okay. Well, I guess I can always ask her for feedback." He starts to neatly place the pages back in the folder, one of Tris's hand-drawn sketches catching my eye.

I still his progress by resting my fingers on her sweeping strokes of pencil and subtle shading that was so similar to my own designs. _Fuck…_

"So, I can just give her a call…on her phone…'cause I have her number." Matthew backs out of the room leaving the design on my desk.

And, even though, this may kill me, I still have to ask—"So…"

"Mmmmyes?" He does a ridiculous 360, giving me a smug look.

"You…see her?"

"Oh, yeah. All the time. Bosom buddies and all that! Although, I'm thinking about takin' that shit to the next level. Do you mind?"

 _I know he's baiting me. I know he's baiting me. I know he's baiting me. But, what if he's not?_

I shrug my shoulders and shake my head, 'no,' instantly knowing my gesture was 100% non-believable.

"You liar!" He exalts jumping up and down like an asshole. "Man! You're usually so good at it! What the hell happened to you?"

"What is your goal in this conversation?" I ask, exhausted with his games.

"Look, I saw your face when you had her creative prowess at your feet and then…whoa…when she showed up on my phone… Geez, you looked like you saw Helen of Troy, which is weird because Tris isn't lookin' her best these days."

 _I should punch him in the face. Just do it. Do it!_ "She looked fine to me," I mutter.

"Ha ha! Did you _not_ take a good look at the little smug, stracka-tella-stealing, shmuck? Didn't see those dark circles? Lookin' a little vacant these days? No make-up—"

"She doesn't need it," I snap, fully aware I'm falling right into his trap.

I sink haphazardly into my chair and pull out the damned Sudoku book flipping right to the 'extreme' section in the back while Matthew continues to hover and shift his weight by the door.

"Yes, Matthew?"

"Well, it's just that, upon further reflection, and since you suddenly seem to give a shit, I just want to tell you that she was… _pissed_ when she saw the folder. I didn't even make the connection that _she_ was the not-at-all-qualified designer, so I just blabbed on and on about how geniusly shitty the work was—"

"You told her it was _shitty_?" I can only imagine how she internalized all of that.

"Geniusly shitty. Sure did. I threw some compliments in there too because it is _all_ really creative, just totally unprofessional."

I sigh, knowing she most likely picked up on _no_ such compliments.

"Look! I didn't know it was her work! Or, shit, I would have had more tact."

"Doubtful," I groan into my hands as I rest my face in them.

"Doubtful."

"So, she didn't lead you to believe she had _any_ part in it? Or are you just _that_ blind?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that last part. Nope, she just watched with rapt attention—filing at all away, ignoring all my comments about incompetence. Just…taking it like a gold medal winner in excepting verbal abuse!"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that last part," I remark angrily at his thoughtlessness.

"Sorry, forgot about…all _that_ …for a minute."

I look down at the puzzle with minimal numbers, lightly filling in a number three, trying to avert my thoughts away from the myriad of abuse, both passive and aggressive, Tris has had to deal with.

"She was probably embarrassed. She looked a little betrayed, though. Don't know why. I mean, didn't she know someone else was eventually going to take over?"

I shake my head slowly, feeling overwhelming regret. "I don't know what she thought," I mumble. "I was…minimally involved as far as communicating with her."

"Why?"

 _Well, let's see Matthew—because it was supposed to be a life altering SURPRISE! Because I didn't want to lie to her… Because the whole thing was ridiculous to begin with and I was unsure enough as it was… And it turns out, my uncertainty was entirely warranted!_

"I had my reasons."

"Hmmph. Yeah, hey, so…seeing as this is as much personal info as you've ever given me in your life…much appreciated by the way—In fact, I kind of feel like we're bonding. Can we get a beer sometime or—"

"No."

"Got it. Not on that level, yet."

"Not on that level." _Ever._

"Okay, well, then I'm just gonna take these and…" He gestures toward the door.

"So, you're, uh…" I bite my bottom lip, trying to control the words that are involuntarily coming out of my mouth. "You're going to…see her again?"

"Well, yeah," he answers as if I just asked the dumbest question ever. "I mean, she's so personable and happy nowadays."

I wait for his sarcasm to subside, feeling guilty enough that I may havecaused a decent amount of her unpleasantness. Unless I'm giving myself too much credit.

"But…I was thinking about meeting her for coffee. Today, in fact."

I nod my head fighting off the jagged knife of jealousy ripping through my gut.

"It's like some Café Caruza place or something like that. It's in Oak Park. She goes there for coffee. Tuesdays and Fridays. Around 4:00."

"Great," I mumble, hating that he knows her schedule and trying my best not to file away the information he just told me. I look down and scan the puzzle again, filling in an obvious number five with my red pen—

"I'm trying…to communicate…that… _you_ …should be in _Oak Park_ …at the _Café Carabuzo_ place or something like that…today…around 4:00," he explains as if I'm in Kindergarten. "You didn't pick up on _any_ of that?"

"Apparently…not," I reply, not looking up, _feeling_ like I'm, indeed, in Kindergarten.

"Oh, yeah, by the way…" Matthew says over his shoulder as he finally makes his way out the door. "I already have a girlfriend."

For the first time in weeks, for a very, very, very brief moment, I allow myself to smile.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 **Therapy:**

"Well, I'm on time today," Dr. Ramos says, pushing her recliner across the floor.

I smile politely and cross my legs, right over left, then left over right, trying to get comfortable in an entirely uncomfortable situation.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"No, I'm fine," I answer with feigned confidence.

"So," she begins, pulling her shoes off and curling up on the chair. "Did you take my suggestion and implement something that makes you happy into your routine?"

"I gave it the ole' college try," answer, laughing at my failure.

"But you…didn't succeed?"

"If success in this situation were measured on the happy-o-meter, I would register at a big fat zero."

"What happened?" she asks with seeming sincerity.

I shrug and decide there's no point in not being totally honest. "It reminded me of drunk dry-humping my ex-boyfriend on the dance floor."

Based on her expression, I don't think she's ever heard that one before.

"Dare I ask what the activity was?"

"I dance. I'm a dancer…sort of. Well, I just…love dance. So, I took a class."

"That's excellent. What kind of dance?"

"Belly dancing."

"Sounds interesting," she chuckles.

"It was horrendous. It's not my regular class. I like hip hop and lyrical, usually. I used to dance in high school, and I kept up with it, so…"

"Anything you ever thought of doing professionally?"

"Oh, God no. I see what those guys go through to keep a job. No…way." Just thinking about the strict diet Marlene is on, along with the late nights, constant travel, short term contracts and minimal pay. Yuck. No.

"How is your new job going?"

I laugh, leaning back against the couch. "It's not what I thought it would be. It's more than the owner led me to believe I'd be responsible for." I give her a closed-mouth sarcastic smile wondering if she knows I'm talking about Tori. But, if she picks up on my disdain, she hides it well.

"So, you're not enjoying it?"

"It's…fine," I sigh. "Better than starting over and…I'm helping a friend too. So…two birds…one stone." I look for any sign that she knows I'm referencing Tori, but…still nothing.

"Starting over?" She asks, curiously, now pulling a notebook out one of the side pockets of the recliner.

"Yes. I used to tend bar there."

"But not anymore?"

"Isn't that implied when I said 'used to'?"

"Yes. I'll rephrase that: Why don't you work there anymore?" she asks without missing a beat, even with my sudden and unnecessary attitude. _Where does that shit come from?!_

"I, uh, I just…needed to start over—not _start over start over_ …not like last time. But, I just…um…needed a change, I guess. Or, maybe not a _change_. I just…I had to get out of the picture!" I exasperate.

She nods her head slowly writing what looks like bullet points on her notepad. I crane my neck just like with Dr. DuBois, except she immediately hands me the notebook, apparently sending my curiosity.

I frown as she nods to me encouragingly. _Okaaaaay…_

 ** _Why start over?_**

 ** _What happened last time?_**

 ** _What do you mean by 'had to'?_**

"Tris, there's no point in keeping information from you. You can look at my notes…anytime."

"Oh." Apparently, that is all I'm capable of saying as I pass her notebook back to her.

"Should we start with the first question?" she suggests.

"Makes sense…I guess…"

"Great. Is there a reason you feel you have to start over, or change, or get out of the picture?"

I sigh and pull my hair out of my ponytail holder. "I was being selfish to someone who was entirely selfless. And because I'm me, I threw his motives in his face and made him feel like less of a person than he actually is which is something he already struggles with."

"His?"

"My, ex-boyfriend…um, went to great lengths to try to make things right or to make me right. Well, right in _his_ eyes—Wait…" I interrupt myself and look at her harshly. "So, _that's_ how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Get me to tell my story."

She smiles and sits back, waiting for me to finish my accusation.

"Why didn't you just ask at the last session?"

"I prefer a more organic approach. I'll learn more about you by engaging in conversation rather than a rehearsed plot line on your behalf."

"Rehearsed? Seriously?"

"Sometimes patients who have experienced therapy in the past come in prepped. They almost sound like they are reading their experiences from a script. I try to avoid that. I need to know you—your personality, how you operate. Could I get a play-by-play from you? Probably. But, I'm not sure we're ready for that, right now. Are you comfortable relaying it?"

I mull over her words for a moment, thinking about how it felt when I was describing my attack to Zeke, and the comfort I felt from Evey when she told Zeke, 'No, play-by-play.' Then Tobias squeezing my shoulder and reassuring me that everything is going to be okay, telling me that he loves me…

"No. I'm not," I say decisively.

"So, let's see where things take us then, okay?"

* * *

I walk out the back door of Dr. Ramos's house feeling…mmmm…at least, better than the last time. I kick a rock on the sidewalk and watch it skip, realizing that I, actually, have a lilt in my step…and a hint of a smile. Then I stop in my tracks—an instant halt. My nostrils stand alert taking in the smell of leaves burning. I close my eyes for a moment and allow myself to be transported back to a time when I was happy…or when I thought I was happy—curled up on my couch with a cup of Mom's cider cradled in a mug and home-made butternut squash soup cooling on the coffee table; my hoodie pulled up over my head; staring out at all the maple trees in the yard—bright red, orange and yellow. My mom would undoubtedly be in the kitchen. She always hummed to herself. I wonder if she knew that. Tobias hummed to himself too…

* * *

 **Flashback**

 _I look over his face again, still in disbelief this guy is paying me an ounce of attention. And even more believable—that he is completely not self-involved, chauvinistic, or arrogant. His parents did something right! And we've been talking about nothing for two hours and I'm not annoyed!_

 _"_ _Ya know, small talk is actually fun with you. I loathe it and avoid it at all costs usually."_

 _"_ _Why, thank you," he quips smiling proudly. "I'm usually terrible at it. But with you, it's shockingly enjoyable. Your turn."_

 _"_ _Ha ha! You know this game of 20 Questions has now turned into 40 Questions."_

 _"_ _Oh, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his coffee. "I'm just… If you're bored, we can—"_

 _"_ _What's your favorite season and why?" I interrupt his moment of insecurity, causing him to smirk adorably._

 _"_ _Summer."_

 _I wait patiently taking a sip of my bland coffee as he seems to be running through the reasons he loves summer._

 _"_ _Um…Well, I think I've just always had the best memories in the summer." He looks away, and I get the feeling there's a story there. "What about you?"_

 _"_ _Well, I like them all, truthfully. But, I would have to say…fall. Definitely Fall."_

 _He nods his head and clears his throat._

 _"_ _What, you don't like fall?"_

 _He shrugs his shoulders and again I can tell there's something more there. "Seriously, who doesn't like Fall?" I blurt out uncontrollably. "Mulled cider, leaves burning, hoodies, chili…football …?" I don't like football, but most guys do, so I had to throw it in there._

 _"_ _Well, I do like chili."_

 _I look him in the eye. "I make excellent chili." It's not a particularly bold statement, just saying I make decent chili. But I tried to add some underlying meaning in there. Like, I would make him chili every day…forever…if—_

 _"_ _I'll believe it when I try it."_

 _Yes!_

* * *

I find myself smiling as I turn a corner and walk across Marion Street toward the coffee shop, pleased that Dr. Ramos lives close to Marion Square—the central hub of the town. Cute shops, cafes, and older architecture abound, and I instantly fell in love when I saw it. But then I frown in punishment at myself for thinking of fonder times with Tobias. However, Dr. Ramos's words come to the forefront—

 _"_ _Stifling your thoughts can weigh you down. Instead of pushing feelings to the back of your mind, let your mind deal with them."_

 _"_ _And if my mind can't?_

 _"_ _That's what I'm here for."_

"Okay, okay, okay," I mumble as I continue on my way, crossing the cobblestone square.

We didn't talk much about Tobias, apart from how long we dated and when we broke up. In fact, I never even got his name out. And after that, she almost seemed to steer clear of the topic. The way she controlled the flow of conversation felt natural, yet contrived…but not in a bad way. I do feel her picking at my brain—like she's putting a puzzle together and knows just the right strategy. Although it almost felt more like Jenga to me—pulling at my mind, piece by piece just waiting for me to come tumbling down. _Jenga! Jenga! Jen—_

"Tris?"

I freeze, looking down at the hand that just tugged softer than soft on my left wrist. And then look up to acknowledge the voice that makes my heart skip a beat and then race so fast it feels like it may explode out of my chest. Then the eyes, dark blue, turned down, nervous, yet no less penetrating and beautiful. For a moment, I don't believe he's really here. I won't let my mind fully process his hand still holding my wrist loosely, and that that particular contact is doing crazy things to my insides. I can't grasp the fact that we're inches away from each other, right here, right now and how I feel like an actual person rather than a card-carrying member of the walking dead.

"Sorry," he says quietly as he drops my hand and backs away rubbing his neck.

I look down to where his hand was, fully expecting to see small remnants of electrical aftershocks. Even though he backed away, I feel like my soul took a step closer to him, just to be near him again, even though, my physical being didn't get the memo.

"Yeah, so I was in the neighborhood…" he trails off, suddenly searching my face—same turned down eyes and worried expression, biting his lips together. "…and I…um..." Suddenly he takes another step back and laughs semi-maniacally. "I can tell that you _definitely_ don't want to see me. I'm…uh… Okay, you can just…go ahead inside—not that you needed my permission. I'm just…saying…I'm sorry for…bothering you. Not sorry for…seeing you. I mean, it's just…yeah, good to see you…again—to, um, look at you and…" He turns and stalks toward the square as my vocal chords suddenly regain their lubrication.

"Wait—"

"Yeah?" he sprints back before I can even finish my sentence. He's right in front of me in seconds.

I glance over him quickly—he looks like he just got back from the gym, basketball shorts, t-shirt, running shoes and a worn jacket. He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead where he was sweating a little.

He must sense my appraisal because he looks down at himself and then back up at me as if he's embarrassed.

"Yeah, I'm not dressed to the nine's. Ha. I stole Zeke's jacket." He runs his hands through his hair. "This wasn't…well-thought-out—"

"What wasn't?" I interject, now wondering what the hell is happening and why he's here.

"Me, uh, being here, meeting you here…or just being here. 'Cause I know we aren't really _meeting meeting_. This is kind of forced. But I don't want to force you! I just…want to…talk to you. So…can I? Or can we? Shit! Can I just buy you a damned cup of coffee?!" he grits out shaking his fists in the air.

I can't help it, but I unsuccessfully stifle a laugh at his outburst. I tried to cover my mouth, but it didn't help. Memories of him fumbling when we first met flood my mind and I find myself smiling. I sneak a quick glance at him to see him doing the same. _God, he feels like home._

"It's um…good to see you," he gestures to me with a bit more confidence.

"Yeah," I mutter trying to control myself and regulate my heartbeat.

"So, can I?"

"Um…" _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—_

"Look, I just…" He takes a deep breath and looks at me seriously. "There's something I need to tell you. Um... I'm not expecting… _anything._ But, you deserve to know—"

"Okay," I state assuredly, even though, I feel the complete opposite.

"Really?" He looks at me like he expected me to say "no."

"Yeah… I mean, sure, yeah, okay, ya know, whatever, if you…want."

"I want."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I cringe at my elementarily verbiage, the urge to flee taking over again. But I my eyes are keeping me grounded because they haven't left her face. Although, disappointingly, she doesn't seem to reciprocate. If anything, she's looking everywhere but at me.

"Okay, so…should we." She leans her upper half toward the door and starts to move toward it.

"Shit… Um, yeah. Sorry."

She reaches the door before me, even though I scramble to get there first. I really want to scold her for not waiting for me to hold the door open, but I refrain, instead attempting to lead her in by her lower back—changing my mind halfway there, then going back in, then changing my mind. I basically look like I'm doing the robot with my left hand behind her back.

She looks curiously over her shoulder at me, but I just give her a tight-lipped smile…failing miserably at playing it cool. I still can't believe I'm doing this! Even more so that she is inches away without lightly linking our fingers, or her leaning back into me or resting her head on my shoulder. It doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right. I haven't even come to terms with how I feel about her and me, right now. I spent the last month pushing everything away and actually taking delight in the anger I feel toward her—she just…ended things, without even thinking twice. She ended things with everyone—up and changed her number, backed out of Zeke and Shauna's wedding. Apparently, _Matthew_ is kosher, though. Jealously rips through my veins, leaving them scorched and withered and rendering me temporarily immobile.

However, my emotions change as she meets my eyes over her shoulder again—the lowering sun hits her irises just right, making her pupils constrict and the ice blue stand out. She quickly looks away, distancing herself slightly. All it takes is a glimpse of her to completely change every thought going through my mind. God, at the office, all it took was one selfie to send me reeling. Along with the houses that she poured…everything into.

I knew she had worked hard on them and that she seemed to be enjoying herself—providing her with a welcome distraction considering her limited capacity at the time. But, the hours and hours she _actually_ put into them alluded me. Apparently, I never found it important enough to ask what she had done during the day— _every_ day. But, what would I have said anyway? I had to face away from her almost every time she attempted to fill me in or ask my opinion because I didn't want to lie to her and tell her this whole thing was my fucking idea! That I spent hours in the hospital redesigning a home for her that I'd never even seen in person, only to figure out how bullshit it was and that _she_ should be the one doing it.

What I should have been thinking was how stupid that pipe dream was, to begin with. Seriously, Tobias…a house? A fucking house? At the time you didn't think she'd even ever want to speak to you again! And…now…here we are—I glance to my left to see that Tris isn't there. Turning hastily, I watch… _HORRIFIED…_ as she seats herself at a small table by the window with two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Why did you do that?" I ask as I march quickly across the small café.

"A barista shouldn't have to ask someone four times if they can help you, especially if you already know what you're going to order."

"Oh," I reply, embarrassed as hell. "I…didn't hear…" I look over my shoulder, not even knowing the gender of the barista. "…her."

"Yeah, you went off somewhere," Tris huffs in definite annoyance.

"Well, just…here, let me pay you, for…" I pull out my wallet before I can even think about what I'm doing. Then she slowly turns her head up to look at me, and I realize I am standing over her, literally throwing cash _at_ her as half of it lands on her lap—singles, 10s and even $100 bill. _Oh, Godddddd…._

"I can afford two cups of coffee," she says slowly, looking down at her lap and picking up the cash. The redness of embarrassment on her face, clear, as she places them on the table.

The weight of that very heavily intended comment sits on my shoulders like a 300-pound barbell—visions assault me of the $2973 cashier's check that was rush delivered to my apartment with the Chicago legal interest rate of $10 plus an additional 5% for any amount late over $500.00. The part that hurt the most was that she paid me for not only the amount of her house but for half a month's rent at my place with interest on that as well. I was so angry, that I cashed it _. I can't fucking believe I cashed it._

"Yeah, I… Sorry." I sit down gingerly not keeping my eyes off her and she wraps her hands around her coffee cup, staring into it.

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asks quietly.

"Well," I scratch the back of my head that seems to have developed a rather sudden bout of chicken pox. "…I heard they have fantastic stracciatella gelato."

"Matthew," she breathes out, smirking slightly. "I assume he didn't pronounce it like that," she smiles—not at me, in reference to Matthew.

"Yeah. He also botched the name of the café…twice." I sigh at Matthew's mispronunciation of Carpinelli's. "And I, uh, saw your picture on his phone and…" I shrug my shoulders, feeling her eyes suddenly on me, but I can't bring myself to meet them. "So, why are you in Oak Park?" I ask, changing the subject, if there even was a subject to begin with.

"Tobias," she sighs and I just about melt into a puddle at the sound of my name on her lips. "Why are _you_ here?"

I glance up and finally a connection is made—we lock eyes. Whereas before hers were wary and distant, they have suddenly turned soft and…so appealing. I feel a tug in my lower abdomen—a signal of equal parts love and desire. I don't know if it's the glow of the oil candle that has accentuated the lighting in contrast to the setting sun, the quaintness of the café, or the smell of coffee that always seems to remind me of Tris, but I just want to kiss her lightly and slowly. Not to communicate to her any sort of desire or want, just to experience again the intimacy that I've only ever felt with her. Intimacy—a word I never thought would be part of my vocabulary.

I find myself staring at her hands. Her sleeves are pulled down, so they're partially covering her thumbs. I wonder if she even knows she does that with each and every long sleeved shirt she has. I wonder if she knows how many times I've watched her cradle a cup of coffee to her chest, and that I've committed to memory how she smells it before she drinks it—

"Tobias?"

"Yeah. Yes. I…need to, um… There's just a few things I have to say to you. I know it's not going to change anything, I just feel like you should know… I am… _so_ sorry… I don't think I can even express it properly how I—" a familiar light pressure on my hand, mid-air, and I'm suddenly speechless as my fingers instantly react to hers like a Venus flytrap.

I don't know what the fuck I was even saying. It's like how it felt when I Iightly took her wrist…times 100. She pulls away slightly and lowers our hands down, now maintaining eye contact. She doesn't smile; she doesn't need to—her mild touch and steadfast gaze tell me to relax. I slump my shoulders and sit back, staring at her fingers that are now laying looser than mine. Her hands feel the same—soft. I look up, and for the first time I don't look her in the eyes, I take in her whole face. She's not as bright and almost unpredictable, like the first night we met, nor is she the emotional epitome of anger, sadness, or even disappointment that I had grown accustomed to toward the end of our relationship. She looks unassertive and almost docile—as if something has been taken from her.

Suddenly the remorse I feel multiplies. I can't just _apologize_ for my words. I owe her more than that. But, what? I stand suddenly, not even knowing why I am. She looks at me with a rattled expression. Then I realize I need to change course and reevaluate.

"Um…stay here. Right here. I'm just…" I look around and spot the bathroom across the room. "…bathroom. I'm going to…use it. Okay?"

"O…kay."

"I'll be right back. Right…back," I enunciate as she nods her head slowly.

I make a break for the restroom, and dive to the sink, the cold water on my face a heavenly bliss.

 _Okay, Tobias. What do you want to get out of this? Do you want her? Of course, I fucking want her! Are you mad at her? Of course, I'm fucking mad at her! Can you get past your anger? Temporarily? Yes, yes, I can absolutely do that—something to be addressed another day far, far, far into the future…and very minimally at that. How to go about this…this needs to be more than an apology. "The regret I feel is indescribable." Yes! Say that! Do I have to go into specifics? Rehash? Shit. Yes. Be a man. "Tris, an apology isn't appropriate for what I said to you." Yes! Say that! Do I make an excuse? Tell her the way it came out was not what was going through my mind? That's the truth. But, is that an excuse? I don't…think so? Jesus, Tobias! Man up! She knows you. She can decode better than anyone! She'll get it even if I say it in Aramaic. Right? Do we still have that? What if we don't—_

The rattle of the door knob, letting me know someone's waiting to use the bathroom brings me back. I look at myself in the mirror, noticing I look psychotic—I'm wearing a worn out jacket, a black T-shirt, red basketball shorts and my hair is standing on end. I quickly rip the coat off and run my fingers through my hair, trying to calm it the fuck down. What I wouldn't do for a little coconut oil right now… I brace my hands on the sink and take a deep breath.

"Let's do this." Unintentionally, I bust through the door, hurtling the poor guy behind it into the wall. "Sorry, man." I try to get eye level with him to make sure he doesn't have a concussion. "You alright?"

"Uh, well, I feel like I…may just pass out… … …a little woozy… ...—"

"Uh huh…" I lean the guy up against a plant and walk slowly over to the table where not even five minutes ago, I was having a very one-sided, awkward conversation with the woman I am still very much in love with…only to find her…gone. A brief note with horrible hand-writing left on a napkin—

 _Not sure I can bear an explanation, nor do I need one. Good luck with life. –Tris_

 _What the hell does that mean?!_ I don't know how long I stand there, unbelieving and entirely confused. I look to where our hands were semi-joined now wondering if it even happened. A large movement catches my eyes as the inbound Metra pulls up. Knowing Tris has a tendency to flee uncomfortable situations, I decide to make a break for it.

Thanking whoever designed this quaint little suburb to have the Metra so close, I vault over the tracks, pulling myself through the door just as the train is about to depart. I look left and right acknowledging that she could be anywhere and there are what seems like 100 passenger cars—

"Sir, I'm issuing you a ticket in the amount of $250.00."

I turn to face the stern expression of a suburban cop.

"What?"

"You illegally crossed, or hurtled, in your case, the tracks during a stationary stop."

"Isn't the key word _stationary_?" I look right and left again, not wanting to deal with this guy whose one and only job is ticketing innocent people!

"Actually, sir, the key word is _illegally_. Identification, please?"

"Fuck," I breathe out through a clenched jaw. I reach into the pocket of my shorts, not wanting to deal with this, also knowing it may just be a losing battle. But I find…nothing. _Damn it!_ "I left my wallet at the coffee shop."

"Of course you did," He states, sarcastically. "Full name and address."

"Tobias James Eaton 71 East Lake Street Apartment 1305 Chicago Illinois 60601 Driver's license number E546-575-8732 email address TJEaton at ALGinc dot com social security number…well, you can't have that," I inform smugly knowing he won't remember any of that.

"Look, you punk." He points right at me. "Talk as fast as you want. I do this shit for a living." He takes a moment and enters whatever the hell information he needed from me into his scanner, rightfully putting me in my place. "And there you are!" He holds up my picture. "Handsome guy! At least, in your picture." He looks me up and down and chuckles. _Asshole._ "You'll get your ticket in the mail within two days."

"Wonderful—"

"So, I suppose that means you have no money."

I exhale, now looking to my left at the Metra conductor who had made his grand appearance to collect cash for my train ticket.

"Your supposition is spot on." I run my hand down my face in frustration. _Should have stayed at the gym. Hell, should have stayed at work. This is all Matthew's fault!_

"You need to get off at the next stop."

"Fine." I roll my eyes, suddenly remembering my purpose. "Can I just try to find someone—"

"No," the conductor deadpans.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Sergio," the asshole cop offers.

I groan, slumping down in the closest seat.

"Where were ye goin'?" Asks a man seated a ways down the bench to my left.

"I…" I begin, shaking my head at the idiocy of my actions. "…was running after someone. It actually makes no sense that I'm on this train because she…lives in Humboldt Park."

"Boy, all you had ta do was take the Green line to Kedzie and get on the 52—"

"Yeah, I got that," I interrupt before I can feel even more like shit.

"So, uh, back to my original question."

"Ogilvie, I guess," I chuckling at why I would ever think she would take the Metra all the way to the end of the line.

Who knows, maybe she would? I have no idea where she works or what she does these days. And based on the tone of her note, I won't have that information anytime soon. Not that I couldn't get it… I know where she lives… _Hmmm…_

"Sir, 'Scuse me Mister."

The conductor stops in front of us, looking at the guy next to me skeptically.

"I've got his fare covered."

I look at him, surprised. Now taking the time to observe him more closely—a black man, ragged clothes, graying hair, his hands shaking as he gives the conductor cash. He looks like he barely has a penny to his name.

"No, no," I interject resting my hand on his. "Thank you, though."

He moves his hand away from mine and stands, pushing the money at the conductor.

"No, please…" I try to stand between the two. "It's not necessary. I have a driver—" Before I can even finish my sentence, Sergio the shithead takes the money from the man who is most likely homeless and walks away. _Cocksucker._

I sigh, knowing my effort is now futile, and do the only thing I can do. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Ha! And it sure was! Funny thing…payin' it forward. Funny thing indeed."

He pauses and I groan on the inside, knowing I owe this guy a bit of small talk, begrudging as it is. "Pay it forward?"

"Yep, yep. Ha ha! By the look on your face, you probably think I couldn't spare $.10!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be…condescending."

"Well, hell! On a normal day, you'd be right!"

At that comment, I'm out of my seat to chase down the damned conductor, officially deciding I am not taking this guy's money.

"Boy! Damn it! I'm third in line!" he shouts after me, loud enough where if he were to continue, he would make quite the scene.

So, I stop in my tracks, retreating to my seat, having decided that this man is slightly unstable and I'd rather not contribute to his woes.

"So, what's your name? I didn't catch it."

"Tobias. But, most people call me Four."

Without even a beat, he starts laughing congenially and slaps me on the back. "Ain't that a coincidence?! 'Cause you now fourth in line!"

I decide that he may be drunk. He doesn't seem to have any special needs apart from the shaking of his hands and the way he's bobbing his legs impatiently.

"You look as confused as hell!" he laughs wiping under his eyes.

"Slightly."

"Well, s'good thing we got some time, so I can start from the beginin'."

"Fabulous."

"You see, there's this thing goin' round at the shelter I'm stayin' at. This is the stuff of legends! So, there's this guy at the shelter, Moonie. Vietnam vet, got a wife and a kid. 'Parently, his flashbacks got so bad that one day his son woke him from a nap and this Moonie jus 'bout choked him to death. So, he left. This was years ago, though. He's a real proud fella. Don't take to charity well, ya know?. Anyway, he was in a real bad way. Had a job at a gas station in Fuller Park. Had to walk real far to get there. Well, one day, slipped and fell, crossin' the tracks. Busted his ankle…real bad. Real real bad. Broke it. Not just some pussy sprain. Got fired cause he was late. So he took to beggin.'"

He pauses, to more or less gather his own thoughts than to make sure I'm listening. Although I'm feeling like a huge asshole for my minimal problems.

"Anyway, he was smart. Ya know, begged in the good parts. Just tryna' save up 'nough money to buy a shirt. Just a damned shirt. Then some silly ass, son-of-a-bitch, white as white collar can be, jumped over Moonie. Straight over his head like he in the Olympics. Just flyin'! Knocked Moonie's wages all over the street. Shit went all over! Down the street! Into the sewers! People fallin' over and trippin' like Dominoes! Well, the guy was real sorry and well, don't really know 'zactly what happened, but…he stopped, jus' stopped. Bent down and looked right at Moonie. Right into his eyes. Now you, my friend, you don't look like some rich white guy, but if you were, you would know that those dudes don't have time for no beggars! But this guy…this man…musta seen somethin' in ole Moonie, cause the dumb bastard stripped down right in the middle of the damned sidewalk in Streeterville! Standin' on the sidewalk in his skivvies! Now this here the best part—he gave Moonie the shirt off his back! Now that's some biblical shit there, am I right?"

I swallow and stare straight ahead, not sure if I'm in shock or if I'm completely off the mark on this one. _He could be talking about anyone, right?_

"Now, okay, I know I said that last part was the best. But here's the real goods—this is where the legend starts. sS pay real close attention. The white guy says the shirt cost $1000! $1000! Made out of pure silk! Dunno what kinda fool spends $1000 on a shirt, but hell, if he hadn't, 'spose Moonie wouldn't be in this spot. So, he told Moonie—'Don't wear this shirt! It's expensive as shit! Sell it! Don't take less than $800 for it. Then you take that cash and go to the Dollar Store. Buy a coupla shirts, shoes, a good pair of pants, and drawers. Don't forget the drawers. Then after that, buy the place out! All the good shit you can get! And sell half of what you bought. Sell it on the streets. Jus' make sure you get yourself a nice watch out of the deal. A real nice one—one with an alarm.'" He laughs and looks up at the ceiling of the car, while I try to catch my breath that seems to be stuck in my esophagus. "So, now Moonie got new shit, _and_ he double the extra cash by sellin' the Dollar Store items to the suckers on the street! SO, what did Moonie do? He went right back to the place, hopin' to find the guy again. We not real sure what else he did on account of him avoidin' the shelter. Prob'ly 'cause of Ole Sal. But, I heard through the grapevine that he went back every day for two weeks! Said he wanted to pay the white guy back…somehow. Dunno." He trails off as if he's deep in thought while I can't help the smile that creeps across my face. "This parts hard for me, 'cause it's about my friend. It's hard in a good way. I'm real happy for him. Anyway, this Moonie fellow found his way down to Streeterville again; saw a beggar—this is the worst kind of beggar…my pal, Johnnie B. He just need food. He just down, man. Just down. He's not right in the head. So…no one'd hire him. He jus' needed to eat."

I look at the man sideways and see a serious sense of sadness. I can only imagine how many times he sees or _experiences_ , this level of poverty. So, Moonie sees my friend, he don't know him from Adam, but he hands Johnnie B a Jimmy John's gift card. So, my man, takes it to the nearest restaurant, gets himself a sammich, you see. And then…and _then…_ some nun at the restaurant takes good pity on and takes him to the convent! Now he's sweepin' floors and got a roof over his head!"

"That's…amazing," I whisper, not even so much about the story, but about how much of a different once small thing can do.

"So, you see, this is where the legend truly starts. Moonie did somethin' good right? Took that card and gave to someone who needed it more. You followin' me?"

"Yes."

"So, now Moonie's walkin' through Streeterville and some little Indian dude walks outa the building, saw Moonie give my pal Johnnie B the Jimmy John's card. Well, musta stirred somethin' in him real good because he offered him a…j-o-b! Custodian! This place has its own damned coffee shop! Free coffee! Jus'…free! And sammiches!"

I just about choke on…nothing. Basically, I just choke as an impending sense of pride hits me. It may be selfish pride. And I don't know if that makes me self-righteous, but I don't give a shit. I'm just…happy.

"Deal was, he has to help sort food for the Food Pantry storage on the 13th floor and then work nights. This dude gave him a place to sleep! Right there in the building. A damned bed. A bed. Treated him like a person. So, now Moonie got hisself some new clothes and a job sweepin' floors."

"That's…quite the story—"

"I ain't finished yet."

"Sorry."

"So, my pal…before he leave for the convent, he give me a shirt and $7.27. It was all the cash he had, but he don't need it no more." I watch him pull a wrinkled, yet fairly nice, collared, shirt out of his worn Power Rangers backpack. He looks at it with such pride it's almost heart breaking. "So, I got this shirt. A brand new shirt. I, uh, haven't had the guts to put it on yet. Don't wanna jinx it. But, when I do, I'm gonna go to the liquor store 'round the corner of my place. See if they got work for me."

I see something twitch out of the corner of my eye and look down to see his toes sticking out of the tops of his shoes _. I took $5.00 from a man who, basically, has no shoes. Shit…_

"Oh, don't you mind that." He tries to bend his toes to tuck them under his feet. "Once I get a job, that'd be the first thing I buy."

"Yeah," I huff out.

"So, wanna know what Moonie call all this?"

"Sure."

"Caramel."

"Caramel?" _What the…?_

"Yes sir! Says it some what-goes-round-comes-round thing! I don't have any everly idea what that has to do with no caramels, but Moonie been to school so he knows stuff. Anyway, you pay it forward, you hear? Good things'll happen. I just hope I find mine…"

I sit for a moment, understanding dawning on me—Karma. I've been playing that word over and over in my head—torturing myself with its meaning and my flippant usage of it with Tris. However, in this moment, I'm looking upon the concept with positivity, a renewed sense of purpose. I didn't really do anything that was all that great. But it changed three people's lives; maybe more. I did something. Something I did made a difference. That knowledge is my Karma.

"So, you'll keep the caramel stuff goin'?"

"Yeah," I chuckle. "But, uh, before I do that. Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

* * *

 **Marcus's POV:**

The knock on my office door that is meant to sound forceful, yet still, comes off as timid clues me in that Carl Avery as at my door.

"Carl," I acknowledge without turning from where I'm gazing down the river toward the lake.

I hear him set his briefcase on the floor and begin to pour himself a drink. "She declined the offer."

I knowingly smirk. "As expected."

"Shall we counter?"

"No, not with this one. Make up another company and offer her $40,000. Make sure to inform Mr. Reese that we plan to subdivide and develop it." I hear no movement behind me, so I turn and make eye contact with Carl.

"Why?" he asks, pleased that he now has my attention. "You do realize how incredibly trite this is?"

"Ha ha! Indeed, I'm well aware of the stupidity and irrational nature of all of this."

"Care to divulge? I am the man who has to defend you and your many transgressions. Keeping me in the loop is in your best interest."

I walk over to the server table and pour myself a glass of scotch. "Joseph Monroe wants the property. And if Beatrice continues to get offers from low-balling developers, she'll come to realize that he is indeed the better solicitor." I take a larger sip than I'm accustomed to, quite ready to take the edge off. "She'll sell to him, and he'll get off my damned back."

"Starting to become a hindrance, is he?" Carl insinuates snidely. He has warned me on numerous occasions about my so-called frivolity in the heavily regulated Commodities markets.

"He has indeed become a thorn in my side," I sigh. The rather large paycheck I receive thanks to the pre-market reports Joseph provides me with is becoming less and less appealing.

"Why does he even want the property? It seems quite worthless."

I walk to my desk and hold up the remedial satellite imaging of the property—a pond, several acres of dried out farmland, a garage, a barn and a house with a hole in the damned roof. It's basically several acres of shit.

"Joseph Monroe," I begin. "That man is…something else."

"Do tell," Carl chimes in as if I'm sharing secret gossip. My look of disdain makes him back away quickly.

"He claims to be a religious man. Therefore, when he feels he has sinned, he has to do something to make his actions right with the Lord."

"Classic Catholic guilt."

"No. Catholics confess. This man is Baptist. He repents."

"The difference being?"

I take another drink and lean back onto the edge of my desk.

"Well Carl, Catholics go to a wooden box, tell a self-righteous man in robes their sins and all is forgiven. Baptists…" I laugh. "…are even worse because they take action. And then _their_ self-righteousness explodes. And let me tell you; Joseph Monroe is one self-righteous son-of-a-bitch."

"Please be forthcoming, I'm on a tight schedule." He looks at his watch, pretending he actually has somewhere else to be. I'm one of his few clients, seeing as he's a slippery SOB.

"Joseph _needs_ her to know that _he_ bought it; that _his_ gesture helped her. He's aware of Beatrice's tribulations, and that his actions…well, let's call a spade a spade…they caused it. In my humble opinion—"

"Humble?"

"—his hands are the dirtiest of all of us. He sent his son to me to help find Beatrice, and then he used her to bait _him_ when I found her!"

Carl's odd whimpering laugh makes the hair on my neck stand up. "My my how you rationalize things. It is truly something to be reveled in. I always wondered how you sleep at night."

I scoff at his accusations of my lack of taking responsibility. _Ungrateful piece of shit._

"So, then why are _you_ doing this and not him? He can just as easily make a phone call, create a fake LLC or company."

"Because he's a crazy bible beater and, apparently, it would make his repentance impure. I'm fairly sure Joseph Monroe thinks he truly speaks to God. He may be as crazy as his spawn."

"That's a tall order."

"We need to move onto other things. Just call the podunk realtor again, make up some ridiculous name for a company. Say you want the property sight unseen because you feel the town really needs a strip mall. You know, to improve the economic value of the town." I roll my eyes at the bullshit claim.

"I can't just make up a company, Marcus."

"Jesus Christ!" I grab his phone and look up the phone number of Bernie Reese, Kittridge Realty, receiving an immediate answer upon putting the phone on speaker.

"Yes, hello. My name is Leonard Smith from Excelsior Group. I'm interested, actually, more than interested in a lovely little piece of land. 96a Pine Lane?"

"Why…yes, yes!" responds an elderly sounding gentleman. "Have you…well, have you _seen_ the property?"

"Yes, I have! Did a nice little drive by."

"Oh…well, that's just…wonderful—"

"I'd like to offer the owner $40,000 cash. That property is just ideal real estate for what I do. Commercial building is in a real upswing, right now!" I say excitedly.

"Commercial?" Mr. Reese all but squeaks out.

"Yes, sir. I build retail complexes, although my specialty is in space maximization for parking lots. You know, the more people you can pack in, the better it is for business!"

"Mmm hmm. Okay." He pauses. "Well, let me just make a phone call, and I'll get back to you just as soon as I can."

"Yes, of course! I'll be waiting for your call."

I hang up the phone with a purposeful laugh because that was…well, quite entertaining.

"What if this doesn't work and she does end up accepting an offer?" Carl asks skeptically as if I hadn't already thought of that.

"Then I just bought property in Kittridge, Wisconsin. Joseph can buy it off me…with a hefty upcharge, of course. Joseph's conscious wiped clean."

"I see." He takes his phone from me and tosses it in his briefcase. "Well, I shall let you know when I hear back—"

"Any updates on my son?" I ask blatantly.

Carl sighs, rolling his eyes, pissing me off to no end. "Workhorse doesn't even describe him. He's a damned Clydesdale."

"And this is supposed to be brand new information?" I ask, a jolt of pride resonating for half a moment.

"I'm not quite sure what you're expecting me to report here, Marcus." Carl crosses his arms defiantly, although it comes across as petulantly. "I'm already overstaying my welcome—showing up at meetings that lawyers typically don't attend. And Connie has her eye on me already because I am not, as we know, her first choice."

"Your job, aside from making sure all t's are crossed, and i's are dotted, is to keep me posted on my son!"

"Fine. Your weekly update is as follows—He walks into a room with a perfectly pressed designer suit, nods his head at the right times, makes polite conversations at others, and looks people in the eye…every person. His employees liken him to Zeus. He presents the newest plans, allows the architects to speak, and pipes up when necessary. He pays homage to his employees by giving them full reign, although every person in that room knows the buck stops with him. He takes no credit, but thanks everyone for their hard work." Carl looks at me as if he's trying to read my mind. He may as well stop. I'm impenetrable.

"And his personal life?" I ask, faking minimal interest.

"Well, Dr. DuBois must have done a number on her because you were right…they are no longer together."

"You're sure?"

"Quite. Ms. Grayden asked about his 'girlfriend.' He said they broke-up. That was that. He seemed incredibly unfazed."

"Good," I respond, perfectly happy with that result. God, I am a manipulative genius!

"I thought you wanted him to be angry—to hate her," Carl prods.

"Carl, tell me something. Was his response curt, unapologetic, slightly aloof while still coming across as polite?"

"Yessss…" he answers slightly taken aback. "It was exactly that."

I sigh and walk toward the window again, the sun well to the west now, the lake heading toward the obscurity of night. "I watched my son grown up. Watched him push aside his emotions about his mother. Tobias hides anger better than any person I've ever met; better than me. That's why he's particularly explosive. My best bet is that he indeed hates her."

Carl's phone rings at the perfect moment, denying me any more possible explanation.

"I can only assume this is for you." He hands me the phone, and I see what I can only assume is the area code for Kittridge, Wisconsin.

"Hello?" I answer, setting the phone to speaker again.

"Ahem, yes. This is Bernie Reese, returning a phone call from a Mr. Leonard Smith." The voice of the ancient realtor comes across the line. And based on the nervous edge in his voice, I already know the answer.

"This is Leonard. How'd she feel about the offer?"

"Miss Prior has declined."

"Oh, well, that's really too bad. Golly, what if I…ah, hell, what about 45,000? It's straight up cash!"

"Sir, she had some choice words that, well, no Christian woman should even think let alone verbalize. All of them alluding to her answer of no."

"Well, I sure do appreciate the callback. You take care now!"

I look at the judgmental face of Carl Avery. "Hate to say I told you so. Actually, I love saying I told you so," I amend.

"As do I."

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

I throw open the door to Tori's office to see Tris searching through the drawers of the desk. She didn't come home after therapy, and I'm pretty sure she's still pissed at me—not that I care.

"Soooo…I can't believe I'm about to say this, but…I'm sorry…" I scrunch my face up at the sour taste of those words. "…for lighting a guy's ass on fire the other night. In my defense, all I really did was set the little oil lamp on his chair. I mean, come on, like I knew his coat would catch fire? It's not like I can tell the future—

"S'funny that you think…I'd give a fuck about…that. Guy deserved it. Should put a sign up: 'You grab a nip; You're gonna get lit!'

It's a cryin' shame that we would even have to make a Don't-Give-Your-Server-A-Titty-Twister sign. I walk a couple more steps into the room, leaning over the desk to see what the hell she's doing.

"Got it," she grunts, sitting up and holding the cap to a bottle up proudly.

Now that I'm looking closer, I see a bottle of Bunnahabhain 25 on the—nope, now it's right up to her boca, and she is…not stingy.

"Dropped the cap. Not that it matters…don' plan on using it."

I'm used to Tris drinking…a lot. Frankly, I'm waiting for Dr. Ramos to put the kibosh on that shit with her voodoo magical words. This is normally the point where I would back out of the room and leave her to it. But, I can see that at this rate, she'll on her way to pukeytown…and we do not have a big apartment! And I don't hold hair back!

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Drinking on the job. Tori did it all the time."

"I see you found her stash."

"Yup!" She pulls out one of the side drawers, exposing a false bottom. "Secret drawer…not so secret anymore. But let me tell you…" She plops her feet up on the desk, crossing her ankles. "…this bottle couldn't come at a better time…and couldn't be more significant."

The way she's looking at me is a clear indicator—I'm supposed to say something. "Why?" I ask, just to satisfy her.

"Well, this bottle is…closure. Except I don't plan on closing it. The other kinda closure."

"Is this going to be a long story?"

"Nah. Hey, did you know today is the best day ever?"

"No—"

"Made my life so much easier. Now I know. I just _know._ I get to move _…on_ …because I know." She takes another drag of disgusting liquid. "Yay!" she cheers in a forced tearful whisper.

"Am I supposed to ask you what you know?"

"God, please don't," she moans.

"Yeah, okay. Sweet—"

"You're not gonna…drag it outa me? Friends do that shit, ya know. You're jus'…givin' up?"

I stare at her, unsure how to answer her. This whole friend thing hasn't been on my life list since high school. My eyes catch on a frame facing down on the desk. A distraction!

"Hey, gee! What's this?" I lift it up and pretend to be enthralled…although, I'm pleasantly surprised. "Seriously, what the hell is this?"

"It's a picture. Of a clown."

I hold up the picture up of a creepy clown standing in front of the Ferris Wheel, looking down into the water. "Yeesh. Terrible shot. But, huh…I can see where the artist tried to make it cool." The only thing semi-highlighted is the muted lighting coming through the rungs of the Ferris wheel—kind of an amber color.

Tris starts laughing and rubbing her eyes at the same time. "Yep! An attempt was made."

"You see it too?" I narrow my eyes at her, wondering if we have more in common, artistically than I thought. "Hey, can I have this? Tori wouldn't give a shit."

"S'not Tori's," she says through a muted gargle. "It's mine."

"Oh. Where the fuck did you get it?"

"Amar."

"Really? Why?" I had just assumed those two weren't really on talkie terms.

"He thought I might want it," she remarks staring off at nothing.

"Mmmmokay… Soooo…do you?"

"No."

"It's kinda Ruthie-esque. I mean, she would never use mixed media…but… Why? Are you one of those people who get freaked out by clowns?! Get over yourself, if you are. They're just trying to make a living—"

"I don't give a flying fuck…about clowns. Jus' thought it was going to be a picture of a totally different clown."

I can only take so much of her weirdness. "Oh, fuck… You're going to crazy again?! I thought we were past this—"

"This is me getting past it." She takes yet another drink out of the bottle. "Say good-bye to the old Tris, 'cause tomorrow is a new day. I am going to wallow the fuck out of myself tonight. I'm gonna cry too. Like a lot. You may want to leave."

"And…that's my official cue card in action!" I back out the door, a reality hitting me again. "O…kay. So, I'll be taking care of _all_ the closing duties again tonight?"

"Yup," she says as if she truly doesn't give a rat's ass.

"Ya know, you're lucky the new bartender is good, 'cause you're a fuckin' mess…" I snark suddenly pissed. "…and pretty useless."

"Yup."

I roll my eyes, annoyed that that didn't get to her. "Dude, get your shit together, okay?"

"Tomorrow. It's a date! Me and you…gettin' my shit together." She points right at me.

"I'm not Christina."

She bites her lower lip, a tear coming out of her eye that she wipes away. "I know."

 _But sometimes I wish I were…_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Walking into Dauntless I make immediate eye contact with Shauna who tries to hold my stare, but I look away now entirely pissed having now been reminded of my major fuck-up with my beyond unforgivable words with Tris, and the subsequent dismissal from my best friend's wedding. And here I thought I was in a good place for about…mmm…an hour. I got a homeless guy a job because I gave a homeless guy my shirt. That is pretty cool, and I felt awesome…now, my actual personality deficit is choking me.

"Four! Hey!" Clare shouts jogging over to me. "I was just about to leave! You were the first person I thought of, and I couldn't get the words out verbally, so I got them out textually. That was probably a lot of pressure for you—"

"What?" I interrupt with annoyance that I'm not trying to hide.

"What do you mean what?!" She matches my annoyance with her hands on her hips. "My text?"

"My phone is in route from Oak Park. Didn't get your text," I deadpan walking toward the bags.

"Oh. Thought you got back to me. Whatever I'm kind of out of my mind." She jogs next to me excitedly.

"Everything alright?" I mumble, trying to find a happy medium between rude and not entirely rude.

"Well, per my text – Round 2, baby!"

I stop at the bags and look toward the ring. It's empty, but she worked her ass off in there today. I don't have time to baby her. I want an actual workout.

"Uh…you've been doing really well, but…I worked you pretty hard this morning, so—"

"I left my husband!" She says it so fast I barely understood it. "I also said that in my text, and…wow…that was the first time I said that aloud! That's why I texted. 'Cause I didn't want to say it. And I just said it! Ha! I did it! I left him! I did it."

She's practically buzzing with nervous energy, and it takes me a second to catch up. She left her abuser. She did it. Before I can control myself, I pull her to me in a huge bear hug, noticing Shauna's mouth agape in the office.

"That's…amazing." She's been working so hard, and I can honestly say I don't think I've ever been prouder of a person in my life.

"Yeah, so, I need to blow off some steam and—" She starts crying mid-sentence and leans into me again. "I'm sorry. I want this," she babbles into my chest while I look around the gym, now realizing this looks a little nuts. "I'm just scared, and I hate being scared. I'm not a scared person! At least, I wasn't! I'm kind of a bad ass. You don't know that about me." She rolls her head back and forth as I gently detach her from my shirt and walk her over to the wall. "I'm afraid he's going to do something and—"

"You got a restraining order, right?" I interject.

"Yeah, but…those things are about as useful as floss on a saber tooth tiger, trust me," she emits with confidence.

"You've gotten one before?" I inquire.

"No, but…I… Anyway… Are you okay? You look a little…"

"Me? Uh, no. I'm just…I'm happy for you." It's true. I'm thrilled for her. But it makes me wonder what would have happened if my mom had left Marcus. If I had had the strength to help _her._

"Well, don't be too happy yet, ya know…just in case…"

I nod my head, acknowledging her fear of an unwelcome visit from her husband. "Hey, that's why we've been doing this. You've come a long way. You can defend yourself now," I assert.

"Yeah."

"Would it make you feel better if I worked with your kids? I'd be willing to help them a bit too. I mean…I don't know if you'd be…interested—"

"He has never laid a hand on them, and I don't think he ever would."

I nod my head, not saying anything even though I seriously think better be safe than sorry.

"You're right," she sighs, reading my expression. "God, I can't believe I even have to lay that kind of burden on them. Crap, I need to get them a good therapist too."

I frown and bend down to retie my shoes. She has never mentioned her kids having any emotional issues.

"You think they need one?"

"Well, my son…in particular. I see the look on his face when he didn't do anything to stop his dad. He's so ashamed. It breaks my heart. And he's become very protective, of both his sister and me. And he's angry. He shuts down…constantly. Won't address…anything. And, well he's fourteen and into girls now and damn it, I want him to grow up and learn how to be in a healthy relationship! Not an anti-social, hovering, overprotective, guilt carrying fool who can't communicate. Ugh…that would be the worst. Yeesh… So, uh, who's your therapist?"

 _Well, fuck._

* * *

 _ **AN:**  
_

A lot of people have liked the fan page, but sometimes it's hard to tell if these are actual readers or just weirdos. So, if you are a reader and want to join the personal page, "like" the Facebook fan page **Kris Daniels** and then send me a message through that. Then I can friend request you.

 **Thanks for waiting so long for this update!**


	27. In Repair

**Chapter 27 - In Repair**

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Therapy:

I stare out at the water, running the pad of my thumb back and forth across my lower lip as the early evening sun begins its journey downward, Dr. Karsson's words still sinking in. Based on my emotional processing speed, we may still be here when the sun touches the water.

"Tobias, please take no offense. You've done nothing wrong."

I shake my head, annoyed at his wording. _As if I need an ounce of his reassurance?_ I turn in my chair to focus more closely on him, detecting real empathy on his soap opera star face. _I really don't need this shit…_

"Isn't the patient supposed to be the one firing the doctor?" I ask, suddenly feeling like a failure.

"I'm not firing you," he chuckles. "I'm suggesting you take some time to—"

"Find myself. Yes. Those words… _actually_ …came out of your mouth," I reply, still in disbelief and feeling even more like a fish out of water.

"They did. And I meant them. You've been coming to me for two-and-a-half months. And you cancel on me almost every other week, at the minimum."

"My job is incredibly…demanding." The mass amount of work I've taken on seems to have added years onto my life. I have yet to understand how Amar did this on his own.

"I can relate. Being in demand can be difficult and tends to take a personal toll. But, let me speak on our time spent in this office."

"Please do."

"You go through the motions. You nod your head. You respond. You do all the right things. In fact, I would place a bet that you even practice coping strategies in the mirror at your home."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I look at myself in the mirror, acutely aware of how much I sound like an asshole because my mouth is full of toothpaste, but I'm trying to use my time efficiently. "Be positive. Look at each obstacle…you encounter…as a learning…experience." I spit out my toothpaste and rinse my mouth thinking of the impossibility of that total bullshit task. "Make the choice not to over-react…to stressors. Deal with them…one at a time." I take a few deep breaths, following the instructions on the shitty packet Dr. Karsson gave me. "Take an objective view…of your stressor," I say into the towel as I wipe my mouth. "Communicate. Don't…ruminate." I roll my eyes, grabbing my electric shaver, wondering if that is supposed to sound as corny as it does. Corny…_

 _I had never considered myself the kind of guy to be at all, well, corny…or "cornball," as Tris would have called it. But, with her, I found myself doing the…dumbest…shit—_

 _"Mgh…" I groan, as the spot I was shaving over and over and over officially turns an aggravated shade of pink._

 _I don't know which I feel more shameful of—thinking about her during the day in a more chaste way or in my moments of REM sleep when I have absolutely…no…control over where my mind takes me. Waking up with an incredibly unpleasant erection and feeling of indescribable emptiness, which no amount of mindless forearm exertion can cure, makes me feel like a lesser man._

 _"Accept yourself and others," I say with a sarcastic smile on my face as I start on the other side with my razor. "No one is perfect…and there is always…room for mistakes." Mistakes…_

 _Sometimes I wonder if I did enough to make up for my mistakes. I tried; even if she doesn't know it; even if I don't want her to know it. Fuck, I still am…trying. I glance at my laptop, wondering if I'm still doing the right thing._

 _"Make connections with people," I grit out, pushing aside all things past, in hopes that I can at some point embrace the present. "Social support is…key. Shit!" The raw spot on my cheek catches fire from the aftershave. I chuckle, knowing that's the world telling me that making connections is…not on the docket. "Develop self-discipline and…control."_

 _Well, at least, I can say I have developed excellent self-discipline. Hell, I didn't hop on the quickest mode of transportation to the Pedrad home when the idea of Hana's sweet potato pie and everything comforting that comes along with it entered my lonely mind on Thanksgiving. Now, that's control!_

 _I rest my hands on the sink, and look into my eyes, reciting the last strategy. "Maintenance." I sigh. "That about sums me up—maintenance."_

* * *

The redness in my face is an instant betrayal and complete non-verbal admittance of my mirror antics. Dr. Karsson pauses as if he doesn't know what the hell else to say. I guarantee he's never had to relieve himself of a patient. If I've learned one thing from my time here—this place is _not_ short on head cases.

The sudden silence makes me feel the need to say…something—to give him some sort of explanation or defense because I _am_ trying. I had stopped… _drinking_! Cold turkey. Done. Which was total shit, by the way. And all it did was fuel my coffee addiction. I tried tea, seeing as there seems to be a ridiculous amount around here. And as it turns out, it really just tastes like flowers soaked in tepid water and all it did was remind me that Tris hates tea too. _And I have closed that door! I have put the time in! I put it out there! I have moved on—_

"Your heart isn't in this."

"My…heart. This is therapy. You're a therapist. The technical definition being—a person trained in the use of psychological methods for helping patients overcome psychological problems. There is no mention of a heart."

Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Karsson folds his arms, frowning at me. "What do you want to get out of therapy?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

Apparently, day one is rearing its ugly head again. "I want to learn to move past things; to be able to let things go."

"Yes, you, indeed, have said that. But at this point in time, a patient usually relinquishes _what_ exactly they feel the need to let go of. But you have led me in no such direction."

"I told you; my father was abusive to my mother, then she died of a most-likely suicidal drug overdose. I now have latent issues with that and I need your help to move past it."

His raised eyebrows and almost humorous look makes me want to…literally…slap him.

"I just need the skill set and the techniques and, and I…need you to keep me on track. I can address the issues myself. I _have_ been doing that—"

"Not in my presence," he interrupts.

"Are you upset because you're not needed?"

"No. I'm not upset about anything. I don't want you wasting your time." He leans forward, instantly making me lean backward, his fake blue contact-wearing eyes attempting sincerity. "What I see in front of me is a highly intelligent, successful man, with a myriad of strengths and weaknesses, not unlike most people. However, most importantly, I see a man who isn't here because he thinks he needs to be."

"How…have you possibly…come to _that_ conclusion?" I ask incredulously.

"Tobias, I think you're here to prove to yourself that you _can_ do therapy—you're challenging yourself. What I'm not sure that you realize is that there isn't a graduation date from therapy. You don't get a certificate of completion. It's an ongoing process—"

His phone rings mid-sentence, and as predicted, he fucking answers. Maybe I'm still experiencing culture shock, but that seems entirely disrespectful. It baffles me that this guy came highly recommended. _Um… Thanks, Amar?_ I chuckle to myself as he hangs up the phone.

"I apologize for that. I have another patient who is in crisis and—"

"I get it," I interject, not wanting an explanation. "Priorities and all. Low man on the totem pole, here."

He sighs, furrowing his perfectly formed eye brows which look very strange. "What made you want to try therapy?"

"Have we not been through this?" I drole.

"No, not really. My question is—What prompted you? Specifics, please. No more vague generalizations, such as, 'I felt the need.'"

"I…"

"It's okay if someone either suggested or somewhat coerced you—"

"No one…forced me to be here," I deadpan.

"And even if they had, I wouldn't have a problem with that. Some of my most successful patients started therapy as an ultimatum—"

"Well, I didn't."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"So, uh, what the hell was that all about?" Zeke asks as he jogs up next to me._

 _I glance back at Clare as she attacks the bags. We just did our second full session today, and she's still on fire. I find myself accidentally grinning, taking a bit of misplaced pride in her announcement of leaving her husband._

 _"What's wrong with your face?"_

 _I immediately readjust my expression, hoping for no further interrogation. "Nothing. Are you sure you're allowed to talk to me?" I glance at Shauna, who is peering at us over her computer from across the gym._

 _"Come on, don't be like that. Shauna'll…be fine. You both will once you talk—"_

 _I scoff, interrupting his pacifying commentary._

 _"Anyway, I wanna know what's goin' on with you and Mrs. Cougar over there—"_

 _"I don't want Shauna to get over it. I said what I said. Some things you just can't unhear. And Tris will never be able to unhear what I said and, indirectly, Shauna as well. I deserve…everything," I quip with a closed mouth smile, heading outside._

 _"Wow! So, you're talking to me about this now?"_

 _I stop in my tracks. "Why is it that EVERY TIME I DO talk to you about…things, you have to immediately make light of the fact that I am, indeed, talking about them?!"_

 _"What?" he asks as if he's at a complete loss._

 _I start jogging toward Diversey, en route to the lake, ready to start sprinting if I have to._

 _"So, movin' on. You're just gonna give up with Shauna? Not gonna talk to her? Explain whatever the hell was going through your mind when you… Well… Whatever you said…ya know, to…uh…"_

 _"You can say her name, Zeke! Tris. It's Tris," I say sternly as dizziness takes over from both ever-exertion on an empty stomach and information overload from the day's events. "Fuck." I slow up and walk instead. "I feel like my head may just explode."_

 _"Well, then expel some of the pressure and tell me what the fuck happened that night! Now, I've let this go for too long, my friend!" he says grabbing my arm and yanking it toward him to get my attention. "I let Uri handle it. And I suppose he did his best—letting you get slobbery every damned night. But enough is enough. Mom says you need me. Now…just PROVE HER RIGHT and…NEED me, man! Just…NEED ME…please," he ends in a dramatic whisper._

 _"There's something wrong with you," I comment. "What time is it?" I walk steadily to the next bus stop a couple of blocks away as Zeke pulls his phone out._

 _"6:01."_

 _I start another slow, painful jog as to not miss the 6:05._

 _"Is that…? Was that an invitation?... Yeah?... Okay! Well, alright!"_

 _How he interpreted my running away from him as an invitation, I will never know. But arguing against his efforts will just cause another half hour of my time to be wasted._

 _"So…tell me…what the…fuck…happened," he chokes out as he tries to keep up._

 _I see the bus stop in sight along with the bus slowly approaching a ways down the street, so I speed up, dodging bystanders with Zeke on my tail. We make it to the stop right as the bus pulls up, and right as I realize I have no wallet, which in turn means I have no Ventra card._

 _"I need your card."_

 _He smiles smugly. "Well, well, well… What is the Chicago exchange rate for Ventras? Oh, yeah. Gut-wrenching honesty."_

 _"Great," I mumble pushing him roughly up the stairs as he laughs like a loud mouth jerk._

 _He continues to act like a fool, operatically singing the words to Handel's Messiah as he runs his Ventra twice._

 _"Sit down, you jackass!" I seethe as he seats himself against the window, facing me, while I sit facing forward like a proper passenger._

 _"Proceed," he gestures magnanimously._

 _"Short version?"_

 _"Absolutely."_

 _"Got her statement. Went to see Eric—"_

 _"Yeah, that shit wasn't part of the deal, asshole!" he interrupts before I can even get a sentence out._

 _I look at his ignorant, not-a-care-in-the-world self and just about lose my mind. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on! You have it so easy, you and Shauna both. You didn't have to know about a past you could do nothing about! You didn't have to put her in the middle of an uninvited shitstorm with the mafia, a maniacal father, and a psychotic ex-boyfriend and then try to work your way out of it...for nothing! You didn't have to watch Shauna recover from dying and then stand back as she buried herself within herself a little more each day without there being a God-damned thing you can do about it! You didn't have to hold back and watch the nightmares overtake her…every night...every fucking night…and know that she doesn't want your help. You didn't have that one thing come up, the one thing that you know may jeopardize everything but would bring her some semblance of peace. And that, in and of itself, would be worth it so she wouldn't have to live an existence of torture. So, did I go to see Eric? Yes, I fucking did! Do I replay his version of what he did to her, how he did it and how it made him feel…every night? Yes, I fucking do! But, it's worth it! Even if she thinks it was an invasion of privacy; even if she hates me for it or thinks I'm pathetic…" I swallow, running my hands down my warm face. "I'll take that title." I clear my throat feeling relieved to have out my incoherent thoughts into coherent words, finally._

 _"That was…not the short version."_

 _"Screw you."_

 _"I'm just talking you off a ledge, my friend. Distracting you with my sarcasm." He pats me on the back, jovially, apparently unable to take me seriously._

 _"Not necessary. I would have jumped a long time ago; trust me."_

 _"So, well, uh, sounds like she's the one who, ya know, broke it off?"_

 _I laugh lightly at his horribly played ignorance. "Are you honestly going to tell me Shauna hasn't revealed exactly what she knows?"_

 _"No, she totally has."_

 _"Awesome. End of story then."_

 _"Nope, not the end. Not even close. I need to say something. Now, are…you…listening?" he asks slowly._

 _I look over my shoulder, seeing that the bus is packed. "I seem to have no choice."_

 _"Four, you didn't mean it—that whole Karma business. You know how I know?"_

 _"Indeed, I don't."_

 _"Because, when it comes to Tris, you don't see her experiences, her abuse, the shitty hand she's been dealt. You don't see all of that as some separate thing. You see…her. The big picture. What she's been through, you see as a part of…her. It made Tris…Tris. You wouldn't use that against her."_

 _"Where are you getting this shit from?" I ask in disbelief at his incredibly in-tune observation._

 _"Oh, uh…" He suddenly faces forward. "Someone...or I heard it… Someone said something…once, like it, and anyway… Oh, so, lemme ask you this—When you said, 'Hope life treats you as great as it already has. Karma's a bitch'…or some shit. Whatever the hell you said…"_

 _I groan as the moment presents itself again—the moment I officially nailed the coffin._

 _"Yeah, yeah. Not gonna lie; that was bad. But did you mean, 'Tris, I hope you keep getting the shit kicked out of you. Ya know, 'cause you deserve it.?"_

 _"No," I say softly._

 _"So, then what…did…you mean?"_

 _"Damn," I sigh. "I don't even know. It was just the…heat of the moment." I shrug. "Maybe I just wanted her to perpetually feel as shitty as I knew I would. And as far as Karma…I think I just wanted her…decision…to bite her in the ass. Zeke, I was so fucking mad at her."_

 _"Are you still?"_

 _"Sometimes I think I am. But, the truth is, I'm mad that…"_

 _"That…"_

 _I close my eyes, resigning myself to the fact that I'm about to sound like the biggest pussy. "That she didn't love me as much as I loved her," I mutter. "So, technically, that's not even her fault. Therefore, I have no right to be mad."_

 _Flashes of the quote by the Pinteresty d-bag Nicholas Sparksy-whoever plays on repeat in my mind—"One person always loves more deeply than the other." I wait for Zeke to inform me that I sound like a little bitch, but I see him furrowing his brows as if he's digging deep into the realms of his mind. This shouldn't take long—_

 _"Bullshit."_

 _"What is?"_

 _"'She didn't love me as much as I loved her,'" he mimics in his best whiny voice. "Well, that's not what I saw! And it's not how she…acted…when…"_

 _"When what? You barely saw her since she got out of the hospital! So, stop acting like you know what was going through her mind!"_

 _"Well…"_

 _I wait while he tries to come up with something else to make me feel better, probably something stupid._

 _"She knew," I begin when I officially see he has nothing further. "She knew exactly what she was doing the minute I even walked into that hell hole her and Lynn squat in. And when she realized that I went to see Eric…well, I pretty much handed her an out. Gold plated."_

 _"So, you think it was pre-meditatory?"_

 _"If you mean pre-meditated, then yes, it definitely was."_

 _"Why? Or, uh…what did she say?"_

 _"Well," I pause looking at him sideways because he's not usually this fidgety. "First of all, she wouldn't even let me come near her. Like if I were to come any closer, she'd lose her resolve—her intended goal."_

 _The feeling comes back of wanting to take a hammer to my head upon seeing the bruise on her cheekbone. And her words that now come back to me for the first time—I wasn't going to get her forgiveness. I sink back into my seat. I was so caught up on being angry at her that I had forgotten that the worst side of me came out that night, and she got caught in the middle. And she'd just keep getting caught in the middle…and she knew it._

 _"But I don't think that's the only reason. I'm pretty sure she was scared of me. And that just about tore a hole into my soul." I chuckle, suddenly not caring if my words are overly dramatic._

 _"Why do you think was she scared of you?"_

 _"Earlier that night, I walked into the back room at Hangars. I just wanted to talk to her. It had been almost a week. Anyway, I saw her leaning against the sink with the new bartender. He was inches from her face, holding her cheek with his hand. From my view…it looked like he was going to kiss her. I fuckin' lost my mind."_

 _"How is this the first I'm hearing of this?! I would have gone Neanderthal! Ape Shit! Bangin' on my chest and—"_

 _"She had…glass in her eye. He was…trying to help her," I say, ashamed. "I could have killed him. I wanted to kill him. Yet somehow, I still don't know how, she ended up with a busted face."_

 _"Dude…" he comments, suddenly changing his tune._

 _"I know. Trust me," I reassure. "I'm well aware of how much of a fuck I am. Turns out, she was as aware as I was. I don't blame her…for giving up on me." I laugh and rest my head in my hands. "And guess what?"_

 _"What?"_

 _" I actually asked her that—'Are you giving up on me?' Those words. I said those words. Me," I say, muffled through my hands._

 _"Women. They turn us into such wimps."_

 _"Hmmph."_

 _"So, did she…what's the word…uh…veridate…your feelings?"_

 _"If you mean validate, then no. Her response was way more cliché than that. She said…I'm giving up on myself." I lift my head. "What the hell does that even mean?"_

 _"Well, you may not want to hear a fuckin' word of this, but, are you? Giving up, I mean?"_

 _I look up at the ceiling of the bus and shake my head._

 _"Hey, don't get huffy. Dose of reality here—You're boozing…a lot; you work out like a hamster on a wheel; you're a robot at work and… Well, do you worry about you? When was the last time you asked yourself if you're okay?"_

 _"Are you serious? Am I supposed to stand in front of the mirror and ask myself that?"_

 _"Maybe?" he shrugs noncommittally._

 _"What, you don't think I know myself? Do you think I'm that fucking out of touch?"_

 _"Well, I sure as hell know that I don't know who the fuck you are these days!"_

* * *

"An acquaintance basically told me without telling me that she didn't want her son to turn out like… _me_ , and then my… _friend_ …said he didn't know who I was anymore. There was no ultimatum. Is that specific enough for you?"

"Friend?" he asks with a smirk on his face.

"Yes, Dr. Karsson. I'm not entirely devoid of interpersonal abilities. They're just…few and far between," I mumble.

"Do you still keep in touch with your... _friend_?"

"Um…minimally, and mostly just out of guilt."

The last text I got from Zeke— _Merry Christmas. I miss you, man._ Going unanswered on my end. I couldn't bring myself to refuse Hana's package, however—my annual Christmas tie along with her homemade chocolate chip cookies. I couldn't bring myself to eat them, so I left them in the conference room at ALG for the employees. But I did send her a 'thank you' text.

"Guilt is a difficult emotion to admit to," he comments now sitting back in his chair like me.

"It becomes more bearable as the days go by." _Lies, Tobias… Just, lies…_

"What do you feel guilty about?"

"They are or were, I guess, like family to me and I…just cut myself off."

"Why did you do that?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"Four! Four! Four, man, I'm sorry! Hey, wait!" Zeke grabs me by the arm, right after I exit the bus, hard enough to make me momentarily pause. "I'm sorry I said that. I really am. I know you're going through shit, and me calling you out doesn't do you any favors. Hell, doesn't do me any favors because now I feel like a dickhead."_

 _"It's fine," I state, resignedly. "A dose of reality never hurt anyone."_

 _"Then why did you tell me to 'Fuck off. And do not follow me.'"_

 _"'Cause I wanted you to fuck off and not follow me. And stop trying to imitate me while you're at it."_

 _"Tough shit times two. It's Friday, and I'm not letting you sit in a dirty dive with Uriah as your nanny. We're going to do something…productive."_

 _"Yep. I'm going back into work." He doesn't need to know that I plan to drink the remnants of an entirely excellent bottle of Single Barrel behind the very locked door of my office, in the very locked bedroom door in my office, and pass out._

 _"Work? Damn it! I know you're big man on campus now, but come on, it doesn't need to consume your life." Nope…it's the bottle that…I…plan to consume._

 _"Good evening, Mr. Eaton," Stephen acknowledges as we walk past._

 _"Evening."_

 _"Your phone, sir? Delivered by a gentleman, named…Bud," he remarks as if Bud is the worst name in the world._

 _I stop short of the elevator, retracing my steps and accepting my phone. "Thank you."_

 _"Of course, sir. And, before you make your daily ten-minute visit, I would like to remind you that Miss Prior never submitted a receipt for reimbursal of the tile materials. I'm assuming she informed you that when repairs are performed by tenants, or…ahem…guests, it is the tenant's responsibility to—"_

 _"What…are you talking about?"_

 _"The tile. We fixed it. Tris and I did," Jonathan states proudly, with his chin raised, arms crossed, sauntering over. His drastic change in demeanor toward me in the last month leads me to believe he blames me for Tris's swift exit. "Well, she actually did it. But, I watched to make sure it was done right."_

 _"How's it goin', Captain Underpants?!" Zeke adds, putting his arm around Jonathan's shoulder. "Hope you've been stayin' away from pantiless cougars." He laughs while attempting to growl like a cougar, which just makes him sound like a hyena._

 _Their banter continues while I allow the torture to set in—the tile. The day Tris had a near meltdown. Dalilah's, her apartment, Amar…and then me. I remember making her feel horrible for attempting to fix it, and then I didn't even notice when she actually had._

 _"Well, under normal circumstances," Stephen continues. "… it would be maintenance's job to do repairs and replacements, but she somehow wheedled this young, ignorant, adolescent male into letting her violate the basement storage."_

 _"She said Mr. Eaton would have my nuts if the tile didn't match perfectly," Jonathan defends._

 _"You're lucky Ms. Ghertrude didn't…take…your testicles for helping Miss Prior rummage through our tile for two hours."_

 _"Two…hours…?" I question, finally having the wherewithal to contribute to this conversation._

 _"Yep. And…I… found one of the pieces. The one on the right to be exact. We…were pretty pumped," Jonathan contributes proudly and a little smugly, his "I" and "we" exaggeration quite obvious._

 _I hear the elevator behind us, and I use this as my ungraceful exit._

 _"So you have no such receipt, I take it?!" Stephen yells from behind his counter._

 _"No," I whisper to myself as the elevator door closes._

 _I feel Zeke's eyes on me. So, I start the commentary countdown in my head. Ten—_

 _"Yep. The girl rummages through a dank nasty basement for two hours to find tile and then she does the repair herself. She definitely didn't love you."_

 _"She felt guilty," I mutter, ignoring his sarcasm._

 _"Why?"_

 _Looking up at the ascending numbers, I crack my knuckles to relieve the residual memory of fist connecting to porcelain. "I broke the tile."_

 _"You—"_

 _"Shattered it."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because of her," I state matter-of-factly. "At least, that's what she thought."_

 _"Please explain," he begs, shaking his head._

 _"It was the morning that…Tris…um, thought I was…him. Ya know, when we almost…" I silently pray that Zeke realizes what I'm referring to, so I don't have to relive it._

 _"Ah."_

 _Thank God. " I punched the tile. She blamed herself. That's why she fixed it."_

 _"Porcelain tile? With your fist? That's how mad you were?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"At her?"_

 _"Do you really think…I'd blame her…for that?" I ask, pissed he'd even verbalize that question._

 _"Sorry," he responds quietly._

 _"You are just…loving…that word today."_

 _"Well, I apologize several times a day to Shauna. So, my mouth is used to it."_

 _"Hmmph."_

 _We exit the elevator, and I prepare myself to walk into my apartment—game face, head down, change of clothes, retreat._

 _"So, you're really going back to work tonight?"_

 _"I really am."_

 _"Can we get some grub first or something? You got food in there?"_

 _"Zeke, are you…ever…on duty? And no, I don't."_

 _"Yeah. Midnight. Captain's been giving me the shittiest hours—"_

 _"Tonight?" I interject, putting the key in the door._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"And you wanted to go out?"_

 _"What? You don't think I can hang?" he asks as if he truly is offended._

 _"Jesus," I utter under my breath as we head into my apartment. "Look, I have a big project I'm working on, and it turns out that Matthew's interest in his role in the company has changed course, so I'm down a man."_

 _It's a partial truth—the Connie G project is done. But Matthew's role truly is changing. He gets to renovate Tris's houses! Awesome! Yay, Matthew—_

 _"Don't really know him, but that dude seems weird!" Zeke yells from my kitchen._

 _Mumbling to myself, I grab a pair of briefs and socks, ignoring all my surroundings. "There aren't enough superlatives to describe his weirdness."_

 _"So, let's just eat something here!"_

 _"I don't have food!" I shout, trying to send a very clear message that I don't want to have fucking dinner with him!_

 _"Don't you shop?!"_

 _"No!"_

 _I pick out a pair of jeans and whatever shirt is closest in my closet before heading into the…bathroom…_

 _I pause and take a deep breath, walking into the shower. I hadn't yet been brave enough to go into it, not wanting to see Tris's toiletie things gone. But, of course, they are. My feet immediately take me to the shower wall, where I now notice the newly replaced grout and the tiles that indeed match to perfection—the exact shade to carry on the particular marbled wave and shade, where any other tile, even from the same batch, would have still seemed out of place. I run my fingers over it, replacing the memory of my throbbing knuckles._

 _"Dude! You've got food for days! I'm heatin' this shit up!"_

 _I furrow my eyebrows and walk out to the kitchen, annoyed at the interruption. Yet, this whole day has been one big interruption so—"What are you doing?!" I exasperate, watching Zeke rummaging through my freezer, my completely packed freezer. I watch, unable to form words._

 _"Hey, these are all labeled," Zeke mumbles with a protein bar in his mouth. "Are these…instructions? This handwriting is bunk!"_

 _He tosses me a large sealed plastic bag, with several other plastic bags inside, all filled with frozen food. Inside is a notecard with Tris's handwriting assaulting the paper._

 ** _Slow Cooker Beef Stew: (Start this in the morning, not when you get home. Trust me.)_**

 ** _The slow cooker is in the cabinet above the fridge. It looks like a big white pot with handles, sitting inside an electric miniature laundry basket. It also has the word "SLOW COOKER" on it because I labeled it for you._**

 ** _Step 1 – Plug in slow cooker. This is an absolute must. Trust me._**

 ** _Step 2 – Remove the lid. That's the piece of glass with a handle that goes on top. (I labeled it "LID.")_**

 ** _Step 2 – Dump beef (It's the bag labeled "BEEF") into the pot, then the vegetables (They're in the bag labeled "VEGETABLES"), and the spices (They're in the bag labeled "SPICES") into the slow cooker. Please make sure to remove all items from the plastic. This is a necessity. Trust me._**

 ** _Step 3 – In the cabinet, there is a container. It's beef broth. You will know that because I labeled it "BEEF BROTH." Open the container and pour it on top of the meat, vegetables, and spices. Side note: These should already be in the slow cooker. Do not pour the broth over the ingredients (a.k.a. things you are supposed to put in the pot) if they are still on the counter._**

 ** _Step 4 – Push the time button over and over until 8:00 appears on the digital screen (That means eight hours, not eight o'clock), then press ok. (That is the button that says "OK.") It will tell you, not verbally, to push "go."(That is the button that says "GO.") So, you need to push that button._**

 ** _Step 5 – Place the lid back on the slow cooker. Please make sure it is aligned with the outer edge of the pot. If it isn't, keep turning the lid clockwise until it falls into place._**

 ** _Step 6 – Now, back away. Don't try to figure out how it works. Just turn around. Don't look over your shoulder and second guess yourself. Push through your impulses. Now grab your man bag, and go to work and be amazing._**

 ** _I love you. T_**

 _"Does she think you're retarded or something?"_

 _I flinch away at Zeke's sudden intrusion over my shoulder. "Don't say retarded," I mumble, absentmindedly as my eyes drift up to the contents of the rest of my freezer. I count the pencil scratched pieces of paper, stopping at the number ten, but seeing that there are many more beyond that._

 _"Really? You too? Uriah was going off about this. Something about special disabilities or…I don't know, some PC bullshit."_

 _"It's an unacceptable word," I sigh, looking over at the counter where Zeke has pulled out even more items._

 _"It's just a word! Why are people so damned sensitive these days?"_

 _"This coming from a man who has been called a very different, yet still unacceptable word," I remark not being able to remove my eyes from my freezer._

 _"Chili! I fuckin' love Chili! Let's make this—"_

 _I swat his hand away from my freezer too late as the hard frozen contents fall to the floor right onto Zeke's foot. His yelping and hopping away gives me a moment to scan the note attached, which starts with —_ _ **I make excellent chili!**_ _I can't help but grin softly, thinking about our conversation at Duke's Diner, how easy it was and how I'd never looked forward to eating chili as much in my life._

 _"Fine. Don't give a shit about me and my pinkie toe!"_

 _"I don't," I mutter as I blow out a breath. Where the hell was I when she was putting all her efforts into renovating houses for MY business and making meals for ME?! Oh, yeah…trying to keep myself busy at work so I wouldn't have to think about her! Well done, Tobias!_

 _"Oh, yeah, and you were right again—when a girl pre-makes you 100 meals, she definitely doesn't love you. So, I will be happy to take these meals, that were lovelessly prepared, off your hands." He continues his onslaught of my freezer while I lean against the counter still dazed._

 _I feel something cold on my back which I move to the side, my eyes catching nothing but numbers written on the aluminum foil—8/6. There aren't detailed instructions written for the mildly disabled—Just a date. Aug. 6. Why does that date…resonate with me?_

 _"What happened on August 6_ _th_ _?" I ask although I know Zeke will have no clue._

 _"Hell if I know. Hey, can I take this stir fry home?"_

 _What happened at the beginning of August? Tris came home on the 4_ _th_ _. Then it connects—Jack Kang's funeral. Memories of myself nearly comatose, walking through the doors of my apartment come forth. Tris was in the kitchen. She made eye contact with me and walked over immediately, wrapping her arms around me. I swear I can still smell her shampoo. I remember having a thousand things to say, but no words to say them. So I just tilted her chin up with both of my hands and kissed her—we just…kissed. Were we in any other scenario, a kiss like that would have ended up with her on the kitchen table; but with her physical state and my emotional one, it wasn't happening. When we pulled away, she covered my mouth before I could even utter an apology for everything I had kept from her. "Go get ready for bed and then come out and have dinner with me," she ordered with a soft kiss on the cheek._

 _I run my fingers over the place where her lips touched, now having been tainted by days and days of washing and shaving._

 _"Hell yeah! It's lasagna!"_

 _"Don't fucking touch it," I demand in as low a tone as I'm capable, having now remembered my asking her the next day what she made. Her response being—"Nothing I can't reheat another time."_

 _I groan aloud, now having made the connection that that is the second time she has spent the day making me lasagna that I have denounced—denounced lasagna._

 _"You're being a dick. And you just moaned at the lasagna. Since when don't you like Italian food? Everybody likes Italian food. Scratch that. Everybody LOVES Ital—"_

 _"Ezequiel! You're driving me fucking crazy! And I do love Italian food! I would have loved it more if I could have eaten it with her! Instead, I was stuck having a panic attack at a funeral that I played a hand in, and getting severely misguided sexual advice from you!"_

 _"Oh, just fuckin' great," he replies rolling his eyes and walking out of the kitchen. "Are we not past the Jack thing, yet?"_

 _"And…how does one get past such a thing?"_

 _"Jesus, man! Jack was murdered because of your fuckin' father! That was a damned message…to him…not to you," he points out as if it's all just so simple._

 _"Well, Carlos's 'message' was on my behalf—"_

 _"SHUT…UP!" he yells throwing a bag of peas at me which I let drop to the floor. "Dude, just…shut up! Stop taking the world's shit on your firm overly toned shoulders! You are the victim in all this! You and Tris. Everyone knows it! You, me, Tris, Marcus, Carlos. Hell! Even Captain Sweep-the-whole-thing-under-the-rug-Matthews knows it! You two were collateral damage. Now, there's a big difference between being a victim and acting like one. And, you, my friend, are filling that role amazingly well! Acting crazy—mad all the time. Even when you were still with Tris, still just angry—"_

 _"I'm not acting like a victim! I mean, am I supposed to forget everything that happened? Everything Marcus did? Making me think an illegal arms king pin wanted Tris dead, telling Joseph where she was so Eric could find her? What am I supposed to do, Obi?"_

 _"Move on, man."_

 _I bark out a laugh at his flippant solution._

 _"At least, quit taking your shit out on everyone else. You made it your life's mission to somehow make it all up to Tris. And I'll tell you what; you used her as your scapegoat. You still are."_

 _I try to process exactly what the hell he's talking about. "What?"_

 _"Evelyn," he states confidently. "In your confused still-thinkin'-you're-nine-years-old mind, you didn't help her—didn't tell anyone. Like you needed to? Like everyone didn't already know? Let it go! It wasn't your fault! And Tris is...not your mom! In fact, sounds to me like you barely knew Tris."_

 _The fact that he just trivialized my and Tris's relationship to some Freudian bullshit along with questioning our connection makes my blood run cold._

 _"Just like your dad?" I compare, Zeke staring at me as if he just fell off his high horse. "The man you falsely idolized?"_

 _"You don't know what you're talking about."_

 _"And when you found out he was slightly less than the man you thought he was, you closed off the world! Went off to the academy. Who do you think took care of Uriah and Hana after Jo died?! The fuckin' dog?! Nope. It was me!" I point to myself. "But it should have been you!"_

 _He walks to the living room laughing sarcastically as if I have no clue what the hell I'm talking about._

 _"And you still don't talk about him!" I continue. "The first time in years I even heard his name come out of your mouth was when you told Tris about him! So, maybe it's time that YOU…move on!"_

 _"Oh, now you're bringing this up? Years later? Like it's my fault you were too busy making sure Uri didn't flush his life down the shitter?"_

 _I take a deep breath, knowing we need to take a beat here before we say anything really stup—_

 _"And have you ever asked about my dad? Since the funeral?"_

 _"I—"_

 _"And maybe I never bring it up because I know you're too damn self-involved to give a shit! Ya know, I can't win with you! I try to give you space; that doesn't work. I try to ask what's wrong or skirt around the subject like a little bitch, so I don't offend you; that doesn't work either. Well, I'm sick of not offending you! You fucked up! You got all psycho beating up your father, taking your anger out on your girlfriend, invading her in every way possible, almost killing bartenders, breaking tile!"_

 _"Zeke—"_

 _"My fiancé kicked…you out…of my…wedding! You turned into a fucking drunk! Shit! And for…what? Because your girlfriend broke up with you? That's what you think, right? Well, you're way off the mark! You're pissed because deep down you know your mom…LEFT YOU!"_

 _My fist connecting to his face—the sting of my knuckles being the only thing that tells me it happened. I back up, fully expecting him to retaliate, but he laughs instead. He laughs at me._

 _"Thank you for proving my point," he says as he grabs the door knob. "And by the way, this whole 'she didn't love me as much' bullshit. Well, let me tell you what Tris…told…me. She said that even though that nine-year-old kid got the shit end of the stick, it still made you into…you..."_

 _His in-tune words from earlier come back to me—they were Tris's words._

 _"…'the man who happens to be the love of her life.' Now that's a damned quote."  
_

 _I stare at him, breathing heavily, torn between being beyond hurt and pissed at him, and thrilled that Tris said that._

 _"Which I told her was a damned shame," he laughs lightly. "Seeing as you sure are hella quick to think the worst of her."_

 _"You said that…to her?" Tris's comment the night we broke up_ —"We think the worst of each other." _Her words and the fact that she got them from Zeke… Zeke…of all people._

 _"Yep. Then I told her you were fuckin' miserable," he says proudly, half-way out the door._

 _I know my mouth drops open. I can almost feel my jaw land on my toes._

 _"And that I hoped she was lookin' out for you! Turns out…she was." He gestures to the kitchen. "Like you said, 'pre-meditory.'"_

 _I look to the kitchen. A revelation forming—The food Tris prepared…was because she knew she was ending things._

 _"Zeke?" I call after him just as he's almost out the door._

 _He sighs deeply as if the hardest thing he has had to do all night is to turn and look at me._

 _"I would never…ever…tell you that your Dad left you…ever." I try to control the wrangled choke in my voice. "But I will say this: We are no longer friends."_

* * *

"My _friend_ and I got in a very…heated argument. He said…things. At the time, I felt like they were unforgivable—some things you just can't unhear. But, looking back now, I wasn't being a very good friend to him, anyway. You can only push someone so far, right?"

"Did you ever reconcile?"

"He tried. Many times. That's where the guilt comes in. I didn't try. I didn't reciprocate."

"Why?"

"I had to cut ties. And as it turns out, that was my knife."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I stare out the window at the seemingly endless landscape of the lake, wondering how many miles my vision actually processes. I sigh, wishing I could head down to the water. It really is total irony—the place that reminds me the most of my mother, the one thing in my life I can't reconcile, is somehow the place where things become most clear. And as of right now, nothing is clear. I'm used to being at war with myself, but the last few days have been the height of battle._

 _Anger, malevolent anger, is what I felt after Zeke left. I wasn't even hurt by his words, at first. They fueled me to be the most productive I'd been in weeks. I went into work and got in the drafter's seat, which I hadn't done since my internship, completing in an eight-hour sitting, the final draft of the Conrad Grayden building. I know I pissed off the drafters, but I promised them full credit and gave my most insincere apology ever._

 _But then, upon waking the next morning and looking out over the lake, the physical fear replacing my nightmare, the hurt set in. Zeke's words. My mom…left me. The bullshit expression she used to recite hit me like a ton of bricks.—"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." I realized, right then, that that expression could be the least accurate thing I'd ever heard in my life. And that is saying something seeing as I had recently witnessed Matthew's un-lyrical and confounded version of Ice Ice Baby._

 _Words…hurt. Regardless of intention._

 _It not like it's a foreign concept that words can cut like a knife; I've been the recipient of plenty of low blows in my life. But sometimes…things can't be unheard. Wounds can be fatal._

 _Suddenly, I felt the deep seed of betrayal plant itself within me. But somehow, with that feeling, came clarity. It was at that moment that I truly became aware of how much I had hurt Tris, even though my parting monologue to her had been triggered by nothing more than heightened emotional build-up. It could have been the same for Zeke. There may have been something else going on. I hadn't exactly been observant when it came to him._

 _Then there are the other circumstances at play—Whereas before I was able to move Tris into a safe area of my brain during the day, fueled by anger, now I can't get her off my mind. Seeing her the other day, how it made me feel… I can't get over it. The amount of unfinished business is weighing me down. I probably walk like a hunchback. I had been so convinced, had resigned myself so much to the fact that, in the end, she just wasn't all in. Then hearing about her efforts with the tile, and then the amount of time she put into cramming my freezer with food…_

 _I had gone through and read all the instructions, smiling at how she is the only person who I can tolerate making me feel like a total dumb ass. Her snarky notes, swearing, and smiley faces were enough to make me sleep that night without the calming effects of alcohol. It felt like she was there with me still. And it was the first time I had slept in my bed since we broke up._

 _At first, I thought Zeke was right, referencing her meal prep as pre-break up guilt. But then as I went through and read all her scribbles, she ended each note with 'I love you.—It was because she was moving out, not because she was ending things._

 _Not being able to face the window anymore, I sit in a chair that semi-faces away from it—it doesn't help much seeing as I still know how high up I am and how there is nothing but a few panes of glass separating me from the elements. It's nothing but psychological trickery. It's pretty much how I survive these days—psychological trickery._

 _The ding of a text comes at the perfect time, distracting me from trying to talk myself into barging into Tris's apartment—Five locks…five damned locks. Single pane window, though… I'd replace it. I just need her to know that nothing she ever did merited any sort of abuse! I need to apologize. Apologize and leave...but not before fixing the window…and smiling at her—she always seems to like my smile. Maybe then she'd ask me to stay for a cup of coffee? I wonder what kind of coffee she's drinking these days. Probably total shit._

 _The reminder ding alerts me again that I have a text, which is perfect timing because I do not need to be plotting my next nonexistent move with Tris—But what would my true intention be behind the apology… Is it selfish? Is it because I can't stand the idea of her thinking that…I…feel that way? She's a strong woman, whether she realizes it or not. She already knows she didn't deserve the abuse! It was her having to hear it out of…my…mouth that hurt—not because she believed it. An apology would be nothing more than to alleviate MY guilt! No, Tobias. You will not be apologizing._

 _I stand, striding across the room as if I have a more important purpose than I actually do. I select the picture message that came through, seeing it's a photo of a therapist's card: Dr. Devon Coniglio, along with a message from Clare._

 ** _2:47 Clare:_** _Thanks for tolerating me on Friday._

 _I sigh heavily and lean on my desk. The other day Clare basically said that she didn't want her son to turn out like me. That was a wake-up call. Am I really that bad? Apparently, I am. I've been running the state of my existence through my mind since Zeke left—realizing I have attempted to shut out and drive away everyone who cares about me. And I have succeeded with several people—the most obvious being Tris, then Zeke, then Shauna as a Domino effect. I ignore Hana, distanced myself from Amar, and have taken little to no interest in Will. Then there's Uriah…but I can't seem to shake him._

 ** _2:48 Me:_** _You're welcome. I'm happy for you._

 _I stare at the screen. Knowing Clare, she hummed and hoed for an hour before sending the picture of the card, probably afraid she would offend me._

 ** _2:48 Me:_** _Thanks for the card._

 _Therapy. Fuckin' therapy. God damned therapy. What good could come out of it at this point? Tris and I are done. There is no longer a need. Anyway, I wouldn't be going because I wanted to, therefore, it wouldn't be real-it wouldn't count as Tris basically had made it known. Unless, maybe-  
_

 _"Tobias, you need to come to the conference room," Amar announces, suddenly standing in the middle of my office. He's speaking in the most serious tone I've ever heard from him._

 _"Right now?" I whine, like a kid who has just been told to clean his room. I'm seriously trying to work some shit out-  
_

 _"This minute." He disappears from the door before I can even react._

 _Collecting myself, I walk purposefully to the conference room, it not going unnoticed that the tension is palpable throughout the office floor. I see Connie Grayden pacing through the glass windows and Taylor standing stoic, his brow furrowed in anger._

 _"Shit."_

 _"What's going on?" Will asks, suddenly in step with me._

 _"Will, what's going on?" I hear Zoe ask, now in step with Will._

 _"Guys! What's going—"_

 _"I don't fucking know!" I whisper, cutting Matthew off as I arrive at the door, purposefully stopping first, to seem calm and collected—A thud resounds, along with my noticeable grunt, coupled with the pain of three assholes smashing into my back._

 _"Agh. Oh, my God. That was my face, Matthew!" I hear Zoe whisper._

 _"Sorry, pal," Will mumbles as I clear my throat and put on my best recovery face._

 _"Yeah, sorry…uh, pal, or Four—"_

 _"This is a closed-door session," Amar states authoritatively in the direction of the Three Amigos behind me._

 _I continue into the room, Will's chastising whispers to Matthew fading as the door closes behind me._

 _After the extensive amount of meetings, lunches, and cocktails Amar and I have shared with Connie and Taylor in the last month, along with the awkward exchange of Taylor asking Amar to "Tell me about the gays" during a golf game, we're all on friendly terms now, so there is no need for formalities. Taylor even knows Marcus, and shockingly, he doesn't seem to hold it against me._

 _So, the scene before is particularly surprising as it resembles more of an interrogation than a meeting. Connie is pacing, looking semi-haggard and frustrated—hair slightly unkempt and red-faced. Amar is leaning on the conference table lost in thought, and Taylor is trying to murder a man with his glare. The man is the wild card in the room— sitting in a chair with his back to me._

 _"May I ask what the hell is going on? Our staff look like stroke victims."_

 _"I'm gonna make this guy a stroke victim—"_

 _"Taylor, enough," Connie interrupts her uncle as he shakes his fist slowly at…whoever the hell this guy is._

 _"Connie Bell, you're the one draggin' the son of a bitch across the floor, hollerin' like a fifty-year-old orangutan in heat, suffering from dementia!"_

 _I shake my head and move toward the chair before that image can officially accost my brain._

 _"Four, may I introduce you to Dr. DuBois?" Amar flits his hand disdainfully in the gentleman's direction._

 _"Afternoon." I nod my head and stand next to Amar, ready for some kind of response from the man…or from anyone for that matter._

 _However, he doesn't raise his head nor make any attempt to acknowledge me whatsoever—hunched over, elbows on his knees. He's balding, not dressed to impress, the redness around his collar exposing a bit of eczema. And the red splotches around his hairline is a dead giveaway—he's nervous._

 _"Look, Connie—"_

 _"Dr. DuBois, we are no longer on a first-name basis. Call me Mrs. Grayden," she growls, now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me, insanely too close for my comfort._

 _"I don't know what more you want from me," he pleads to the floor. "I came clean on my own recognizance! You can keep the money. I want no credit. Pull my name from everything," he mumbles as I nudge Amar for guidance._

 _"Oh, don't worry about that. Mr. Eaton's money will be put to excellent use," Connie remarks snidely._

 _I turn to Amar, who seems to be unable to make eye contact with me. There are only two Mr. Eaton's left to my knowledge and this sure as hell isn't about me. "What is going on here?!"_

 _"Your father," Amar says slowly, devoid of emotion. "…suddenly, developed quite the philanthropic interest."_

 _I can only assume he's talking about Connie's venture in Darfur. But there's no way Marcus would be a generous donor unless he had something to gain… Information._

 _I direct my undivided, angered attention to Connie and Taylor. "Did he…donate…to your charity…so you'd…hire ME?!"_

 _"Listen here, son! You think I built MY empire on the backs of scum-diver bottom-feeders like your father? As if I'd accept a carnie's nickel from that crooked bastard! Do you want to be my next stroke victim—"_

 _"Taylor!" Connie stands and pushes the older gentleman back as he attempts to come at me. "It's OUR charity, not YOUR empire! And I'm the one who runs it, so keep your brass knuckles in your pocket, please."_

 _"You better check yourself before you wreck yourself." He points to me over Connie's shoulder as Amar stifles a laugh, earning him a glare from me seeing as nothing is funny about this._

 _"Thank you, for the old white man's version of a 90s hip hop culture reference. You truly are evolving. Now just continue with your inappropriate gestures, uncle." She turns back to us leaving Taylor grumbling behind her. "Dr. DuBois, I believe this to be your area of expertise. Do explain."_

 _Seeming to collect himself, he lifts his head slowly, immediately attempting to take note of me—the widening of his eyes a dead giveaway of his impression. "Oh, God," he breathes out, melting in his chair._

 _"He has a temper too," Amar remarks, referring to me._

 _The doctor suddenly changes his tune to a calmer demeanor, his weak attempt to size me up is almost comical._

 _"Please, sit—"_

 _"No," Connie interrupts his invitation to me._

 _The doctor seems confused, as am I, as he instead stands—_

 _"Sit," Connie demands again before turning to me. "You see, Dr. DuBois is an expert in human behavior. He's trying to establish an entirely false sense of an even playing field."_

 _I narrow my eyes at him in wonder of his posturing._

 _"Well, sir, I guarantee you…" Connie crouches down, speaking to the doctor softly and in a manner that almost intimidates…well, me. "…in no universe would you ever be on an even playing field with him." She nods her head, making quick eye contact with me before returning her attention to the doctor. "Four already senses that you're weak. It's the first thing I noticed about him upon our initial meeting—his ability to read people. Do allow me to tell you about this young man..." she coos. "Now, he enters a room and appraises each and every person in it based on physical demeanor alone—standing, sitting, arms crossed, uncrossed, leaning on walls, looking tired, looking excited. Then he moves on, passing over those already familiar and most likely honing in on the unknown: categorizing them by gender, age, race, height, weight and hair color, and length. He then silently, and most likely subconsciously files away the possibilities—the wild cards if you will—pregnant, not pregnant, married, single, lower, middle, or upper class, gay, straight, or transgender. You probably didn't even notice the slight jolt in his irises, which was him physically committing your entire self to his photographic memory. Now, do start from the beginning." She stands and smirks at me as she passes, seating herself in a chair, quite smugly. Her successful attempt at intimidating him by grossly exaggerating my skill set was very impressive._

 _The doctor doesn't seem to want to make eye contact with me anymore, which is fine by me because I have yet to understand what the hell is happening and I'd prefer not to give myself away. "I'm a, um, ahem, a professor at Columbia University—a behavioral sociologist, studying specifically human interpersonal relationships. Meaning, how people react to one another—"_

 _"I know what it means."_

 _"Oh…yes, of course you do. Well, I run a program where I…um…well, troubled students—"_

 _"He means students with a lack of funds," Connie interrupts again._

 _"Yes, unfortunately, that is usually the case. They, um, they come to me, and I study them. And…"_

 _"And?" I prod trying to figure out where the hell he's going with this._

 _"I guide them…or maybe...um…provide them with ideas, based on my assessments of their personalities and on areas in their lives where they can improve. I help them! And they help me! It's very mutually beneficial!" he almost shouts, defensively._

 _"So, what I'm hearing you say is that you study these kids, assess areas in their life where you deem they need improvement and manipulate them through the power of suggestion."_

 _"That's…quite astute."_

 _"He is…quite astute," Amar agrees, his pride in me being overshadowed by his scorn for the doctor._

 _I look to Connie, suddenly remembering our initial introduction, and how she was meeting with a doctor at Columbia. "This is the gentleman you were talking about the first day we met?"_

 _"Indeed. One and the same. In fact, he also happens to be the same gentleman who suddenly came up with $50,000 cash from an anonymous donor."_

 _"Marcus," I respond, filling in the blanks. "Why?" I ask, my vocal decibels descending; although, Dr. Dubois continues to have speech issues. "Speak!" I yell._

 _"Marcus…uh, ah, ah, your father…showed up at my office. He offered me $50,000 to provide…services…to a person—"_

 _"Christ Almighty! You're makin' this sound like a high-class prostitution ring! Four," Taylor address me from behind Dr. DuBois. "Your pops gave this hack 50K to give your ex-broad fake shrinky dink classes."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Your father paid him to give Tris false therapy," Amar clarifies. "Using the power of suggestion against…you."_

 _I can now say I have experienced the epitome of an epiphany—Tris's therapy. My mind seems to be working faster than my conscious can follow—putting patterns together. I remember the first day she went. That was the day—the day things…really…started to go downhill for her…for us._

 _"You're the…therapist?" I ask more to myself that to this piece of shit in front of me._

 _"I'm not a therapist. Never told her I was one." He shrugs as if that excludes him from guilt. And suddenly, I don't even see red, I see black. But I feel my fingers curl around fabric and hear a loud crash—_

 _"Tobias. Tobias. Tobias!" Amar's voice and his physical interjection bring me back providing me with a stark reminder that I am in a professional environment. "Walk away! Now!" he whispers through a clenched jaw as he pushes me toward the window. "Cool down!"_

 _"Well, if he's not gonna do it; then I—" Taylor's voice is accompanied by a commotion that I'm only partially interested in—everything else seems muffled and foggy. "Just…lemme at 'em! I'll give him some therapy in the form…of a…knuckle…sandwich!"_

 _Watching Taylor attempt to beat the hell out of the doctor, should bring me joy. But something else comes to the forefront—Tris. She didn't give up on us. She was set up. I know I shouldn't be happy about that. But, I'm only human. And knowing she has been fed lies—that her insecurities about me weren't her own—just makes me need to see her…immediately—_

 _"Ahem, good afternoon everybody," enters the hi-pitched nails-on-a-chalkboard voice of Carl Avery._

 _"You're fired," Connie states as if his presence is a nuisance and firing her lawyer is a check on her household to-do list._

 _"Excellent," he responds in seeming relief, backing out of the room._

 _"And don't think for one second that I didn't know you're Marcus Eaton's lawyer. Expect nothing more than for me to slander your name across this town."_

 _At that, he seems to be reminded of the clout that the Conrad name carries as the top advertising firm in the city, along with a prominent name in society—a nationally renowned family. She could ruin him._

 _"Mrs. Grayden—"_

 _"Wait," I order before Carl can get a word in. I address Connie—a question I have long wanted to ask her, but, subconsciously, didn't want the answer to. "Why did you hire him?"_

 _It had irked me from the beginning; although I had chalked it up to my exacerbated sensitivity when it comes to all things connected to Marcus. But, I think I should have listened to my gut on this one._

 _"Oh, yes. Let's discuss this, shall we…Wilbur?" Connie all but purrs, the over exaggeration of his very unfortunate name very apparent._

 _"Your name's Wilbur?!" Taylor laughs smacking his knee. "Like the show pig?! Charlie's Spider Web?! Hot damn! My grandkids would have a field day with you!"_

 _"Yes. I believe his legal name to be …DuBrumphett," Connie informs, egging on her uncle's crazed rant._

 _"Oh…shit…" Taylor doubles over, bracing himself on his knees as the doctor groans._

 _I, actually, have a moment's worth of empathy for the guy._

 _"You, Wilbur, decide to bring this…fool," Connie points to Carl. "… to our second meeting. Honestly, my first impression of Mr. Avery was that he was a…a….—"_

 _"Nincompoop."_

 _"Yes, thank you, Taylor. A total nincompoop. But, I figured you were a random out-of-touch-with-the-business-world professor who hired any asshole off the street claiming to be a lawyer just to make you look more important than you are."_

 _I can't help but steal a glance at Carl, his face priceless in response to Connie's comparisons._

 _"Personally, I thought you were a total oddball to even have a lawyer seeing as we were only chatting, but, who the hell am I to judge?! But then, once things got rolling, turns out…Mr. Avery knew…his…stuff! And seemed shockingly in sync with all of your ideas, Wilbur!" Connie circles the doctor and squeezes his shoulders roughly while smiling, making her look semi-sadistic. "Every idea you had! What was it? Oh, yes! You proposed to add an educational training wing onto the building! And Mr. Avery was just so enthralled! He was oh, so, interested! But the cost…mmmm…yep…I wasn't sold on that one, was I?"_

 _I see Wilbur shake his head out of the corner of my eye, but I can't seem to tear them away entirely from Carl—there's a sense of impending doom racing through my veins, an irrational response to something yet unknown._

 _"Well, then suddenly, you had $50,000 in donations! And the…one…stipulation you had was to hire him to write up the damned contract with ALG."_

 _I swallow thickly as all the pieces fall into place—the connection between Marcus, Dr. Du-whatever, and Carl Avery. And my heart drops to the floor so fast that I would swear people could hear it._

 _"Well, no harm no foul, right? So, I fucking hired the asshole! And he starts showing up…everywhere! Every damned step of the way—"_

 _"He's watching me," I mumble. Although, by the way the room goes silent, it didn't come out as such. "Aren't you?" I ask my eyes boring into Carls'._

 _"I was doing my job," he squeaks before clearing his throat. "I mean, yes, I was doing my job."_

 _"Excuse us," I emit slowly, everyone immediately filing out of the room, except Amar, who has planted himself in the corner behind Carl._

 _"Oh, you're not goin' anywhere, Dr. Dufrumptus! I've got my eye on you, buster!" The parting words of Taylor to the doctor, lingering briefly before the door closes behind them._

 _"Carl," I start, trying to get his attention as he looks all around the room except at me. "Carl!"_

 _"Hmm? Yes?"_

 _"Sit," I gesture to the table._

 _"No, I really—Ooooo!" He squawks as Amar slides a chair roughly under his legs, causing him to fall back onto it, his briefcase sliding onto the floor._

 _I nod to Amar as he retreats to his corner post. "Carl, you're a total piece of shit," I remark, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. "But you're not evil. There's a sliver of a conscious in there. Now I need you to tell me…why does he care…about Beatrice and me? Marcus. Why?"_

 _"Well, Tobias—"_

 _"You don't get to call me that."_

 _"Ha, ha. Okay…Four…" he begins more nervous than I've ever seen him. "I'm not sure what you mean—You and Beatrice. As far as I know, this has nothing to do with her—"_

 _"You just gave yourself away like a complete novice."_

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _"Very few people call her Beatrice…Marcus is one of the few, based on his dealings with people she would prefer never existed. Yet somehow you instantly without an ounce of forethought knew exactly who I was talking about, which shows me that she is referred to quite often by my father. Now don't…" I grab his tie lightly with my left hand, feeling the silk between my fingers and thumb. "…fuck..." Then I tightly and quickly grasp the the knot in my right as his eyes just about pop out of his head. "…with..." And I begin to tighten his tie, slowly and unrelentingly. "…me."_

 _"Fine," he gags just as his face starts to turn a pleasant shade of crimson. "Agh, ahhhh…" he lets out a breath clawing at his throat to loosen the very, very, tight accessory._

 _I steal a look at Amar and find him still leaning against the quartz counter top, not seeming at all interested in interfering. But I see right through it—he wants to make sure I don't do anything stupid. And I'm grateful for it._

 _"He referred to her…as a loose end," Carl rasps as the gravity of that wording overtakes me. "He doesn't know how much she knows, nor does he know who she knows. And…now, I've never met her, but according to your father...she's not timid." He swallows and wipes the sweat off his brow. "Also, she holds no loyalty to him. She makes him nervous."_

 _"And he thinks I hold an ounce of loyalty toward him?" I scoff._

 _"All sons, no matter how much of a failure their fathers are, have some."_

 _"So, in his amoral mind, brainwashing Tris against Four…is the solution?" Amar interjects._

 _"He believed she'd wash her hands of you…and that you'd hate her for it. I think he assumed it will stir up some bad memories," he adds knowingly._

 _"Don't act like you know what goes on in my head," I admonish, looking at the floor, as to not give myself away. "Do you think he'll hurt her?"_

 _"No. He has no interest in the possibility that he may have to deal with guilt."_

 _"He's never going to stop." I stare intently at Carl, deciding not to hide a hint of emotion. "Is he?"_

* * *

"I'm not following."

I realize I'm being unintentionally cryptic, as Dr. Karsson has pointed out to me on many occasions. "I used the argument I had with my best friend as my excuse."

"So, if that was your excuse, then there must have been a real reason for your disconnect."

"I was trying to protect…someone." I sense his annoying patience, most likely picking up on the word 'someone.' I sigh. "I was in a…relationship. And, um, my father was interfering," I add quickly, hoping he'll linger on the _father_ part and not the _relationsh—_

"A relationship?" he chuckles as I internally groan.

"Surprised?"

"Seeing as this is the first I'm hearing of this, and with your difficulties in forging friendships, yes, I am surprised. Why haven't you mentioned…?" he trails off, prompting me with raised eyebrows.

 _Do I want to give him her name? Why wouldn't I? Because saying it hurts. It's not like I haven't said it in my very, very, vivid dreams…in way more pornographic scenarios. Oh, God…do not think about that now…_ I've never been the kind of guy who _needs_ to get laid as if to relieve some physical urge. It's always been because I _wanted_ to. But ever since Tris, I haven't found myself wanting to. However, with the deep stirrings that plague me…shit, maybe I do _need_ to.

"I'm just trying to establish a gender, Tobias."

"Oh. Oh, _her._ She's a her. She's female, a girl, woman. I am…straight," I sputter trying not to be awkward or sound like an asshole.

"We hadn't exactly discussed it yet, so I was unsure. Please continue." He nods his head graciously.

"I have no idea what we were talking about," I say as I run through the myriad of reasons my sexual orientation may have been questioned.

"We left off on why you haven't mentioned… _her_."

"Oh, right." _Did he say that with doubt? Does he doubt my non-homosexuality? Why do I care?_ "Um… Because I had closed that chapter."

"Had? As in before you started seeing me?"

"Yes."

"And how did you go about doing that?" he asks, skeptically.

I pause, nudging the memories that are attempting to drive their way into my head—amends made through tedious and time-consuming anonymity, sealed envelopes, whispered admissions and scrawled promises.

"I reconciled myself that it was over and tied up all loose ends." I cringe, realizing I had just referred to Tris in the same way Marcus does—a loose end. Although, thinking of her as something inanimate and trite is one of the strongest coping mechanisms I have.

"You mentioned your father."

I feel a brief sense of relief that this conversation may veer toward Marcus—a person Dr. Karsson and I have discussed on many occasions. He's one of two hurtles in my arsenal. "My issues with Marcus wouldn't have stopped…ever. They won't stop…ever."

"Not to sound jejune…but, so what?"

Apart from his nauseatingly pompous yet not at all surprising use of the word jejune, stood the one question I didn't want to answer…at all—'So what?'

I've run through the hundreds of ways Marcus would have infiltrated our lives—two years down the road, five years, fifteen years. I had envisioned the excitement Tris could have felt to find out that all of her artwork had been sold at a gallery…and then her ripping up the check once she found out Marcus bought it all. I had imagined encrypted emails sent—surveillance of her going for a run or doing any sort of daily activity…and the look of horror on her face knowing that she again had been violated. I see him…showing up at a playground, crouching down to introduce himself as a grandfather. I don't even want kids, but she would. And she would love them fiercely because she doesn't know any other way. And then…because one can only take so much, even Tris, the last image—me…alone.

"She wants a…full…life. And she should…have that. She doesn't deserve to live that…life…with him in it…and he would always be in it."

"A full life. I believe that to be everyone's dream. But, I hear an underlying meaning in your reference."

 _Oh, God. Here it comes._

"Are you referring to children? A family?"

I purse my lips neither confirming nor denying his insinuation.

"If memory serves me correct, at one of our previous sessions, you blatantly expressed that you have no interest in children."

"I don't," I deadpan. "Especially not now."

"Are you, by chance, afraid?" he asks leaning forward smugly as if he's just made some sort of breakthrough.

I chuckle at his overconfidence. "Dr. Karsson, the reason I didn't mention her is because I desire to work on my real problems—the ones I can do something about."

He returns my light laughter with some of his own. "Ah, yes. Your self-diagnosis of being emotionally unavailable and unable to move past pre-pubescent trauma."

"Well, am I wrong?" I ask incredulously.

"I tend to think there is much more to a person than the traumatic experiences of their youth. Although your very curt, linear, monologues concerning your parents are very much appreciated."

"Do you use sarcasm as a technique with all of your patients?"

He quickly changes his tune and smiles warmly, almost to the point where it may be genuine. "Only when it seems to work."

A moment of silence passes between the two of us.

"Tobias, you don't 'get past,' the circumstances provided to you by your parents. That isn't how the mind works, at least not a healthy mind. However, you _can_ learn to cope with them, and eventually, embrace—"

"Embrace?"

"—what those experiences have brought you. You face them, deal with them, learn from them and improve from them. From what I can tell, you have already faced and are currently attempting to deal with the issue of your parents. So, let's move right onto the learning portion—"

"Perfect. How do I do that?" I ask, finally feeling like I've made an iota of progress with this guy.

However, he seems to deflate in a long sigh of disappointment.

"Now what did I do wrong?" I ask lamely.

Suddenly, Dr. Karsson smirks and leans back in his chair. "You want homework?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. A few sessions back, you had mentioned that you made a friend. A female friend."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I sit, rather ungracefully, in a chair outside some random café. I'm actually not at all hungry or thirsty, I'm more or less just exhausted. My apartment makes me feel pathetically lonely, so I've been spending a lot of time in cafes and restaurants, making myself look as unapproachable as possible. I don't want to converse and I'm trying to commit myself to this whole no-alcohol thing that Dr. Karsson encourages. And I find that in this neighborhood, unlike others in Chicago, if you sit alone at a table, no one bothers you—_

 _"Do you mind if I sit here?"_

 _I look up to see a girl about my age with her hand on the back of the chair right across from me already pulling it out. Is she for real?_

 _"I won't bother you. I have a ton of work to do! A deadline, in fact. Definitely a deadline. And, um, not a lot of time to do it, and there are no empty tables. Please? I'll buy you…whatever you're going to order."_

 _"Uh…you can just have the table—"_

 _"NO, STAY!" she orders loudly as I freeze mid-stand. "My ex-boyfriend is in there with another girl," she whispers looking over her shoulder nervously. "Do you ever get that feeling like you're going to die, like, from a coronary, or a stroke or whatever is causing the stabbing pain in your chest?"_

 _If we weren't strangers and if this chick didn't look nuts, I may have just answered her truthfully that…yes, I feel that almost daily. But instead, silence seems to be pretty damned golden right now._

 _"Well, that's me. And I swear this isn't some clichéd pretend-you're-my-boyfriend thing just for the sake of making my ex jealous. I don't play games like that. But I really want him to think I've made friends. That I'm fine. My life is good. But, you are not my boyfriend. Got it?"_

 _"Yes," I reply to her entirely unnecessary question._

 _"Okay. It's a deal." She sits as if I've just invited her and she's doing me a favor. "Do you know anything about this street?"_

 _"I'm not…sure what you mean," I respond as she looks at all the buildings around us._

 _"Like, that alley behind you? The next block over? Are there stores? Is it clean?" she asks as if I would have any knowledge whatsoever of alleyway conditions._

 _"I don't…know."_

 _"I need a good place to curl up into the fetal position after this," she mumbles sincerely._

 _"Then I wouldn't recommend an alley." I can think of a thousand reasons why that is unwise and obscenely disgusting, but I hold back, not wanting to invite further conversation._

 _"I'm Maya," she adds sheepishly._

 _I nod my head in response, counting the seconds until this is over._

 _"Your name, please."_

 _"Oh. Sorry. To—Four."_

 _"Topher? Like Topher Grace?"_

 _I have a broad range of vocabulary, much of it unnecessary and ridiculous, but for the life of me I cannot conjure up what the hell she's talking about._

 _"What's a Topher-grace?" I ask, not wanting to embarrass her by her mispronunciation of…something._

 _"That 70s Show?"_

 _"Not particularly fluent in shows from the 1970s."_

 _She laughs congenially as if I'd just made a joke, which makes her seem even crazier until her expression changes. "Oh, my God. You're serious, aren't you?"_

 _"Um—"_

 _"Topher Grace is an actor…best known for his work…on the hit sitcom…called…That 70s Show."_

 _"Oh." Well, that's embarrassing. "Not particularly fluent in shows from the 2000s either, I guess."_

 _"Clearly," she laughs. "Back to your name, then…"_

 _I take an imaginary deep breath, having made the decision I don't need to be a different person anymore. As it turns out, reinvention is overrated—everything comes back to you in the end._

 _"Look, no pressure on the whole name thing—"_

 _"Tobias," I say, staring at the table thinking about how wrong that feels. "My friends just…used to…call me Four."_

 _"Like the numerical quantity of one plus one plus one plus one?"_

 _"Yes," I sigh._

 _"I'm not gonna ask why," she remarks as if she doesn't have time for a long story._

 _"Good."_

 _She shields her eyes and looks down at the table. "So, is he still in there?"_

 _"I don't know who…he…is."_

 _"Oh, right. Blond hair, light brown caramelly delicious eyes, tan, six foot two inches of pure handsomeness. He grins a lot. And then these laugh lines assault his face. It's adorable." She shakes her head as if she's going to cry. God, please don't…_

 _"I think I'll stick with 6'2" and blond." I glance over her shoulder and see a tall blond dude at the counter, a girl is resting her head on his shoulder. "He appears to be ordering." I decide to leave that other detail out._

 _"I wonder what he's ordering. Can you see what he's ordering?"_

 _"No."_

 _"That sounded insane."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"He used to always get the same thing—Chinese Tofu Chicken Salad. Have you ever been through a devastating break-up?"_

 _"Uh…" Her forthcoming nature is setting me on edge along with the fact that I try…daily…literally, a daily fucking battle…not to think about—_

 _"It's awful, isn't it? Debilitatingly awful."_

 _I've never wanted to end a conversation so badly in my life. I would welcome a bird shitting on my head if it would deter this chick._

 _"Sorry. The look on your face gave you away. So, what's he doing now?"_

 _I glance up, annoyed, just as Mr. Caramel eyes exits the café. "He—"_

 _"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit—"_

 _"—went the other way."_

 _"Oh…" She peeks over her shoulder just as her ex links hands with his companion. "…shit." She turns and immediately grabs her bag, obviously trying to hold back tears. "That was…not easy on the eyes."_

 _"You okay?" I ask because it's the polite thing to do, but h_ _onestly, I'm just glad she stopped hyperventilating._

 _"Ha! That's a relative term. Sometimes I feel like I'll never be okay. But then, other times, I know it's the way it should be and it's okay and… Anyway, still hurts." She shrugs. "Especially when we live in the same city. Even though this place is huge…somehow I still run into him. So, anyway, I'm…really sorry to…put you through this." She stands, delivering a quick smile. "It was nice to meet you."_

 _"You too," I answer as she scurries past the table behind me._

 _I sigh out the large amount of anxiety I was holding in. All I feel is gratitude, pure gratitude that she left. The mere thought of having to sit with a chatty stranger and listen to break-up stories is enough to make me actually want to go back to my apartment as to not run the risk of more human interaction._

 _Shaking my head, I reach down to my messenger bag—"Shiiiit," I groan, eyeing Mia's laptop carrier under the table. I pick it up, ready to hand it to the server wiping down the table behind me because there's no way I'm chasing this chick down. But my conscious gets the better of me as I look left, still seeing her walking down the street. "Shiiiiiit," I groan again as the server raises his eyebrows at me._

 _Before I know it, I'm jogging down the block, yelling. "Mia!... Mia!...Mia!" Stopping short as she halts in her tracks. "You left your…" I trail off as I see the tears streaming down her face. "…bag."_

 _"Thanks," she says weakly as she takes it still looking away from me. "I, uh, don't like people to see me cry."_

 _"Yeah," I murmur looking over my shoulder. "I know all about that."_

 _She slumps over to a bench and sits down, leaving me standing, not knowing what else to do._

 _"And it's Maya, not Mia. Topher," she announces over her shoulder._

 _"Sorry," I mutter._

 _"You can go. I'm pretty embarrassed, and you just look like you've never consoled a person in your life, so…"_

 _I frown, taking unnecessary offense at her comment. What the hell does she know about my consolation experience?!_

 _"Actually, I have," I reply on the defense, running through the many times I'd lent an ear to Hana and Uriah after Jo died, or to Will after Christina left, or to Bud with Tori's cancer, or Amar with his father or…Tris. Sometimes if I choose to relieve the pressure and let my mind wander, I imagine holding her. Sometimes I think I can still feel her tears seep through my t-shirt—_

 _"I'm a confident person, you know?" Maya asks interrupting my internal defense._

 _"No," I shrug. "I don't." Kicking at a rock, I feel her penetrating stare, and something makes me meet it._

 _"What's with the East Coast blunt and unapologetic responses?" she chuckles. "Don't you Chicaaaaaaahhhh-goans all just pat each other on the back and then find the nearest Irish pub? Because I'm all in if that's the case._

 _I laugh lightly at her exaggeration of my apparently obvious Chicago accent._ _ _"I'm from the Northern suburbs. But that's still fairly accurate," I add,_ hoping she didn't consider that an invitation. As enticing as even one finger of scotch sounds, I'd rather do it alone. At that moment, I don't know what makes me sadder—the fact that I'm abstaining from drinking, or the fact that drinking alone is preferential. _

_"So, where would that make you from?" I ask, now judging her by her accent._

 _"Orlando, Florida."_

 _"People are actually from Orlando?"_

 _"Yes. Don't ever go there."_

 _"Not on my top one hundred list," I chuckle, shifting my weight awkwardly until I resign myself and sit—not too far as to seem weird, but not too close as to seem cordial._

 _"I'm cute! And I know it! I may not be beautiful, but I'm definitely cute!"_

 _"Um—"_

 _"That's what makes me different—my self-awareness. I don't have self-esteem issues! So why can't I put myself out there?"_

 _Surprisingly, in spite of my immediate bench regret, I find myself actually taking note of her. Something I used to do to almost everyone before I became a social pariah. And as it turns out, she's right; she is, indeed,…cute— short and very, very, slight, mid length straight brown hair, brown eyes, pale complexion—_

 _"Are you checking to see if I'm cute?"_

 _"No," I respond all too quickly._

 _"You definitely are."_

 _"Look, you can't tell people you're cute and not expect them to…"_

 _"Make sure?"_

 _I roll my eyes. That's like saying, 'Hey, what a beautiful sunset,' and expecting them to not look at said sunset."_

 _A small grin appears on her face. "Are you comparing me to a beautiful sunset?"_

 _I purse my lips, my cheeks burning, as I try to figure out why the hell I would use that analogy._

 _"Well," she sighs as I still fumble for a response. "At least, let me return the favor."_

 _I can feel my skin temperature heighten even more as I literally watch her eyes scan every inch of my face._

 _"Mmm. You're fine." She shrugs, looking the other way._

* * *

"Yes," I respond, thinking about how that day somehow turned into the two of us finding a decent coffee shop and her giving me her card. I honestly had minimal intention of contacting her, even though the evening turned out to be a pleasant distraction. But upon returning to the semi-decent coffee shop later in the week, we ran into each other again. And it turned into a semi-unintentional turned intentional daily habit.

I shift in my seat, not knowing why I feel suddenly uncomfortable. And based on Dr. Karsson's raised eyebrow, he notices.

"How do you feel about her?"

"I like her," I answer simply, even though there is nothing simple about it.

"That's it?"

I should be more forthcoming, but I have yet to figure out on my own how I feel about Maya. She's one of those unique individuals whose self-deprecation comes across as confidence—she embraces her shortcomings. She also isn't at all bothered that I'm not an expert at conversation. I like that she doesn't pressure me to talk about myself. If I do let something go about my past, she doesn't act surprised or make me feel inadequate for not telling her sooner. It's like she only has interest in living in the present.

"I feel…conflicted."

"Why?"

"Be _cause_ …I like her," I grit out, running my hands down my face.

"Are you referring to more than friendship?"

"A little…maybe."

"Have you tried to take things further?"

* * *

 **Flashbacks:**

 _I had absolutely no intention of leaving this apartment. This is the first year since I was eighteen that I didn't have Zeke and Uriah begging me to paint the town fucking red on what could very well be the worst night ever—New Year's Eve. I was going to sit back and enjoy exactly one-half of a glass of brandy while reminding myself of how much of a cliché that is. Yet somehow, all it took was one text from Maya to make me change my mind. At least she didn't make me leave the apartment._

 _"Look, I realize you aren't the go-out-to-get-hammered type, in fact, you're not even the go-out type, but staying in on New Year's Eve is just sad," Maya comments, slumping back on the couch._

 _"And what does that make you, exactly? And I believe you're the one who texted me because you had no plans."_

 _"Well, we've already established the fact that I am, indeed, a sad case. But you…you have potential, unrealized potential."_

 _"Hmmph," I grunt taking a sip of the champagne she brought over._

 _It feels weird, champagne being a celebratory drink shared for…intimate occasions—the delicate clink of ridiculously shaped glasses that serve no purpose other than to look fancy, followed up by the carbonated fizz and either way-too-dry or way-too-sweet taste. Basically, champagne sucks, and I don't like the idea of intimacy. In fact, I fucking hate the word._

 _"Yet with all your potential, here you sit…with me…again. Sad…just sad." She shakes her head at me._

 _"Are you asking me to disagree with you?"_

 _"No," she sighs. "Oh, just so you know. I plan to kiss you at midnight, which is…" She picks up her phone as my body goes rigid. "…in a couple minutes."_

 _I raise my eyebrows in question, body still rigid, which she rewards me with an eye roll._

 _"It's New Year's Eve—"_

 _"So you keep mentioning," I choke out like an idiot._

 _"And I want a kiss at midnight. I deserve a kiss at midnight. And frankly…" She sits up straight, and I'm almost tempted to back away. "… so do you."_

 _"I do?"_

 _"We. We do."_

 _"We do?" I repeat, nervously._

 _"Yes. And I'll explain why."_

 _"Please, do that," I mutter, searching her face for sincerity._

 _"We see each other almost every day. We talk…well, me more than you. We laugh. It's nice. You think I'm pretty. I think you're...very hot. I like you. You like me. Am I wrong?"_

 _My mouth is open, and I'm fully prepared to answer her—a long response on how I'm emotionally doomed and she doesn't want any part of me. And how opening that can of worms can ruin a friendship and she's my only friend, and I can't not have a friend right now._

 _"No." Great speech, Tobias._

 _"And I want to know what it's like to kiss you. And, it's midnight…on New Year's…and people kiss at midnight…on New Year's."_

 _It's not the first time a woman has rendered me speechless, but this is the most awkward time that a woman has rendered me speechless. I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind on where our friendship may be going. I really do like being around her, and I find myself smiling more and more often. She is definitely pretty…very pretty, in a quaint and endearing way with her light brown eyes that match the shade of her light brown hair._

 _But what makes her more interesting to me is the fact that I haven't dissected her as I would have other women in the past. Before…there was always something wrong with one woman or another, and I would find those flaws and hang onto them—too much make-up, laughs too loud, has weird feet, doesn't know what the Arab Spring is, talks too much, fingernails too long, unfamiliar with ecological balance of the Galapagos Islands, smells like mango, unnecessarily double knots shoelaces…_

 _It wasn't until…Tris, that I stopped. I didn't need to with her…she was perfect—every flaw…was perfect to me. Maybe Tris changed me. I envision the light blue background of a Pinterest meme—'Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never ever the same.' That quote should make me fucking happy! But it actually just makes me want to vomit! And here I am…back to square one—_

 _A demanding pressure on the left side of my face, followed by soft, small lips touching mine lightly brings me back to a reality I'm not sure I'm ready for. Maya pulls back, inches from my face. I don't even know if I participated._

 _"Tobias, people don't kiss with their eyes open," she whispers._

 _I flit my eyes over her face. It's nothing I haven't done before, like when she surprises me by making me laugh or actually be funny. What the hell am I doing? Or not doing? I have an attractive woman who I happen to like, asking me to kiss her. Why am I not kissing her? What if it leads to more…much more? Damn it! Where is my man card?!_

 _Before I can overthink it, I lean in further and kiss her—a real kiss, starting off mildly. It's not until she runs her hand up my chest, grazing my nipple (which is an unexplainable turn-on) and wrapping her hand around my neck, that I lean in more, switching angles voluntarily. She's a good kisser and compatibility doesn't seem to be a problem, which is a total surprise. I am kissing a woman that I like, and I'm enjoying myself. This is progress. I didn't think this would ever even be possible!_

 _I feel Maya's breath on my lips as she pulls away slowly. I notice her cheeks are flushed, and she looks embarrassed._

 _"You…okay?" Did I fuck that up?_

 _"Yeah," she breathes out quickly. "I just, uh, wasn't expecting to really like kissing you. Like, I could go back for more if I had less control and more alcohol."_

 _"Can I ask what you were…expecting?" I sit back to my original location, looking at her quizzically._

 _"Well, you know about Brian and…I'd never thought I'd possibly want more with anyone else…ever. And then you turn up, and you're sweet and kinda funny—"_

 _"Seriously?"_

 _"Yes, seriously. I know you don't think you are, but you're wrong," she chuckles. "And you're successful and good-looking, and I really like spending time with you and wouldn't mind seeing you with your shirt off." Her eyes go wide, and she grabs her champagne glass, downing what's in the glass and then refilling it. "I just said that."_

 _"Indeed."_

 _"So what do…you…think?"_

 _"Me?" I ask, trying to control my eyes from traveling down to her chest, wondering what she looks like with her shirt off. Although, she's not exactly modest, so I already have a pretty good idea—larger than Tris's…for…sure. But, not as perky—Oh, my God. Am I comparing my ex-girlfriend's chest to another's? Actually…no. I'm using her as my standard!_

 _"No, Stephen Hawking," Maya responds, laughing at my ignorant remark._

 _"Sorry," I mutter, bringing my attention back to her while throwing back the rest of my champagne. It sucks. "I…yes. I liked kissing you too." I suddenly feel less pressure now that we seem to be in the same boat. One of the things I really like about Maya—you always know where you stand…and where she stands for that matter._

 _"You sound equally as surprised."_

 _"I mean…" I shrug. "…no, I'm not—"_

 _"When did you and your ex break up?" She's never asked about Tris. And I liked it that way._

 _"Um, a while ago," I deadpan, standing and heading to the liquor cabinet above the fridge. I stop, staring at the bottle of Gentleman's I keep just to challenge myself._

 _"Is that my cue to leave?"_

 _I turn to see Maya standing behind me with her hands in her pockets._

 _"No, not at all," I reassure. And it's the truth. Because I now need her company as a distraction._

 _"Okay. Good," she chirps, satisfied. "I'm gonna use the baño."_

 _I shut the cabinet doors and lean against the counter, waiting to hear the satisfying close of the bathroom door, upon which my head immediately lands in my hands—the entirely confusing feeling of guilt hitting me…hard. Guilt because I don't deserve to be enjoying another woman. I allowed Tris to think that she meant nothing to me after an imposter therapist ruined her sense of self. It's dishonest, and it eats me alive. That fucker better have made things right with her._

 _I sigh and walk back out, sinking down onto the couch, still warm from where Maya and I were just sitting. I move my lips back and forth thinking about Maya's—thin but still soft. It was a nice kiss that may have turned into something more…maybe… But would I have let it get that far? It's not like it was passionate and innate, slowing down to something sweeter…just my lips on hers…with her dragging her fingers up my scalp…leading me to wrap my arms around her, holding her to me so she'll know she's mine and nobody will ever hold her like this again—like this will be her last first time…relishing every second and committing to memory the slide of her tongue against mine…the combined taste of just sipped full bodied coffee…feeling like I didn't want it to end…and being content with that. Until need takes over…her fierce hands pulling me close and me complying just so she knows, so she can feel, the effect she has on me as I push her into the wall, sliding my left hand under her sweatpants, cupping the curve of her ass—_

 _I freeze at the flush of the toilet and become embarrassingly aware of the tented look my groin is sporting. I grab a throw pillow, finally understanding that they do indeed have a purpose, forcing it onto my lap. Biting my lips between my teeth to stave off the pain of the unfortunate angle of my cock, I take the remote and fumble my way through various buttons until I find the GUIDE button and locate The History Channel._

 **12:00** Big Foot Captured **1:00** How Sex Changed the World **2:00** Countdown to the Apocalypse  


 _"Are you fucking kidding me?!"_

* * *

"Briefly," I respond in a surprisingly muffled voice. "New Years Eve. We kissed—I mean, she kissed. And then I did. I didn't want to, but I did want to, but not for the right reasons, but maybe it was the right reasons and I just didn't know it and then I—"

"Tobias, please lift your head."

Halting my rambling, I raise my head and look down at my hands wondering when they made their way to my face.

"I find speech easier to comprehend without manual obstruction." He grins in a placating way that makes me feel like a child. "So…you kissed…," he prompts.

I scratch the back of my head wondering if this is what it feels like to have head lice. "Yeah. Um, it was nice. Or…more than nice? She's nice. And funny. And smart. She's my friend…ish. She's my friendish. She's easy to talk to and she doesn't push me."

"Mmm hmm," he hums, steepling his fingers under his chin. "You had mentioned feeling conflicted?"

Controlling my kneejerk reaction of screaming "I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY EX-GIRLFRIEND!" is proving quite challenging. But, ever since New Year's, Tris seems to be appearing more and more. It certainly didn't help that I let my mind wander in what started to be a very purposeful cold shower after Maya left. I gave in to temptation, turning the nozzle toward the color red, ending my evening with a very hot shower both literally and figuratively. I'm fully aware that masturbation is a piss poor substitute for sex, but that night I didn't think about having sex with Tris. I thought about making love to Tris—slow and purposeful. Trying to conjure up the incredible feeling of being inside her with the ridiculous substitute of my palm was almost beyond what I'm capable of, not to mention the effort of remembering the sounds she makes, how her body relaxes around me, the give and take. But, how she looks at me—that was the hardest. Reinventing the intimacy—there's that fucking word again!

"I'm…" _You're letting it go. You HAVE let it go. She's doing fine. She has…moved…on. Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke. You've made things right. Closed the door. You lived it. You had it. You can't have it anymore. Please, don't puke._

"How much does she know about you?"

"I don't know," I grit out in frustration. "I haven't spoken to her in…" _Exactly three months and five days._ "…months." I rest my hand on my knee to stop the bouncing.

"I'm confused. Didn't you just say you spent New Year's Eve with her?"

 _Uuuuuugh…_ "Yes. With…Maya. I thought you were asking about… Anyway, yes. Maya."

"I'd like to rephrase my former question," he begins with a knowing smile. "Have you opened up to her? Maya, that is…"

His grin not going unnoticed, I answer, "Yes. She knows all about my job. She knows that my father is an ass and that my mother is dead. She knows all of the day to day boring shit. That's what we talk about. It's like...starting over. It's…different."

Dr. Karsson purses his lips, furrowing his brow. "Do you feel that's enough?"

"Quite enough."

"Does she know about your former relationship?"

"Yes." _…ish_

Finally, for the first time this session, he leans over his desk and grabs a small pad of paper, scribbling something on it before ripping it off dramatically and handing it to me in a parabolic grand gesture. "It's a prescription."

"Meds?! No. Absolutely not—"

"Read it…please."

It takes me a minute, his handwriting being worse than Tris's, but I eventually make it out—

 ** _Share something intimate with her… With Maya. –Dr. Kenneth Karsson_**

" _God_ …" I groan. _That damned…WORD!_

"You said you wanted homework," he states with his hands in the air in a don't-blame-me fashion. "Listen to me, Tobias. What I'm asking you to do is an important step. You voluntarily—because you made the very conscious choice—sharing something that involves a feeling is imperative for growth not just within yourself, but with others. Opening up to someone, not because it was circumstantial or because you felt like you had to share for some reciprocal obligation, can be quite freeing."

I stare at him, dumbfounded and in remembrance of Tris's exact words—"…you only ever told me things in response to _my_ admissions…as if you felt you owed me that much." I can still see her with her hands on her hips, tears welling up, just staring at me in my office waiting for me to say something.

"Tobias, you can do this. I know you can."

I sigh out a breath of resignation. "Well, can you, at least, give me a topic? Or maybe a suggested outline? Or, how about a verbal rubric—"

"You're not being graded."

I almost want to ask him if he would assign me some sort of points system—something to aim for. _Who fuckin' cares, I'm going to be awkward and fail epically. Maya will want to throw herself off my balcony._

I glance at the clock and see we've run three minutes over. "So, was I better?" I ask with a mix of sarcasm and sincerity.

"I think I should threaten to fire you more often." He smiles snidely as it sets in that he's better at his job than I thought.

I stand and walk to the corner for my jacket, eying his baseball memorabilia in a case along his wall. He's a Cleveland fan. _Seriously?_ "You know the chances of this actually making me evolve are about as great as The Indians making it to the World Series."

"Perhaps," he shrugs. "But your odds are probably better than The _Cubs_ making it to The World Series," he replies without missing a beat.

"Hmmph."

"Tobias, before you go…," he chimes in as I'm half-way to the door. "You mentioned earlier something about how you 'closed that chapter.'"

"Mmm hmm," I hum lowly, bouncing on my toes.

"Well, call me a sap, but I've read the novel Wuthering Heights so many times that the pages are falling out of the binding. Are you familiar with the book?"

"Quite." _It's only Tris's favorite book, dick._

"It has so much depth; and I tend to get lost in the words."

"Wonderful," I deadpan.

"Yes…," he trails off as he stands and wanders to his memorabilia. "Each time I reread a chapter, I pick up on undiscovered nuances. I seem to grow a stronger appreciation for the complexity of characters. And over the years I've discovered that…their…complexity is what drives the plot. Just something to ponder."

* * *

"Fuckin' Wuthering Heights bullshit. Nice analogy, Dr. Cocksucker," I mumble to myself as I approach my apartment building,

"Evening, Mr. Eaton," Roberto says as jovial as ever while holding the door for me, even though I have yet to grace him with more than a curt forced smile…ever.

"Yes, it is."

Living on only the third floor has its benefits, I can jog up the stairs to calm my nerves instead of ride in an elevator to rile up my nerves. I groan as the buzz of a text comes through on my phone. The only person who ever texts me these days is either Amar or Maya. But I know it's Maya. And it's really freaking me out. And I don't even know what I'm going to tell her.

 _Is this supposed to be an anectdote? A random musing? My biography? Maybe I can sum it up in one sentence! Sum…WHAT…up?! Or maybe I can say something that won't prompt more questions. Maybe if I just use the word 'feel?' For example, I feel like I prefer aftershave over cologne. Or, I feel that argyle socks are my favorite for no other reason than they are aesthetically pleasing. Or, feel that I have an irrational fear of pigeons—I just don't trust them. No. The pigeon thing would definitely prompt questions…_

I stop and sit on the stairs for reasons yet unknown seeing as I can think just as easily in my apartment. Maybe because my apartment will possibly be the scene of the event. _Event? Am I a character in one of Gertie's telenovelas? This is not something that will set off Armageddon!_

I take a deep breath and decide to change my focus to the reasons why this is so hard. Maybe if I could get to the bottom of the 'why' first, it will pave the way for the 'what.' Okay. Maya has always been easy to talk to; that's not the problem. The problem is I don't _want_ to tell her a damned thing. I like that she knows me as Tobias, the architect guy-turned-friend-slash-confidant-slash-friendish whom she met at a vegan café and with whom she can have easy banter about whatever the hell is going on that day. I'm the guy who listens to her, and enjoys the fact that she distracts me. However, I do like her company—bring on the guilt— and sometimes I can see us being—take a breath—more than…friends. I can see myself…maybe at some point…wanting…more? _Do I want more? Right now—_

"Tobias?"

I scramble up nearly pitching myself down the stairs, just in time to see Maya jogging up towards me.

"Uh…what are you doing, ya weirdo?" she asks laughing. "I was only a block away when you texted, so I just decided to head on over. The door guy let me in. Is that…okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Um...of course. Hi." I give her a weak wave…and she's only right in front of me. _I waved. And she's right in front of me._

"Hiiiii…" she responds with raised eyebrows.

Ever since we kissed on New Year's, I don't really know how to greet Maya anymore. A hug? High five? That weird cheek to cheek thing that I see people do? One cheek? Both cheeks? Or is that too Europea—I flinch away, unintentionally as her lips try to connect with my face…so she basically caught the left side of my chin. _Uuuuggghhhh…awkward…_

"Sorry," she mutters with a hint of amusement and confusion. "Didn't mean to…scare you."

"Ha,ha. You didn't. Just…weird angle. Okay…are you coming over?" I gesture up the stairs, yet make no move to use them.

"You…did invite me, right?"

"Oh, oh, yeah. I just meant 'let's go.' So…let's do that."

Walking up the stairs in silence adds to my irrational impending sense of doom along with my long pause at the door before I open it. _Here goes nothing. Nothing…this, literally, could be nothing._

I head straight to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, downing it before it dawns on me that I didn't even offer Maya one. I peak my head out of the kitchen, watching her wander the apartment, grateful that she didn't seem to notice. I see that she's wearing a sundress, which is unusual…

"Checking out my garment?"

"Huh? No. Or, yes. You look nice." I smile quickly, pretending to be confident and grab myself another glass of water, downing it.

"Well, thank you. I will always accept a compliment from you."

I finish the water with an "Ah…," realizing I, again, didn't get Maya one. Chuckling at myself, I pour her a glass. "So, uh…why are you dressed to impress?" I ask, bringing her a water that she never really asked for.

She turns to me and now I notice that it's quite fitted at the top and laced loosely over her very pushed together breasts drawing every ounce of attention to them…and I'm not sure if I like it or…don't like it. The guy part of me…does, very much. But the part of me that seems to be taking over as I get older, doesn't. _When did modesty become my thing? When you met a modest girl, who pulled it off in a sexier than hell way and basically left the whole room wondering what's underneath that shirt that pulls just a little over her perfect chest, or the shorts that are just slightly shorter than necessary, but not slutty in any way…just making guys want to walk over and lift them a little higher, or a plump little behind that only looked more enticing in yoga pants, but equally as enticing whether she were in cotton light green panties or red lacy—_

"So, uh, never been here in the daylight," she comments turning away, obviously sensing my judgment. "It looks sparser."

Taking inventory of my apartment, I just shrug. It looks like a hotel room. "I know. This place was pre-furnished, and I tend to get caught up in…other projects…" I glance toward my lap top as it practically screams at me. "Anyway, I don't need much."

"Meh. It kind of suits you," she quips leaning in and inspecting a cheap watercolor print that I hadn't even noticed was there. _And what the hell does she mean by that?!_

Grabbing a coaster, I set her glass down with more petulance than intended, which she doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh, thanks. But, I brought you a belated housewarming gift."

 _Please no more champagne…_

"Cheap wine." She thrusts a bottle of…Apothic…fucking…Red…right at me. "Shit, come on!" she exalts, probably thinking the snarl on my face is because of snobbery. "I know you like high-end stuff, but, I don't _own_ an architectural firm—"

"Part…owner."

"I'm just a poor doctoral student, stupidly working her way up through the educational ranks—"

"Yeah, okay." I roll my eyes, grabbing the bottle. "You're anything but stupid, Professor Murphy. And you're not exactly in the poorhouse, either," I remark playing off her feigned poor-me routine.

"Not an official professor, yet. I need this thing called a PHD. Universities like it. Especially UCLA. Are you gonna pour me a glass or what?"

I had been twisting the bottle in my hand as if I held it in the same place for too long it would burn me. "Yeah, sorry." I head back to the kitchen and grab a wine glass…stopping briefly and deciding on two glasses. I shake my head, knowing I'm ridiculous for feeling sentimental about a red blend. "Well, your students don't seem to care about your degree. I could tell they love you."

"Um…yeah, pretty sure they were on their best behavior because they were ogling you, Mr. I-show-up-to-a-lecture-hall-wearing-Armani. Your cologne alone is what an undergrad's wet dreams are made of."

I hand her her glass of wine, smiling slightly, but not knowing how to respond. Since last Friday she has been more…forward and it's a little unnerving. However, I did go to her class and I did draw…attention. So, I'll just take it at that. Apparently, aftershave is what an undergrad's wet dreams are made of. _Maybe this is my in! I can tell Maya I…feel…like I prefer aftershave—_

"So, you're a wine snob?" she asks walking toward the balcony.

"No, not really. I just…well, the last time I drank…this _particular_ wine…it, um, I just got a headache and—"

"Are you nervous about something? What's up with you?" she asks over her shoulder.

 _Answer honestly. Answer honestly. Answer honestly._ "Want to sit outside?" _Idiot._

"Are you crazy? It's freezing out!"

I chuckle at her beyond warm-bloodedness as she takes a gulp of wine.

"I'm gonna need more of this if you're going to torture me with frigid temperatures. Can I borrow a sweatshirt or something?" she asks without really asking as she walks toward my room.

"Sure," I grit out, trying to relax. _I don't like people going through…my…shit!_

"And…where would they be?!" She had already made it into my room and I can hear her rummaging. "Never mind! I found something!"

"Great," I mutter grabbing for my non-existent glass of wine, seeing as I forgot to pour myself one. Stalking to the kitchen, I pour myself a generous serving and toss half of it back, not even tasting it, and refilling it immediately.

"Your affinity for hockey is a little baffling to me still!" Maya laughs from my room.

Frowning, I walk out to see where the hell that comment came from. And…of course…because this is how my life goes…Maya has found…my…one…and…only…souvenir—Tris's Blackhawks sweatshirt. Black and grey with no drawstring, worn red lettering, small holes through the cuffs from age. She always called it vintage.

"Is this one okay—"

No," I blurt out in the most matter-of-fact, assholic, way possible.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" she asks, looking down at it.

"Nothing." _Except that you're wearing it._

"O…kay…"

"Sorry," I immediately apologize, as she looks at me, waiting for an explanation of my strange behavior. "No, it's just…huge on you. Do you…want a different one?" I offer, walking toward my room.

"No, I'm fine. I don't think any of your clothes are going to be a snug fit," she jokes.

"Ha, ha. Good point."

"So, Topher…" she begins, taking her wine glass and sliding the door open to the balcony. "You seem pretty on edge. Is Amar giving you grief again?"

I follow her out, seating myself in the chair next to her. "Not today, surprisingly." I actually can't believe I haven't heard from him.

"He seems really nice, by the way. But, he definitely thinks you're working yourself to the bone."

"He said that?"

"Well, we had to talk about something when you ditched us for twenty minutes to calm down a racist Korean."

I furrow my eyebrows, remembering the vivid discussion I had when our newest client showed up in the lobby, chock full of disdain for our culturally inadequate façade. Apparently, we thwarted his re-establishment of the 'founding culture' in his neighborhood by designing a building that was 'too Mexican' and how tired he was of the 'dirty spics ruining the neighborhood with their dog tongue taco trucks and tin can low riders.'

"Calm him down? Declining any further business isn't exactly calming someone down," I disagree.

"True. But, your parting words were priceless—'Sir, if your goal is to reestablish proper culture, then perhaps you should get you in touch with a local Tongva tribesman, seeing as you are still squatting on his land.'"

I laugh lightly while thinking of what a horrible impression that was of me. _Do I really sound like that?_

"So, how was your day?" Maya asks, starting off our usual routine of daily nothingness.

Normally, I would tell her about a client I met with, or how a drafter fucked up, or how Matthew just discovered he can Facetime from his phone, so he attempted…three times today, 'just to chat.' "Fine," I quip, leaning forward on my knees staring into my wine glass.

"Okay, this is the last time I'm going to ask what's wrong. Is it the heights? Because we can go inside. It's 60 damned degrees out, and I'm getting frostbite."

"No, I, um…want to talk to you…about some…things…about me."

"You…do?" she asks slowly as if that's an unbelievable notion.

"The fact that that surprises you is very telling," I groan, scrubbing at my face.

She laughs. "Well, it's just a weird way to start a conversation. But, I'm all ears. Talk to me."

I see her relax back in her chair out of the corner of my eye and curl her legs up under her. We make brief eye contact and she smiles.

"I've heard Lake Michigan looks like the ocean. Well, without the waves I guess. Is that true?" she asks softly, looking toward the sunset.

Following her gaze, I take in the cool breeze that, to me, still feels warm, as I watch the Pacific waves lap the shore. I turn back toward Maya as she fixes her eyes on something in the distance and takes a sip of wine. The Santa Monica mountains to the North are a stunning backdrop behind her profile. If I were to look long enough, she almost blends in—her hair and skin the same browns and neutral tones.

"Nothing here is like Chicago," I answer, slowly.

"Well, then cheers to that, right?"

We cheers glasses, and I take a sip, except this time…I taste the wine.

* * *

If you're interested: Find the **Kris Daniels** fan page. You can search /nitewriter4

To new readers who are asking what my Tumblr username is—It doesn't exist. And it never will. For more reasons than I can count. Pardon my snarkish nature.

(Thanks of course to all my girls and the constant support! J)


	28. Control

**Chapter 28 -** Control

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

 **Flashback:**

 _The supremely annoying beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep, of a Facetime call smashes through my eardrums like a repetitiive gong to my brain. I sigh, knowing it's Christina, and that I need to get this over with._

 _I accept the call and hold the phone in front of my face. I fucking hate Facetime. Everyone always looks like they went through a carwash and then air-dried their hair by riding a Harley through Appalachia._

 _"Hiya, stranger! Why didn't you answer yesterday?" Christina's hippity happy face shows up, asking a question before I can even say hello._

 _"Just… Sorry. I started to take Krav Maga again. But I pretty much suck. So, I need extra gym time." That is partial bullshit. The sucking part is true._

 _"Are you back at Dauntless?" she asks absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. She can usually tell when I'm lying, so I'm surprised when she doesn't call me out on it._

 _"No, Chris…I'm not," I sigh, wondering why she doesn't just come out and ask if I've smoothed things over with…well, anybody._

 _"Just asking, just asking," she quips. " So, Krav Maga again, huh? Is your instructor cute?" Her waggling eyebrows are…annoying._

 _"She's very cute, yes."_

 _"Damn." She snaps her finger and finally decides to stop flipping through her magazine. "Why the eye roll?"_

 _"Because you always ask me if any possible male in my life is cute."_

 _"Well, I'm trying to stay on the up and up with your love life—"_

 _"I have…no interest…in a love life."_

 _"Come on, Tris. Seriously? Don'tcha get a little antsy? For…ya know?" There's the damned eyebrows again!_

 _"Since when is it beneath you to just say the word 'sex?'"_

 _"Fine. Don't you want sex?" She throws her hands up, landing them in her lap with a big clap._

 _"No." I reply without any hesitation._

 _"Oh, we're back there again?" she chuckles knowingly._

 _I hear Lynn scoff in the other room. Can't say I blame her. There is no "we're" anymore with Christina._

 _"Oh, you know what I mean. You're, like, back to the old Tris! It's not a bad thing. I mean, if you think about it, it's a good thing. You were in a crappy place for a while and now you're back to your old place."_

 _"Hmmph. A crappy…place," I deadpan at her gross underexageration._

 _"Don't be mad! I'm sorry—"_

 _"So, what are you up to? How are things with you and Donatello?" I ask with a bit of snark, still not having come to grips with how she moved on so quickly with someone else. I should slap myself! Who the hell am I to judge?!_

 _"Donovan," she corrects with a tiff as Lynn stifles a laugh._

 _"Yeah, sorry."_

 _"He's…awesooooooome!" she sings. "Here's our newest pic." I squint as she holds her phone in front of her laptop—a tall, dreamy-eyed, black gentleman in a tuxedo with his arm around her waist—her hair swept up in a classic French twist, large diamond earring. "Wow, Chris. He is…not unattractive."_

 _"Lord have mercy, don't I know it! It was at a banquet. He won some award for being really smart and doing a lot of charity work or something. Um… What was it? Uni-something or other? Damn—"_

 _"Unicef?" I ask with wide eyes because…well, Unicef._

 _"Ding ding ding! That's it! So, how is Hangar's?"_

 _"It's…Hangars. I go, I do inventory, I open up, I sit in the office and troll the monitors, I close up, I do the schedule and, yet, somehow I get sucked into bartending and half the time I do Al's job for him."_

 _"Well, you were always really good at it. Maybe it's your unrealized calling! Career bartenders can make bank. It's not such a bad gig—"_

 _"No. I'm helping out Tori and that's it."_

 _"Well…" she looks at her nails innocently…or not innocently. "What do you plan to do…after?"_

 _"Right now, I'm just trying to work on me," I say firmly as I glare longingly at the bottle of Jameson I know is above the fridge._

 _"You don't have a plan?"_

 _I sigh and shrug. That's my answer—a sigh and a shrug._

 _"So, how is Tori?" she asks, changing her tone to seem cheerful._

 _"Taking a break from chemo. She doesn't want company…at all—"_

 _"Is she bald?" she interrupts, speaking quietly as if she's talking shit._

 _"Not entirely…" I think of the stringy hair she's sporting right now, and how she's too proud to get a wig. She's so fierce._

 _"Ya know, they make great wigs now! I can send her some recommendations—"_

 _"She doesn't want a fucking wig. She wants her God-damned cancer to go away."_

 _"I know…" she trails off looking ashamed._

 _"Geez, Prior," Lynn mumbles walking behind me in her underwear._

 _"Is that Lynn? How are we supposed to talk behind her back?"_

 _"I'm facing away from you. Talk away." Lynn flits her hand indifferently, sauntering to her room with a cup of coffee._

 _"So, you still loving New York?" I ask, even though I already know the answer._

 _"I really do. It's the energy, ya know? Don't get me wrong, I miss the people…like the actual I-love-everybody-come-one-come-all attitude of Chicago—the inclusiveness. Oh, and the street parties and festivals! Did you go to the Kris Kindle market?"_

 _"Not this year." I shrug. "Didn't feel like it."_

 _"But, yeah, New York is just, like, buzzing all the time. I've met a lot of people in the industry and some of them, well, let's just say—they're growing on me. And…the fashion is savage."_

 _"What?" I ask, wondering if I heard her correctly._

 _"What what?"_

 _"Did you say 'savage?'"_

 _"Oh, Lord. That hasn't made its way to Chicago, yet?"_

 _I look past my phone at Lynn and she just shrugs, confirming my lack of knowledge._

 _"Nope."_

 _"Well, just swap it with amazing."_

 _"Ah. Gotcha."_

 _"So…anything else new?"_

* * *

I toss my shoes on the ground and tuck my feet under myself and to the side as Dr. Ramos finishes up some notes from her previous patient. I've found myself wondering as of late if 'patient' is the right word. Probably because I don't feel like her patient. Or maybe I'm just feeling a disconnect with my friends.

"Sorry about that—"

"Do you consider us your patients?" I interrupt, not being brave enough to use the direct object pronoun "me" instead of "us."

"Us?" she asks with a raised eyebrow, knowing she caught me.

"Yeah. You know, like _me_ , or…anyone else that uses your…services."

Pushing her chair across the room toward me, she seems to ponder my question while I wonder why the hell she doesn't just keep her chair in front of the chaise permanently. "As a technical term, yes, you would be my patients," she responds mirroring my seated position.

"Hmm. It just sounds too clinical. I mean, your practice is at your house for God's sake."

I can picture other people shitty therapist's office—in a high-rise looking out over the water, mahogany furniture with light blue walls the make the room crappily brighter. A patient sitting across the desk from the doctor in the most impersonal way. The doctor using personal knick knacks as props so the patient feels like they 'know' something about the doctor—like, sports memorabilia or some cheesy conversation starter.

"I prefer a comfortable environment. _Less_ clinical, using your word."

"Do you consider any of your patients to be friends?" I look at my cuticles as if they are the most fascinating things I've ever seen.

"Hmm," she ponders. "I suppose there are patients whom I have a deeper relationship with than others—more of a connection. I'm only human." She shrugs. "But it is a rather one-sided relationship seeing as they tend to know very little about me. And, from a psychologist's standpoint, to aid in a healing process, the focus should be on the patient. Whereas a friendship usually has a more mutually beneficial aspect."

"That was an unusually clinical answer."

"What's on your mind, Tris?" she expertly deflects.

My lacking connection with Christina along with Lynn's inability be empathetic comes to mind again. "It's weird that I tell you almost everything, and you're not my friend."

Like usual when she's about to make me figure something out on my own, she pauses for three seconds. "You tell your friends almost everything?"

I quickly run through the gamut of emotions I still battle with that not a damned soul knows about.

"No."

"And I feel like you still keep quite a bit from me," she comments with a concerned expression.

"Well…it's hard…for me."

"No," she responds flatly in a no bullshit tone, deserving of a blank stare from me. "While I think _…some_ …people hold back because opening up is… _hard._ I think you hold back because you don't want to burden other people with what you perceive to be _…your…_ problems."

As I've become accustomed to with Dr. Ramos, I run her comment through the ringer of my brain—the amount of times I would hide my crying because I didn't want Christina to worry about me while she's studying for finals. How my own brother barely knows me anymore because I stopped telling him about myself when he was committed—his problems outweighing my own. How many feelings I kept from the… _one_ …person who, at the time, meant more to me than anyone, just because I didn't want my problems to interfere with where I felt his life should be headed. Problems. My problems.

"Well, the thing is, problems can be solved. I have baggage."

"I'm not a particular fan of that word."

"Fine. Luggage?" I suggest.

"Baggage makes up who we are," she continues, ignoring my thesaurical exchange. "I thank God every day for my baggage."

"You're a psychologist. How could you possibly have baggage? Can't you talk your way out of your baggage? Like, in the mirror or something?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, do _you_ have a therapist—"

"Tris," she stops me. "What…is on your mind?"

I swallow and clear my throat. "Soooo, I don't…or I haven't…or…um…relationships."

"Start over."

"Thanks, um, I've never been one to talk about relationships with anyone…even my friends. But if I were to talk about relationships, it would be with friends, right?"

"In many cases people confide in friends, yes."

"That's why I want to know if you're my friend," I whine in stupid desperation.

She takes a deep breath and appraises me. "You can confide in me Tris. This is your safe—"

"Please don't say 'safe space,'" I groan at the overused term.

"Safe… _place?"_

"Okay." I shrug. "I guess that's better." I swallow and clear my throat again. "So, you know I didn't want to be around… _any_ body…for a while there, for like…months?"

"Yes."

"And it suited me, right?"

"You did feel it suited you," she validates, although I picked up on her subtle 'even though it was wrong.'

"But I'm not as bad anymore," I state confidently, seeing as my desire for other people's company has been increasing more and more, incrementally speaking.

"You seem more comfortable, yes."

"Well, I can't put my finger on _why_ I felt that way. I can…I can explain part of it, but I feel like it's an incomplete conclusion or something." I pause, Dr. Ramos giving me a moment to compose my thoughts. "Have you ever felt like you had a handle on something? You forced yourself to have a handle on something? But then you find out that it was all a fallacy and everything you were telling yourself is actually total shit?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"Hey," Shauna says with reluctance as she scoots into the other side of the booth, facing me._

 _"Hi," I breathe out in a sigh, looking down at the worn laminate of the table. "Thanks for meeting me."_

 _"Well, you said it was important." She shrugs "So—"_

 _"Coffee?" the server interrupts, holding a pot of gross diner coffee which I had to settle for._

 _"Please," Shauna responds, smiling politely._

 _"You ladies need menus—"_

 _"No," I answer quickly, not being able to meet Shauna's eyes to gauge her reaction._

 _"Guess not," she mutters as the server walks away._

 _She has no idea how much I would love to have lunch with her and tell her everything—how this last week, ever since reading Tobias's incoming skank-infested text (Not at all on purpose, the screen was screaming at me!), I've been both relieved and betrayed. The latter being the more ridiculous of the two. How Tobias moving on, or at least sleeping with a married woman, has been both a blessing and a curse. It fuels my anger, but breaks my heart daily. Because while I was the one still pining over him, wondering if I made a mistake, thinking about him constantly, he…wasn't doing any of that. Not that I blame him—I pushed him to the brink. Truth be told, I have no right to feel either way because I was the one who broke things off. In the end, I was the one who broke him._

 _"So, what's up?" Shauna asks, while texting on her phone._

 _"Lynn told me you kicked Four out of your wedding," I respond, jumping right in._

 _I don't want to talk about him anymore than I have to. I'm doing this for Shauna. I'm doing this for Shauna._

 _"I did," she answers flatly._

 _"Why?"_

 _She scoffs. "Lynn obviously told you or else you wouldn't be here."_

 _"She did," I admit, reflecting on Lynn's tactless comment of—"Thanks to your drama, you got Four kicked out of Shauna's wedding. Well done, jerk." I shake my head to rid it of the memory of the follow-up bitch session that left me feeling guilty, even though I think Lynn felt more guilty for her cruel words. "But it doesn't make sense. At our apartment, you were pretty damned certain that he didn't mean…um…those words." I glance up at her as she raises her eyebrows in waiting._

 _"'Those words?'" she mimics." You can't even say them, can you?"_

 _"This has nothing to do with me and my issues with…that night," I say quietly, memories of Tobias's jaw drop after I told him I was done with him closing in on me._

 _"Well, I thought about what you said, and found his words to be…unacceptable," she quips with a raised chin._

 _"Found it to be unacceptable?" I ask, my voice dripping with doubt. "That doesn't sound like you."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"Jesus, Shauna. You're one of the most bossy and brazen women I know, but all of a sudden, you 'found something to be unacceptable?'" I air quote using my best Shauna voice. "Zeke could yell across the gym that he banged you so hard he broke your sex swing and you'd get over it in five seconds. Nothing fazes you."_

 _"Well, what Four said…did." Her voice is way too high-pitched to be convincing._

 _I cross my arms, unwilling to give up my questioning. "When?"_

 _"What do you mean 'when'?"_

 _"When did it dawn upon you that it was 'unacceptable.'"_

 _"Stop trying to Shauna-ize your voice. And…that day. I decided…that day."_

 _"That day. You had a sudden epiphany?"_

 _"Yep. On the El. I had an El-piphany."_

 _"You had an El-piphany."_

 _"Stop repeating everything I say!" she exasperates._

 _"I'm just clarifying. And…I don't believe you," I say sitting up straighter._

 _"Well…you…don't have to—"_

 _"Did Four do something else? That's a pretty rash decision to make right after you so vigorously defended him."_

 _She shrugs indifferently, egging me on._

 _"Zeke and Four are like brothers! He must have been…devastated—"_

 _"Oh, and you're suddenly so worried about Four?" she snarks._

 _"No. I'm sure he's…just fine." I laugh under my breath at her misapprehension. "I'm actually worried about Zeke." I pause, thinking about how much I put him between a rock and a hard place. "And you too, Shauna. I know you probably hate me for backing out…" I shake my head, feeling heat rising toward my cheeks. "…and I...hate…that I backed out. But…don't punish Zeke and Four because I…spoke too soon. Please," I beg._

 _She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, a hint of empathy crossing her face._

 _"Well…," she sighs. "Actually, I'm…not…punishing Zeke…or Four, for that matter—"_

 _"Then…why isn't he in it? Look, he…said those things," I continue before she can give me another non-truth. "But, he didn't mean it. We…had a tendency to say things just to see how each other would react. We had a knack for pushing each other away." I sniff back the tears and grab a napkin to tear at. "We were so toxic. I was…really toxic—"_

 _"No, you weren't, but whatever you say," she scoffs._

 _"Shauna, you don't know—"_

 _"You always think people don't understand! Well we do. He changed…for the way better when you two started dating. But, apparently, you weren't all in."_

 _"Wh…what the…? Is THAT what everyone thinks?!"_

 _"Tris, calm down," she demands shushing me into submission. "I didn't mean that to sound as awful as it did—"_

 _"I broke it off…for him! I didn't want his help and he was killing himself to give it to me. He just wanted everything to be okay and it wasn't just going to be okay. He was ruining himself by watching me ruin myself, if that makes any sense. I think I just…I need to get my shit together and stop being an embarrassment."_

 _I feel a napkin being thrust into my hands, and I look at Shauna…very confused._

 _"You looked like you were going to cry. And I don't know what to do when people cry. It just made sense."_

 _"Thanks," I say, genuinely as I set the napkin aside. "You know I really am here because I don't want your wedding ruined. You deserve for it to be perfect. And Zeke's family…all of it…should be there. Blech…" I gag, spitting out a pile of nasty stanky grounds into the napkin Shauna offered me._

 _"Well, um, Four…isn't going to be."_

 _"Shauna—"_

 _"Ah, ah, ah!" She holds her hand up, halting my intrusion. "Not for the reason you think."_

 _"Okay, then why?"_

 _"I don't think Zeke's told anyone, but he and Four had a…thing. A huge blowout. I don't even know what was said. Zeke is so broken up that he won't even tell me. It's a source of contention for us, right now, among other things. Anyway, who even knows when he'll be back, or if he'll be back, or…" She shrugs, taking a sip of coffee._

 _"What do you mean…'if'? Where did Zeke go?"_

 _She sets her mug down and carefully scrutinizes my face, a look of pity…yes, fuckin' pity, hits me…full force. "Not Zeke. Four."_

 _"What?" I whisper._

 _"He moved to Los Angeles. A couple weeks ago."_

 _My heart starts to race at an immeasurable pace. Something about him not being in this city is bringing on an unexplainable sense of anxiety and fear. The kind of fear I used to experience walking down the street right after I moved to Chicago-when I would think Eric was around every corner. This is insane. Pure insanity that I even feel this way. But accurate nonetheless._

 _"Tris, are you… ….look pale … … Just… …"_

 _Subconsciously, did I always feel like he would just be here anytime I really really needed him? Like if I got mugged? Or chopped off a finger? Got attacked by vicious pigeons? No, he would have been useless in that scenario… But…I think I friggin' did, indeed, think that._

 _"Tris, I…. don't know… … … …. …. …when people…freak."_

 _"I'm not freaking," I reply, assuming Shauna is talking to me._

 _I shiver and look all around me, feeling a sense of doom. It's like when Voldemort broke through the barrier at the Battle of Hogwarts. And every death eater and demon came in and—_

 _"Supposedly…" Shauna grips my hand squeezing it hard._

 _"Ow."_

 _"ALG started a branch office in Downtown LA. Someone has to run it. " She lets go and I shake the crushing pain off my fingers. "Sorry, I didn't know what else to do. You looked like you were about to lose it."_

 _"Lose it? No. Why would you… Nope." I clear my throat and take a bug gulp of water. "So is it…permanent?"_

 _"It wasn't, at first. I mean, we knew he was securing temporary housing, just so he could…how did he put it? 'Spear head the transition.'" She laughs lightly, trying to imitate him. "But, now he's living there for good. He texted Zeke—'Moving to LA. Amar and I decided we want an owner running the new office. Take care.'"_

 _"That's it?" I ask in disbelief. "Nothing in person?"_

 _Shauna purses her lips. " Zeke called him over and over. Sent him texts, apologizing. He went to ALG to talk to Amar—"_

 _"What did Amar say?" I ask with too much gusto.  
_

 _"He said Four didn't mention anything about Zeke specifically. He was very tight-lipped. But George gave me a little more…" she trails off. "Um…supposedly Four made it very clear that he's thrilled to be Amar's business partner and forever grateful for the opportunity, but he only wants a business relationship from now on…nothing more."_

 _"Oh, no… Poor Amar—"_

 _"Nah, he didn't buy it. He thinks Four is hiding something. And that…is the extent of my knowledge." She takes a drink of her coffee and I almost puke just watching her. "Okay, no it's not." She shakes her hands out, as if trying to expel her nerves through her fingers. Tris, if I tell you something, will you be able to handle it?"_

 _I feel like this is one of those moments where I should run, just run away to avoid whatever it is she's about to say. But, it's not my style. "I've handled things all my life."_

 _"I'm telling you because I would want to know. It's not to hurt you."_

 _I nod my head briefly and squeeze my knees under the table, digging my fingers into my thighs._

 _"We think Four was seeing someone before he left. Some lady from the gym. And when I say lady, I mean…lady—like married…lady. Lady, lady. They had been training together for a while, and…I don't know. I saw them…well, Zeke and I both did, hugging and…happy and… It was just weird, but—"_

 _"Clare," I state, wiping under my chin._

 _"Yeah. You knew?"_

 _I scoff. "Boy, did I. Well, the training together thing is new…and could have done without the 'happy' description—"_

 _"I think she went with him," Shauna says almost faster than I can process…yet somehow, I picked up on every word._

 _"How do you know?" I ask, not even trying to hide any sort of tears._

 _"She canceled her membership because…she was moving."_

 _I nod my head quickly and pull my hair out of my pony tail, trying to occupy my hands._

 _"I'm telling you this because you deserve to know. I would want to know. No, maybe not, but I would…need…to know."_

* * *

I clear my throat, the moment everything went officially downhill for me, making me feel particularly anxious. The anxiety that caused me to self-medicate with the help of prescriptions and alcohol. I was right back to when I first got to Chicago, except this time I was without Christina. Turns out, it wasn't the solution to my problems, as was pointed out to me by Dr. Ramos with a stern, _"I have to use entirely different strategies when treating alcoholics and drug addicts. Shall we change course?"_

"Um, yeah. So, I…it was like I had grasped onto a truth that didn't exist? And then that feeling was replaced by emptiness and just…" I look at her desperately hoping she could put a name to how I had been feeling. But all she does is write shit down on her notepad. I really hate that notepad right now. "Well, I think I… No, I know I made the wrong choice about something. I mean, at the time I felt like it was the right choice, or maybe I knew it was wrong… I'm not sure. But then I just felt... I don't know; like it wasn't worth it or it didn't live up to my expectation, not that I had expected it at all. But I ended up just feeling more lonely and depressed, depressed, depressed. Do you remember?"

"Well, I very clearly remember you going through a bit of a depression," she responds calmly as I go over whatever garble just came out of my mouth. "However, we never quite got to the bottom of it. You didn't seem to want to talk much about the present. You'll have to refresh my memory."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _Resting my cheek on my hand I watch Kristen work her ass trying to literally tend to the whole bar. I glance toward the outdoor monitor and see a large group of people approaching._

 _"Great," I mutter. "It's a damned Tuesday. What the hell is wrong with these people? Go home!"_

 _I wrangle my mop of hair, somehow taming it to look semi decent in a tossed up ponytail, and pull my sweatshirt off, throwing it in the corner. I look down at my men's medium Rolling Stones t-shirt and yoga pants. "Oy." I try to put my Christina hat on, but all I can come up with is to tie the t-shirt at my hip bone and pull it down my shoulder. I laugh at my totally non-sexy sports bra strap that sticks out._

 _"Well, I can always say Hangars is running a work program," I say to myself as I quickly line my eyes with black eyeliner along with adding a dab of mascara. "We allow people from the nearest shelter to tend bar for the night for some extra cash." I check myself out for the last time and sigh at the sight before me. "Get out there, Prior," I say to the mirror in the biggest pick-me-up voice I can muster._

 _Hearing a bit of a ruckus, I kick it into gear, arriving behind the bar just as a bachelor-bachelorette party comes barreling in. Kristen scoots past me, making no eye contact, but giving me a quick mutter of "Thanks." I nod my head and quickly grab glasses off the bar, handing them off to Chucho, Juan Carlos's cousin, and quickly wiping down whatever I can._

 _I sigh, giving Kristen the side-eye. She does a great job and seems pretty nice. She's not bitchy unless she has to be and she allows the male customers to hit on her just enough to keep then drinking, but not enough to think they have a real shot. And aside from the fact that I may be oddly jealous of the pixie haircut she rocks that I would never be able to, I like her. But…she doesn't seem to like me very much._

 _"Hey! Can we get 41 shots of Fireball?!" yells a patron who I can only assume is part of this mess._

 _"I got it," Kristen says as she walks by me and opens the lower cabinet to grab the overstock shot glasses._

 _"I'll get another bottle!" I yell over my shoulder, heading back to the storage closet shaking my head the whole way._

 _The good thing about this scenario is that it should take some stress off Tori. This is the slowest time of the year; so, random nights like this are a gift…for her, that is. Yep! Just think of it that way. Tori will be happy. Tori will be happy._

 _I stop, looking right and left, and take a shot out of the bottle. "Oh, oh my God," I gag as the taste of imitation cinnamon lights my throat on fire, leaving behind a syrupy residue taste. It's like doing a liquid shot of cinnamon-flavored Trident._

 _Before I can vomit in an official capacity, I hurry back out to the bar just as Kristen turns up the music. There is now another group—a huge group…all wearing matching t-shirts. I watch in a moment of panic as Juan Carlos hands beers to a group of guys._

 _"Fi-tty do-llars!" he yells as I walk over to his rescue, just in case these guys give him shit. But they seem unfazed by the price of the beer and throw cash lazily on the bar._

 _And now I know exactly the type of clientele we are dealing with—spoiled rich kids home from college for fall break._

 _"Es…un…uh…bar…eh-crohl?!" Juan Carlos yells in my ear._

 _"Bar eh-crol…cral… Bar crawl?"_

 _"Sí, sí, bella!"_

 _"Son of a bitch," I say turning around. I fucking hate bar crawls, and bachelor-bachelorette parties. Since when did this shit turn co-ed?!_

 _"Sí, son of a beeeetch!"_

 _Kristen drops a glass and it shatters, Juan Carlos running to pick it up at her feet as everyone yells their "Oooooo's!" and "Party fouls!" But, ignoring the crowd, she just moves on, patting him on the back in thank you._

 _"¡Chuchito! ¡Bendejo! ¡Haz tu trabajo y recoge el pinche vidrio, puto!" Juan Carlos shouts as Chucho scurries over. "Is A-okay, bella!"_

 _I nod my head, chuckling as I fill the other twenty or so shot glasses with Fire Vomit. I have no fucking clue what he just said to his cousin, but it sounded cute._

 _"Stop! Ugh! You don't need to do this!"_

 _I turn harshly to see who Kristen is screaming at, just as a girl shouts her order, distracting me. "Seven cucumber martinis and do you, like, serve Jell-o shots?"_

 _"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask in a normal voice._

 _"What?!"_

 _"I said, what kind of vodka do you want?!"_

 _"Oh, uh…what's your best?!" she leans toward me waggling her eyebrows._

 _"I'll surprise you," I respond, fully intending to give her Smirnoff._

 _"What about those Jell—"_

 _I walk away, already having been tempted to knock her the fuck out just for being born stupid._

 _More and more yellow shirts pour into the room and I can see Kristen getting flustered, but trying to keep her cool as three women are yelling their very complicated orders to her. Suddenly I notice…a guy. There's an actual dude behind my bar! I storm toward the end as the bastard smacks her on the butt and hip checks her, making her move to the side. I'm down there before she can even react._

 _"You belong out there!" I shout in my most commanding voice, grabbing his arm. "So get there! Now!"_

 _"I'm a bartender!" he returns my shout, turning slightly toward me, while still listening to a customer's order._

 _"I don't give a shit—"_

 _"We went to high school together," Kristen adds, pulling out four frosty glasses out of our cooler."Can he help?"  
_

 _"What types of craft beer do you guys have?! I need a quick tutorial!" the intruding high-school-chum-bartender-interfering-fuck yells to me._

 _"None! Now get the hell—"_

 _"What?! No craft…" he trails off as he finally decides to face me. But instead of challenging me, or listening to what I just FUCKING said, he smiles and tips his head sideways looking at me as if he knows me. "Cute whiskey girl?" He flashes the most adorably contagious smile I've ever seen and my memory is triggered._

 _"Oh, yeah… Um… Troy, right?" I point to him loosely._

 _"Tre," he chuckles presenting some very very cute dimples, his Australian accent hitting me in the face like a bucket of sexy.  
_

 _"Right…Um—"_

 _"Well, if you don't have craft, what kind of imports do you have?! Come on man!" a customer yells.  
_

 _Troy…or Tre…raises his eyebrows for permission to help the guy and I nod my head in gratitude._

 _"Beer menus are on the bar. Right in front of the customers," I tell him with a knowing smile because bar patrons are idiots._

 _"As they always are," he bows and pushes the menu that is two inches in front of the guy's face toward him._

 _"Four manhattans, two holiday crush, and an Old Pile!" Lynn yells as I start on the cucumber martinis. "And tell Tori to get Myra to commit to better hours! Or hire a bartender just to make cocktails for the cocktail servers! You think she'd ever think of that?! I'm sick of screaming my drink orders!"_

 _Juan Carlos slides Lynn the can of Old Style and a chilled glass and hands me a shaker with ice in it while I grab the gin._

 _"Not sure she's thinking along those lines these days, Madelynn," I comment pouring the gin with my right hand and adding cucumber slices with my left._

 _"I know. That's my damned point. She's not thinking, so you have to. Now get some damned craft beers in this place and a better cocktail server situation!"_

 _I flick Lynn off in my head as I pour the vermouth in the shaker, Juan Carlos immediately putting the lid on and starting the shaking process while I grab two more martini glasses and line the rims with sugar all while adding vodka into the new shaker Juan Carlos magically handed me._

 _"Tab?" I ask the girls, taking their credit cards while Juan Carlos slides them their martinis._

 _"No, thanks!" they singsong in unison._

 _"Oy, vey. Dame una pistola," I groan as Juan Carlos looks on proudly at my Spanish._

 _"Now, we work…acento. Ah, you need…Mez-ican aaaaasent. Iz dee best."_

 _"Mi acento. Muy mal," I agree running the card swiftly with my left hand, while adding a splash of cranberry juice and a shot of menthol liquor. I hand the girl the receipt, her card and pen and shake the cocktail, sliding my pen back in my pocket and putting the receipt in the till. I pour the sugary cocktail into the sugar-rimmed talls, grabbing for the Jack and rocks glasses. But in front of me, before I can complete the transaction, are three manhattans._

 _"The one on the left is for you!" Tre yells to me as he leans over and takes a customer's order—a girl who is ogling the shit out of him. Not that I blame her because whoa._

 _I look down to see no cherry garnish balancing on the left glass. "No bullshit cherry for the girl who appreciates whiskey! Plus, I made it with Knob Creek," he whispers in my ear as he tugs on my shirt in passing._

 _I bite my lips between my teeth hard as to not smile, but when my neck betrays me and turns my head to look at him, I see a shy yet entirely charming smile on his face. As if he wonders for just a moment if he did something wrong. But I raise the glass and take a drink with a nod. And it was really fucking good._

* * *

 _I pull the band out of my hair, not carrying that the after effects probably look like I played twister with a drunk donkey for the last two hours._

 _"Whoa," Tre chuckles as he walks behind me._

 _"I'm going for the wear-a-mop-on-my-head look."_

 _"Well, Chucho better not wash the floor with you. I'll be on the look-out. ¡Oye, Chucho! No lave el suelo con el pelo de la jefa. ¿Está bien?"_

 _"Claro, trato de no, amigo."_

 _They both laugh congenially and I smile seeing how much Chucho appreciates someone speaking Spanish. And I gotta say…it's kinda…well…ahem…sorta hot. Although, his Australian-Mexican accent is a little…weird. Tobias was fluent in Spanish, ridiculously fluent, but he rarely used it. I never understood why—_

 _"You okay over there?" Tre asks, startling me just as I take a generous drink of my Gentleman's. "You looked a little…perturbed."_

 _Choking a little, I nod my head, giving him a thumbs up with a closed-mouth smile. A thumbs up? I did that, huh?_

 _I'm still wondering a little bit why Tre graciously stayed to help close to place down. It was entirely unnecessary, but I have to admit, I've been enjoying his company and actually laughing. And it feels damned good to laugh! I can feel his eyes on me as I count the cash from the register and it's setting me on edge a little. Does…he…need something—_

 _"Okay, well, I'm out," he announces, clapping his hands together and bowing his head to me. "It was nice to see you Tris. Kirsten, you're welcome."_

 _"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, asshole. You didn't exactly save the day," she jokes._

 _"Actually, you kinda did—Wait…" I furrow my brows wondering if I missed something. "I thought your name was Kristen—"_

 _"It is! It's Kriiiisten! Tre just calls me, um…Kirsten because he knows I hate it. Yep! I hate it and it's a terrible name. Right, Tre? Don't be a dick, Tre!"_

 _"Whhhhhyyyyyes. I'm…sorry?" he states like a question, as if he were innocent._

 _I chuckle, wishing I had a long-term friendship with a guy. I barely remember half the guys' names from high school. Well, there was Craig Thomas, Nathan Percolator—a very unfortunate last name—_

 _"See ya later, Tris," Kristen interrupts.  
_

 _"Yeah, thanks for coming in on a Tuesday. Sorry it was last minute—Mayra's an unreliable twat."_

 _"Haha, yeah, seems like it. Oh, hey, um…" She rocks back on the balls of her sizeable heels and makes a wincing face at me. "I think Tre…kinda…likes you."_

 _I shrug indifferently, but think better of it. "Really?" I know he was kind of flirty, but he's a bartender, so…yeah, that about sums it up._

 _"Well, he's a good guy, ya know…" she states, crossing her arms._

 _"Okay… What? Does he want a job—"_

 _"I know this man and I think he may want to ask you out and, um, I think you just recently broke up with someone, and you guys were serious…very serious…and I just want to make sure—"_

 _"Kristen," I stop her in anger before she gets to go any fucking further. "How do you know…anything…about my relationships? Or the seriousness of them for that matter?"_

 _For real, who does this bitch think she is? She has no fucking clue…about me…or about… I close my eyes, knowing my moment of semi-happy time has just been ruined._

 _"I guess…" she puts her hands up in defense. "I don't."_

 _I scoff as she backs out of the room. Then I bite my bottom lip hard until I hear the slam of the backroom door._

 _"Well, I thought I liked her," I mumble to myself as I switch off the bar lights and make my way back to Tori's office._

 _Kristen honestly seems like someone I could be friends with. Kind of like me, ya know? She shows up for work in her teacher get-up on Fridays, makes an immediate bee-line to the back room and comes out looking like a bartender. Like being a bartender is her false identity._

 _"Hmmph." I toss the money on Tori's desk, knowing Bud will be back in the morning to pick it up._

 _Tori will definitely be happy with this small surge of business tonight. Things won't start getting really nuts around here until the night before Thanksgiving. I think of the craziness of this place around the holidays. I swear there are more people drowning their holiday sorrows and stresses away at bars during the Christmas season than any other time of year._

 _The holidays… I honest to God thought I wouldn't have to spend them alone this year. At least in years past, I had Christina's parents. Maybe they'd still want me for Thanksgiving? Maybe Caleb will want to see me by then? Maybe…I won't be so fucking broken…by then._

 _I catch myself in the mirror and stop and stare. I don't even recognize myself anymore. I can definitely still feel the ghost of pain where my injuries occurred…no, where they were inflicted—the tingle of the scar on my shin, the stabbing pain in my ribs, the throbbing in my head—that no amount of prodding and poking to convince myself otherwise can seem to cure._

 _I pull my shirt over my head, toss it on the couch, and stand to the side, looking at myself in the full-length mirror—flat, skinny. I face forward—flat, skinny. Christina says I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder; however, I thoroughly disagree. Pretty sure that diagnosis is reserved for people with eating disorders. I turn around and look over my shoulder, hoping to see something good. Tobias always seemed to like my butt, so maybe there's something to it? There isn't. I close my eyes, trying my hardest not to turn that into a metaphor._

 _When was the last time I felt an ounce of sexy? Probably when Tobias saw me in my bathing suit. The initial look on his face—he looked like he wanted to devour me. But…then the bruises…ruined it. They took the moment away from me._

 _Per my nightly routine, seeing as Lynn and I don't have a full-length mirror, I toe off my shoes, kicking them to the side. Then I pull down my yoga pants to inspect my legs. I sigh and deflate even more than my body had already achieved—the remnants of fingerprints…are still there. Apparently, Eric gripped my thighs so hard that he shattered a decent amount of blood vessels and that can take up to a year to heal. Add that doctor's appointment on to my list of medical bills!_

 _I shake my head slowly and clench my jaw, knowing I'll never know what happened that night. I don't WANT to know what happened that night. Tobias does…I think. I purse my lips, staring at my face in the mirror, while envisioning how happy and self-satisfied he must have felt because he got to be the one to deliver the news to me that I hadn't been raped. He got to fix a situation. He thought it would fix me. I clench my fists in anger at his job well done. He did what he needed to do and then got on with his life. My coffee with Shauna solidified that._

 _In a huff, I take my shirt and pull it over my head roughly, grabbing the bottle of Bunnahabhain. I had fully intended to polish it off the night after I saw Tobias at the café, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. "Well, what's your excuse now, Prior? Not a damned thing," I answer with a deprecating sigh as I scoot up onto Tori's desk._

 _I decide on a why-the-hell-not moment and take a drink right out of the bottle, closing my eyes. I hear Tobias's deep drunken laugh, his mild fumbling with the English language when he's nervous, and the pressure of his large hands running down both sides of my head coming to rest protectively on my shoulders, holding me tight enough to communicate that he has no plans to let go, but he would…if I wanted him to. And the way he looked at me…_

 _I groan aloud and wipe a tear, almost savagely, off my cheek, and slam the bottle down in near finality even though there's still a tad bit left—movement, I hear…movement! I scramble forward from my yoga-style seated position, as I hear a soft knock on the door that I LEFT OPEN!_

 _"Hey, Tris—"_

 _"What are you DOING?!" I shout, jockeying for an appropriate position as to not give…TRE…mother fuckin' Tre…a total crotch shot. But based on the downward flicker of his eyes, I did not achieve it._

 _"I'm…SO…sorry! The door was open…like several inches!" He stands there still gaping, but with a hint of a smirk on his face as I lean back against Tori's desk pulling my shirt down as low as possible._

 _I just now realize I am alone…in Downtown Chicago…out of shouting distance…with a man I don't know._

 _"But, I have to be honest, I'm not that sorry. I just walked in on a beautiful girl, drinking expensive scotch in her underwear. That's a dream come true," he laughs lightly and genuinely, not daring to take a step closer, but not shy about skimming his eyes down my legs._

 _"Okay. Um—"_

 _"This is weird, right?"_

 _"Yes. I'm in my underwear…and you're still here." I look all around the room, trying to concentrate on something besides my humiliation. I don't even know which underwear I'm wearing—_

 _"Well, as weird as this is, this makes me want to ask you out even more."_

 _I'm taken aback by his boldness—not sincerely apologetic, nor is he tripping over his words. "Ask me out? Where?"_

 _"I…hadn't thought that far ahead," he chuckles flashing his damned dimples again._

 _I stand there still frozen, and slightly afraid to move. I should answer him. No. tell him 'no.' Why? He's fun. He's…blonde. He has blue eyes. He's tall. He's…yep, major muscles through that t-shirt. No. Are you really interested? Mmmm…no._

 _"Okay, I'm sorry. I ruined it. I'll go." He exits the room, but not before peeking his head around the door again." Just…this was partially your fault. Okay?"_

 _There's that smile again! "Okay," I say more to myself than him…seeing as he's gone._

 _My hand involuntarily grabs for the bottle of scotch and I empty the remnants of it, swishing it around like mouthwash. I push myself off the desk angrily because I'm…mad at myself! And without forethought, I stalk to the door._

 _"Tre?!"_

 _He stops in his tracks and walks backward without looking. When he gets to me, his face is covered with one hand, but he's peeking at me through his fingers. Again, without fore thought I pull his hand away from his face._

 _"Okay, now this is definitely your fault—"_

 _I grip his neck and kiss him without any sort of abandon whatsoever, pulling him by his shirt into the office. Shocked doesn't even begin to describe his reaction, but it doesn't take long for him to put two and two together and return my actions._

 _I'm not sure how we got here, I don't care how we got here, all I know is that I'm clinging to this guy as if it's for my survival and he's on top of me on the couch in the office. The only thing I seem to care about is…something I can't quite put my finger on. Lost. I need to get lost. The friction of his knee between my leg, reminiscent of the tingling feeling I get on my own…when I'm on my own, hearing Lynn and Sofi through the papyrus thin walls. Am I lesbian? No. I just wonder if that's what I sound like. And it reminded me of…other times. Waaaayyyy better times. I move my hips against his leg to reinvent that feeling. There is no bone in my body that is telling me to make him stop or to stop myself. Or is the fact that I just thought about stopping him my subconscious telling me to put the kibosh on this? I just need to not think, for the first time in months, please…make me not think._

 _I hear the clink of a belt, a belt that I hadn't tried to take off. Is it weird that I didn't do that? Or was Tobias always that much of a gentleman—_

 _"Is this okay? Because—"_

 _"Yes," I breathe out, thankful for the voice of another man entering my thoughts for once as I take over and mess with his belt. Old memories of how to do this flood my mind, bringing quick tears to my eyes which somehow only fuels me as I concentrate and succeed, swiftly pushing his jeans down and boxers at the same time. They gracelessly get caught on his shoes that he tries desperately to kick off while I wait, biting the hell out of my lip, unwilling to look anywhere but up at the ceiling. Suddenly he's gone and I lift myself up on my elbows in question. Aaaaaand, I get my answer—he's rifling through his wallet obviously having the forethought to get protection, which I didn't. Is it weird that I think it's weird that he keeps a condom in his wallet—_

 _"Just in case," he laughs._

 _I momentarily join in—but it comes out as more of an awkward snort-chuckle. I look down as he rips open the packet and puts it on. Yep, that's a penis. This…is…so…fucking…awkward. Do something! I push my underwear down, still having no idea which ones I had on, not even giving a shit if they're bellybutton-height granny panties._

 _"At least I got to see them on you once," he comments cheekily. "I like the red—"_

 _"Mmm hmm," I grunt forcefully, pushing the many memories of red panties out of my head._

 _My breath stutters as he palms one of my breasts under my shirt, my nipple causing a shot of electricity right to my stomach. I'm grateful for sports bras right now. I can feel his hand descend my stomach but, no…just…no. I pull him to me hard feeling him between my legs and he hesitates, as if he wants to say something, but then takes himself in hand and…and…tries to aim and…I'm swerving my hips and...geez, finally! Did I just think the word 'finally' as a guy penetrates me? Oh, God, another man…I am having sex with another…man. It's too late just concentrate!_

 _It seems to take a minute to get a rhythm, but then it's there and I'm just lost—clutching at the shirt on his back, my forehead rubbing against his shoulder. He's strong and the muscles contract under my fingers, which just makes me tug harder on his shirt, not wanting to feel them. I get lost in the nothingness and flutter in my stomach, that stays at a continued even pace until he flexes, stills and relaxes and…nothing. I feel him rest his head on my shoulder, perspiration rubbing against my temple. His cologne is really nice._

 _"Wow," he exhales looking down at me with a goofy grin. A goofy…grin._

 _And I'm back to square one._

* * *

"I had a one-night or…several-night stand, this past October."

She nods her head with an unreadable expression.

"Are you mad I didn't tell you?"

"No, Tris. What you tell me is and will always be on your terms and in your own time."

"Okay." I squint my eyes and purse my lips. "I was embarrassed, so…"

"Why?"

"I think I'd always silently judged people for having casual sex, particularly women, which is sexist and a total double standard. But I think I just naturally hold women at a higher regard, and when one 'gives it up' so easily, or in my case 'puts it out there,' I chalked it up to them not having enough self-respect to keep their legs together." I scratch at my forearms to distract myself from my hypocrisy. "God, that sounds awful."

"It sounds honest."

"Yeah, I'm getting better at that."

"Much better, yes. So, what made you change your mind?"

"Is that a way to skirt around saying, 'Why did you hump a bartender?'"

"Well, I didn't know he was a bartender, but aside from that…yes."

"Haha, right. Okay, that night, I just wanted to not think—be like a normal 24-year-old who has no qualms about sex. I mean, before I could never fathom women just loving to have sex with…just anyone."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Love having sex with just anyone?"

I pull my sleeves down over my thumbs and shift nervously. "No," I answer softly, pushing aside the many times I did love having sex…but that wasn't with 'just anyone.' "I don't even know how long it lasted the first time. Geez, I was just happy to not have to wonder if I was doing anything right because I didn't even care!" I exalt. That being the only good thing about the experience. "But at the same time, there wasn't a connection, so it didn't feel…natural. Plus, I didn't even…get there," I murmur so softly I doubt Dr. Ramos heard me.

"Climax?"

And…I was wrong. "Yes, that word. And he either didn't notice or didn't care."

She nods her head smiling in pity. "Yeah. That is the plight of being male, bless their poor hearts. And, unfortunately, a very common experience for women during unemotional sex."

"So, I'm not orgasmically challenged?"

"I'm unsure how to diagnose that, but my guess would be…no. However, you said, 'several-night stand?' That's a new one for me," she chides.

"Well, he came into the bar the next day—Tre, his name is Tre—and wanted to know if he could take me out. I wasn't expecting that. I had hoped he was the love-em-and-leave-em type of guy. Turns out, he wasn't. He was a _nice_ guy." I hang my head as if having sex with a nice guy is awful.

"Did you go out?"

"I told him that I was busy. I just didn't want to date anyone! I couldn't even… I was still…"

I think back to the bought of irrational crying that went on for the rest of the night after Tre left. I felt like I betrayed what Tobias and I had. But, just because I felt that way, doesn't make it true. Tobias started sleeping with another girl weeks after we broke up and then he moved out of state with her. I have no loyalties left to him. But…my stupid heart remained true. What kind of bullshit was that?!

"…um…ha… So, anyway, he stayed after closing and brought me dinner. Pizza. Deep dish," I whisper sadly, remembering how I wanted to throw the pizza in his face for reminding me of my ex-boyfriend. "Tre really was great—funny, sweet, really good-looking, like, I'm crazy for not doing backflips because he actually wanted…me. He's like a more boyish looking Chris Hemsworth."

"Ah." She nods her head in understanding.

"And then he just kept coming into the bar and, well, he _did_ make me laugh and he likes to dance. And I love to dance. He'd come behind the bar if it was a good song and dance with me. He was fun. And then he'd stay again and…" I don't know why squinting my eyes makes me feel better, when in all actuality, it just makes me look guilty.

"You'd have sex," Dr. Ramos finishes for me.

"Yeeaaaahhhh…"

"So, let's revisit something. You said you didn't love having sex with just anyone. Yet…" she prods.

"Ugh… I was trying to love it. I mean I ended up… _liking_ it. But, not because of Tre…" I mumble.

* * *

 _I roll my eyes that I even have the think about this, but this time Tre seems pretty adamant about taking my shirt off. So, I quickly unbutton it for him and shrug it off my shoulders. I end the show at my bra and he grins at me, reaching around and unsnapping it. I tighten my shoulders so I don't shrink into myself, and avert my eyes to the ceiling while he takes in his fill—or…not? He suddenly tips me backward onto the couch, grabbing my breast, not really caring that it's anything more than a boob. I furrow my eyebrows but then shrug. Yep, I just shrugged. Sweet, one less thing I have to worry about—whoa, whoa, whoa… He moves his head down my stomach quickly as if he's trying to go down on me but doesn't want to get caught. I don't even know why I don't want that. What girl doesn't?! I pull him up and he looks like he doesn't know what to say. And, honestly, I don't either._

 _"Have you had some bad experiences with that?" he asks in jest. "'Cause I just may surprise you."_

 _I stare at him as my stomach coils like a spring, thinking about exquisite…fucking exquisite…experiences. Personal, very, very, personal…experiences._

 _"Hey, I'm sorry," he says sweetly and I just want to scream at him to, "Stop being so nice to me!"_

 _"Uh, no… It's fine. Just, time crunch, ya know?"_

 _"Okay," he agrees kissing my neck softly as I just about flinch away. "Hey, so…are you on the pill? Because I'm clean. I swear and…I mean, we can go without one, if you—_

 _"No," I say, so unintentionally definitive, it's almost petulant—a response deserving an explanation. "Um, I still want to…use one. I mean, I am on birth control and am also…sans disease, but…" Oh, God, I just said sans disease!_

 _"It's okay. I can respect that. Please hold, m'lady."_

 _"Yep." I do the awkward wait, feeling momentarily guilty that he always provides the condoms—but, hell it's the least a guy can do, right? I mean, they don't have to bear the children! They can, at least, participate in…prevention and—_

 _"Come here," he says roughly, pulling me so I'm straddling him on the couch._

 _I hold my breath, tensing up, but he doesn't seem to notice…one bit as my knees tighten around his hips. For some reason, I feel like me being on top makes it real. It seals the deal that I am in full control and have to now take full responsibility. Holy shit I am FUCKED UP! But, I am a grown woman, a 24-year-old…woman. Who…shit, has her very small breasts right in his face…contemplating! I lower myself out of his direct line of sight, but he already took himself in hand and…okay, here goes…I guess._

 _"You feel so good on top," he says with his eyes closed after a bit of maneuvering._

 _I look down at him as he sits back, waiting for me to do all the work. He runs his hands down my arms with an encouraging look. It's almost funny. I let my eyes graze his chest. He has the whole rippling abs thing going on and he shaves it, which I think is ridiculous—Tobias doesn't have the whole beefy, defined beyond belief look, and he had a sufficient amount of chest hair…in the right places. Particularly the coarse ones that run from his belly button to his—Okay, wow. My stomach just lit on fire. He's fit and muscular, but not like a do-your-laundry-on-me stomach. And there's that wave of heat again, thinking about him. I shake my head, concentrating-ish again on Tre as he starts to move me, smiling…he's always smiling. With his mussed up blond hair and tan complexion, he's kind of every woman's dream boat. But he doesn't have that shocking look of Tobias. Like…it sneaks up on you. As in he's the ideal that no one ever knew was the ideal. Sure, he's tall dark and handsome, but there's something about his penetrating stare, like he's trying to figure everything out and if you happen to be the one he's figuring out, you feel like a piece of your soul just died of happiness. How he'd look into my eyes when we're together, trying to figure out, by the furrow of my brows or the deepness of my breath, whether or not I liked what he was doing. And he moved with me, not against me or in any sort of awkward flopping. Or if there was, I didn't care. He'd hold my hips just to guide me, but still allowing me control—control to position my body just right. And I know he could tell when I did because just a small flicker of a cocky smile would cross his face, before he would hide it in a concentrated effort to keep me there. The minute snapping of his hips that he just knew I needed right before I'd come, and then how I wouldn't be able to move...liiiiiiterally...frooooozen as just…whatever feeling makes up an amaaaaaaazing orgasm courses throooouuuuugh me. Then he would take over when I couldn't, giving me the fuuuuuuull opportunity to fiiiiiiinish—_

 _"You can be on top…anytime," Tre sighs out as if he's exhausted._

 _I stop, seeing as all movement has ceased, and realize I'm gripping his shoulders with my forehead buried in the couch behind his head—mid-orgasm! Is he fucking kidding?! Christina always warned me that not being able to ride out an orgasm is the female version of blue balls. And she was…RIIIIIGHT! And I'm pissed!_

 _But, I can't be mad at him…_

* * *

"So…you did like it. But, Tre had little to do with it?"

"Well, logistically speaking, I _needed_ him, but…" I swallow before continuing. "I knew there was a problem when the only way I could have a successful orgasm, like a good one, a non-conjured one, was by picturing myself with…another man." _Ugggghhhhh…that stupid, stupid man!_

"Non-conjured?"

"Oh, ha! Yeah, I made that up. I'm just going to be candid, okay?"

"Please do."

"Yeah, I had to use him as an upgraded version of a vibrator…having to put him in the right place and…basically, just pleasing myself." I shrug, even though…I'm on fire.

She smiles wryly as if she knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"You can relate?"

She raises her eyebrows in a 'Bitch, please!' motion, making us both laugh. "Any man in particular?" she prods.

So much for laughing…

I shrug my shoulders, averting my eyes at the semi-off limits topic. I just don't want to…discuss…Tob—him. I don't have any issues with him. I understand why he left. He loved me. He did. He tried his damndest to fix things. And in his mind, I think he felt he was semi-successful. Sometimes I wish I hadn't given him the easy out that I did—telling him I was done with him, as if there was absolutely no use in conversation. Although I suppose that would have just prolonged the inevitable.

"So, let's bring this back," Dr. Ramos suggests, sensing my put-the-lid-on-this-shitness. "It sounds like you regret sleeping with him."

"What?! No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. With him it was… Just…no. That is one regret…and I have many…that I do not have." I let out an elongated breath and brace myself for her next question, but based on Dr. Ramos's furrowed eyebrows…she's confused. "Oh! Tre?! Not…the other…one—Yes, wait, no. I mean, yes, I do. I regret it. That, I do. Tre."

I just realize she has been writing things down, more than usual…particularly at this moment. Redirect! Redirect!

"I regret…not getting the chance to get to know him better. Tre. I'm talking about Tre." ¡Ay, Dios Mío! "I broke things off pretty quickly after realizing the only thing fulfilling about it was that…" I shake my head in shame. "Brace yourself because it's pitiful and pretty selfish."

"We're all a little selfish sometimes. And…I get the feeling you're rarely selfish."

"It's also a little pathetic."

"My point stands." She nods her head once definitively.

"He made me feel…pretty." I just about choked that word out like acidic bile. "It's so…dumb! Women these days aren't supposed to care about being pretty! We're just supposed to love ourselves inside and that should be enough! Like a Dove comercial! I am a millennial woman!" I shout, frantically. "I should not be having sex with a man because he made me feel—"

"Wanted," she interjects, which she rarely does. "He made you feel…wanted."

"Yes, let's use that word," I say with finality. "I sound less desperate."

"Fair enough," she chuckles. "So, you found that reason to be selfish? I'm just clarifying."

"Yes…" I sigh, knowing there's more to it, but that I'm just going to babble. "Jesus, I didn't even know what I was doing. I could still barely get out of bed at times. Plus, it hit me hard when I looked at myself in the mirror and, even though I felt this bout of physical confidence, I still didn't recognize myself. I didn't know what I wanted out of life. I was just existing. I think I still am."

She scribbles a few things quickly on her notepad. "You know, Tris, you're more self-reflective than you think. You needed to work on you. You came to me…to work on you. And you ending things with Tre because you realized that your affections toward him were surface level and…well, subpar, if I'm reading the situation correctly, probably saved him some heartache. It's less selfish than you think."

I look out the window, reflecting on what she just said. "So, do you think I'm progressing? Please don't answer my question with a question."

She rests her chin on her fisted hand, thinking about her answer. "I think you're more self-assured than when you first started. Are you still having vivid dreams?"

"Ha! Yes. Sometimes I feel like I dream more than I sleep. Like I don't wake up rested because my brain was running a marathon all night."

"That's good, actually. Therapy can bring forth a lot of unknowns—buried feelings, thoughts, experiences good and bad. Sometimes the mind deals with things best when it's only the subconscious at work."

"Do you think…I'm self-assured enough to…have a successful relationship? Or…just a relationship?"

"Tris, I'm not going to answer that for you. But I'm assuming you have already asked yourself that, right?"

"Yeah," I mutter.

"So, all you really want is my approval?"

I shrug, pursing my lips.

"Sounds like you already have your answer, and…" she pauses, drawing out her syllables to get my attention…which, of course, she gets. "…you don't need my approval."

"I guess," I reply looking out the window again. "So, the thing is…Tre, um, called again, an actual call…not a text. I hadn't heard from him since October. He feels like he screwed up by moving things along too quickly. He wanted to take it slower and get to know me…more."

"Are you willing?"

"I feel like I should try?" I ask as if it's a question. "I like that he doesn't want to move too quickly, not that it was his fault in the first place, but…it makes the offer more enticing. I feel like I have a lot to figure out, sexually-wise-speaking-ish-ly."

"Okay…"

"I think I may…have things…backwards."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"So, tell me about lesbian sex."_

 _A moment of silence resonates as Lynn pauses whatever she's doing on the tables behind me. The silence seems to travel through the entire bar. I'm not sure I've ever rendered Lynn speechless—_

 _"What the actual fuck, Prior?!" she asks exasperated._

 _I sit there and twiddle my thumbs, waiting for a response. I never thought people actually did that, but as it turns out it's mind-numbing and mildly therapeutic. "Just an innocent question," I remark._

 _"Innocent, my ass. There isn't an innocent bone in your body. And…geez! We don't talk like this!"_

 _"Well, I think we should start. Only because you need girlfriends—the non-lesbo kind—to talk to about these things." I cringe at my entirely transparent lie._

 _"Mmmm…no, I don't. Why…are you really asking me about this?"_

 _I grin, not knowing how to proceed, until I hear the now all-too familiar shutter of a camera. "Why do you choose the worst moments to take a picture, Madelynn?!" I give myself an entirely unnecessary face-palm followed by burying my head in my arms. I can't believe I agreed to be her 'subject.'_

 _"Are you kidding? You just asked about lesbian sex! That is one of the best moments!"_

 _"It's about Tre," I groan, thinking about my performance the other night. Whereas in most cases, 'performance' whilst engaging in sex should be a good thing, in this case it was more along the lines of Oscar-winning acting._

 _"Soooo…that triggers in you some sort of need to have a lesbian sex chat? 'Cause if that's the case…well, poor Tre." She snags two Stellas from the fridge and smoothly uncaps them, passing one to me._

 _I smirk at Lynn's minute improvements in the social congeniality arena. "Just…comparing and contrasting."_

 _"Again…poor Tre. However…" She leans over the bar on her forearms waggling her eyebrows. "…you have me shockingly hooked, only because you literally shocked me with your comment. So, out with it, Prior."_

 _I take a long drag of the beer, even though, whiskey would be way better. "I want to know if something is wrong with me."_

 _"I think we had established a while ago that something is definitely wrong with you."_

 _I nod my head as she pushes herself back from the bar and leans on the counter behind her._

 _"God, I'm kidding. Well, ya know, sort of. You need to stop taking insults in such stride. It's not as fun for me."_

 _"Okay," I begin, before she can really get going on the cheap shots. "Normal sex versus lesbian sex—"_

 _"You just said normal sex, huh?"_

 _"Ummm…yes, I did. Hmmm…biblical sex?" I offer as an alternative._

 _"How is that better?"_

 _"I grew up a pastor's daughter. There is no girl-on-girl in The Bible…trust me."_

 _"Well, Sunday school would have been a lot cooler if there was." She winks cheekily._

 _"Adolescent males for miles," I agree. "Now can I continue?"_

 _"Oh, yes, please do!" she answers with feigned excitement._

 _"So, word on the street is that sexy-time female-style tends to be more…intimate…?"_

 _"'Intimate' is not a swear word, Prior."_

 _I shrug and look around the bar at…nothing. "I know that."_

 _"Then why do you always squint your eyes and make the whiney voice when you say it?"_

 _"Just…stay on point! Why do you think it's more…intima—"_

 _"You're doing it again—"_

 _"Shut up!"_

 _"Alright, alright, lemme think about this, seeing as I have limited experience with sex Bible-style." That quick flicker of emotion that I've become very accustomed to flashes across her eyes—a memory that almost came to conscious fruition. "I mean, seeing as a girl kind of knows what another girl needs…emotionally and whatnot. Also, I suppose women are just more conscious of…needs…so…" She taps the top of her beer bottle on her chin in thought. "I suppose deductive reasoning would say, yes, it tends to be a more intimate experience."_

 _"Really? Okay, so I was right. Good. This is good for me," I say to myself theatrically._

 _"You're scaring me—"_

 _"So, lady time is…basically…a lot of foreplay… right?"_

 _"Why the hand gestures?" She asks imitating my knuckle bumping, finger pointing weirdness that I didn't even know I was doing. "I know the logistics."_

 _"Sorry," I mutter. "Sooooo...you agree…that foreplay…is an intimate thing?"_

 _"Hmmm… Are toys involved?"_

 _"No…toys," I deadpan._

 _"So, like, just digits and cunnilingus—"_

 _"Aaaaauuuuuugggghhhhh…." I moan, burying my face in my arms again._

 _"Oh, earmuffs for the princess! Don't ask me if you don't want an honest answer. And, dude, why are you asking…me?!"_

 _"I'm having an issue…with…" I let out a large exhale of frustration. "I need validation that…certain things…are more…intima—"_

 _"Okay, if you can't even be specific, and speak in a normal voice, then I can't help you. Plus, I'm not an expert on Bible sex! I mean… Ya know what? You need a dude to talk to about this—"_

 _"I am…at your service!" Mark, literally, slides out from the backroom knocking a bar stool over in the process. "Sorry, all I heard was 'lesbian sex,' and I was like a moth to a flame. Eavesdropping doesn't even begin to describe it."_

 _"Men are pigs," Lynn grumbles as I frantically look all over the bar for something to do. I grab the maraschino cherries and start sorting them into piles on a napkin._

 _"In general, yes, we are absolute pigs. We're sorry," he states sincerely. "At least, I am. I would have gotten a lot further with my wife when we first met if my eyes hadn't been glued to her boobs all night."_

 _"What is the deal with men and dykes anyway?" Lynn asks as she finishes off her beer._

 _"I think it's just a fascination. Honestly, if I saw two chicks going to town on each other, I'd probably run from the room because I'd have no idea what to do. I'd be all Ricky Bobby—'I don't know what to do with my hands... I don't know what do to with my—"_

 _"Maybe because you'd feel totally inadequate?" Lynn suggests as I stifle a laugh at Mark's impression._

 _"Bam, bam, bam!" He makes a hammering motion to his crown. "Nail…on head. Noooooowwwww, I know your problem Boss Lady, if I'm reading between the lines…correctly." He takes one of my cherries from the three napkins I have in front of me. "What the hell are you doing—"_

 _"I can't talk to you about this," I say faster than any normal human uses syllables._

 _"Thou…hath madeth the love…before…thou hath hadeth the sex! Thou hath been spoilt! And thou shalt not goeth back once thou hath experienced iteth," he states grandiosely as he throws a cherry in the air, catching it in his mouth. "That was my best Bible impression. Bible sex, get it?"_

 _"I can't talk to you about this—"_

 _"Oh, come on! Look, I had many a sex before my hot ass wife. And, ya know, not my best performances…ever. Means to an end. It's not on purpose. At least, if you're a nice guy it isn't."_

 _"I can't talk to you about this—" I hear the shutter of a camera again._

 _"Priceless, Prior. Holy shit is that a keeper!"_

* * *

"Can you explain what you mean by 'backwards?'"

"I…I tried talking to Lynn about this and then Mark tried to talk to me about it. It was awful on both accounts and just left me with more questions and very little resolution."

"Okay, it's good that you're talking to people about it, but I'm not sure what 'it' is."

I look up to the ceiling, the thumb twiddling coming back to me. "Is it okay to talk to you about…sex?" I whisper. "I mean, I know we already kind of have been, but, like, I'm talking specifics. Or is that a specialty I'm unaware of and that you're unqualified for? Like, a sexologist or something? Is that even a thing?"

"It is a thing," she nods her head, trying to stifle a laugh. "And you can talk to me about whatever you're comfortable with. But if you are uncomfortable, I can do some research to give you a recommendation."

"Do your other patients talk to you about sex?" I ask, making sure I'm not alone here.

"Some do."

"Okay, well in that case…here goes…nothing…or something. Definitely something. I have discovered that I find sex to be way, I mean, way, way, way less intimate than…other things."

"Such as?"

"Can I just make a quick request?" I ask pinching my fingers.

"Sure."

"Can we not use the word cunnilingus?"

"We can use whatever word you feel comfortable with. But, at least, I now have an idea of where you're going with this."

"Yeah. Um, so, ya know, foreplay, hands, fingers, touching, Southern activities using…taste buds—Oh, my God, something is wrong with me..."

"Tris, relax. Foreplay. I get it," she says encouragingly.

"Why didn't I just say that?"

"I don't know." She must sense that I'm about to lose my mind because she takes the lead. "Every person has a different definition of what intimacy is to them. It's a perception. Some of the most intimate moments people have, have absolutely nothing to do with sex. And I suppose if we were to get technical, touch and taste are probably the two most intimate of the senses. And anatomically speaking, they have the most nerves endings. Also, if you think about it, sex is fairly primal while foreplay is a decision, where all senses contribute to you state of arousal—sight, vision, taste, smell, touch." She pauses, her token pause before she delves into dangerous territory. "Your first sexual experience, we won't count high school, was traumatic. Have you had a partner since? Apart from Tre?"

"Yesssss…"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"Baby, it's okay. Talk to me. I need to know if this is making you feel good. Please tell me."_

 _I take what feels like a million humiliating breaths, overly conscious of the fact that my legs are clamped around his fingers that still happen to be inside me. "It's amazing. I just don't know how… It's just so much….," I trail off like a juvenile ignoramus trying to explain why they didn't do their homework._

 _"Just let go," he says softly, kissing me with sincerity, affection and desperation to make things right for me._

 _I involuntarily nod my head in response to his comfort. I feel his strong fingers start to move tentatively at first, his thumb adding purposeful circular pressure. I finally start to relax and concentrate on him—the turn-on being the way he brushes my hair out of my eyes along with his own desire becoming apparent on his face. My shortness of breath, a sort of embarrassment I try to stifle._

 _"Keep looking at me, baby. It's okay. Be as loud as you want," he says with a chuckle as he worries his lip, flitting his eyes all over me. "You are so amazing. I love watching you."_

 _I want to smile, but all facial expression is suddenly stifled by an indescribable feeling in my gut, his muttering being nothing but muffled white noise._

* * *

A stifled laugh interrupts me as an ashamed look comes across Dr. Ramos's face. My eyes go wide because I have no idea what I just did.

"I guess it was pretty good."

One of the things I love about her is that she's my therapist, but her reactions are true and she doesn't try to hide them—she's more like a friend, non-judgmentally guiding me. She my friendapist.

"What did I do?" I groan.

"It was the look on your face—raised eyebrows, severe reddening of cheeks and a long drawn out sigh that rivals the sound one makes after a good massage."

"Oy, sorry."

"Please, don't apologize. An honest reaction is always appreciated."

"Okay. Um, so, we didn't have sex, at first—baby steps, if you know what I mean. He was…understanding like that."

"Were you in love?"

I cross my arms and nod my head.

"Well, Tris, I think you just figured out why you connect foreplay with intimacy."

I pull my twisted-up hair out of my ponytail holder in frustration that an experience with…TOBIAS is at fault for my back-ass-wardness. He does not get to affect every damned part of my life!

"You seem angry—"

"No," I say simply. "Anyway, it doesn't explain why I don't care to recreate…or not recre _ate_ …but, do that with…"

"Tre?"

"Yeah…or…just, yeah."

"Tris, all relationships are different, some are more spontaneous and others take time. It took me months to even tolerate my husband," she chuckles.

"You're married?"

"Yes," she responds in a tone that says I-will-not-share-further. "Now I'm going to do something I rarely do."

"Okay…"

"I'm going to tell you how you were feeling…when Tre made his first appearance."

"And boy did he…" I mutter in shame.

"I may be wrong, and I would appreciate you telling me if I am. Will you?"

I nod my head.

"You felt out of control."

I think about that good and hard. I used to be at my most comfortable when I could shut everything out and just exist. Then I let someone in and…when that failed…compounded with other things…traumatic things… Am I _that_ ridiculous—

"And that's okay," she says having put her feet on the floor, leaning forward. If I didn't know better, I would think she was about to reach for my hand. "Am I right?"

I sigh. "No matter what decision I made, it was going to be the wrong one," I whisper.

"We've talked extensively about your parents. But we haven't discussed the effects, the waves, the repercussions childhood has on adulthood. How did you feel growing up? Did you feel in control of your thoughts, feelings, actions?"

"Um…I was in control of them, I think. But my parents made me feel guilty at every turn, somehow making every damned thing I did seem selfish," I spit out, knowing this is not new information to Dr. Ramos.

"That's usually when rebellion ensues."

I don't even bother holding back a laugh. "Dating a Monroe. The ultimate slap in the face to a pastor's daughter—no pun intended…" I look up at Dr. Ramos, as her eyes bore into me—exposure realized. "Oh, God." I practically choke back the emotion caused by the screaming in my head _.  
_

"Tris, I know the word 'fault' is going through your head. Stop and let me explain." She puts her hand up in finality, commanding my attention without raising her voice. "What I've been hearing for the last several months is that you didn't even know you were rebelling—it often presents itself subconsciously. Let me ask you something. We had established that you knew something was wrong in your relationship with Eric—the abuse, verbal, emotional, physical—correct?"

"Yes. Which is exactly why—"

"Did it cross your mind to get out of it?"

"Well…"

I honestly can't think of a time when I thought 'I need to end this.' In fact, I wonder if my parents _hadn't_ died, if I would still be with him. He caused the stillbirth of my...CHILD, and I still went back to his place as if it was just another day. I close my eyes, feeling even more pathetic than ever.

"No. It...didn't."

"Parental influence is…such a contributor to how we handle things as adults. From what you've told me, I would say you had submission instilled in you. It took over. Every decision you made, you knew the outcome would be shame or guilt. Those aren't pleasant emotions, so you stopped making your own decisions. Now…" She stops and walks over to her desk to grab a tissue, giving me a moment.

I want to curl up into a ball and just…stay like that forever—no intrusions. No feelings. No failures. No disappointment—

"Can you forgive yourself?"

….

…..

…..

 _"Our penance is none of anyone else's concern. And we don't want your forgiveness, you want to forgive us…and yourself for that matter…"_

 _…_ _.._

 _…_ _.._

….

"Tris?" I look up as Dr. Ramos shakes a tissue in front of me.

"Huh?" I blink rapidly, focusing on the tissue as I grab it tentatively. "Sorry…I just…" I furrow my eyebrows wondering when the hell I ever had that conversation with my mother. And in what possible context… "I… I can…try. I'm…"

"I think you can do it. Because, right now… Do you know what you are right now?"

"You're about to say something motivational and cliché, aren't you?"

"Yes. You…are in control now."


	29. Exposure

**Chapter 29** \- Exposure

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

I look over my shoulder at Tris hunched over her art pad at the bar. She seems to be off in la la land, her pencil scrawling like a pigeon scraping at the ground. Sketching—Dr. Ramos suggested a dream journal for Tris, but she poo pooed that idea like a child. However, Dr. Ramos being the genius she is, found out Prior is Miss Secret-life-of-an-artist, so the doc suggested she sketch her dreams.

We've been staying late after closing during the week—the bar being totally shut down, so all we have are some light tunes in the background and minimal interruption to do our shit. Neither of us seem to sleep much, so having a reason to stay up late is…refreshing. I dread sleep and based on Prior's REM commentary, she may just feel the same. Not that I really give too much of a shit.

I hear Tris groan as if her notepad will understand her, and erase furiously. Who or what she's sketching this time? I'm sure I'll get my usual answer— _"I have no fuckin' clue."_

I sigh looking down at the mass amount of pictures I have of Prior—each one unique in its own right based solely on the type of camera I use. I move one picture that has a distinct shadow to it, next to the one that doesn't—

"Why are these all of Tris?" Tori asks over my shoulder as I jump out of my skin.

I turn, not having seen her in weeks, and I just about lose whatever is in my stomach. She's pale and looks like she had died twice in the last day. I've never been one to suggest make-up, or jewelry or anything to spice up your look (Aside from Tris, but only so she doesn't get mistaken for a twelve-year-old tween from the burbs.), but Tori could use some concealer and maybe a necklace or—

"Stop staring, Lynn. I know what I look like." She shrugs moving my Prior pics around. "So, why are these all of Tris?"

"'Cause Lynn's fuckin' weird," Tris mumbles without even giving Tori a second glance.

"Ignore the unimaginative dumbass in the room, please. I wanted to showcase my skills with antique cameras. Sofi suggested I use the same subject each time as to be judged on my skillzzzz…rather than my subject. Isn't she smart?" I ask of the beautiful blond who seems to love me…lots.

"Seems logical."

"But…to my misfortune, Prior photographs shockingly well." I roll my eyes, remembering Sofi and Tris daring me to say something nice about how Tris looked in one of the pictures. The only thing I could come up with was, _"You have good bone structure."_

"Yeah," Tori remarks holding one up closer. "She has that face. Wow, Lynn. They're all so…different—"

"Can you see the exposure on that one?" I ask, excited that someone's interested. "It's greenish. Just wish I could have nixed the lady in the background. I used my Nikon FM—"

"Tris, why did you agree to this?" Tori interrupts before I can explain anything truly interesting.

"Welp…" She smacks her pencil on the pad and stares at the ceiling, her face still visible to us in the mirror behind the bar. "I can't get the estate sale people out to my parent's house until April, which means, I can't close on the property until May. Therefore, my last-ditch effort before I bust into my savings is to be camera-ready for a shitty ½ off on rent. Thank you, Lynn." She pulls at her hair loosening it up, but not yanking it out like she usually does.

Her parents' digs... I actually feel bad for Tris. Never had I seen her more shaken up than when she answered a call on speaker in Tori's office, not knowing that the call was from her ex-piece-of-dog-vomit's father, Joseph someone-or-other, practically begging her to sell him the property to "keep it in the community." I remember her not even being able to answer him—just hanging up and walking out of the office. It wasn't shocking when she accepted the very next offer she got, even though she's pretty sure they're going to turn it into a Walmart.

"They're all candids?"

"I like to call them candidish. Ya see, she was exceptionally depressed, and I really needed to catch that look—au-naturel style. She was too weak to fight me on it—"

"I'm…right…here…Lynn!"

"I know."

"Tori, I basically just try to look like a bitch as much as possible, but Lynn catches me at shockingly good moments," Prior says, still without turning around.

"Wait, au naturel? As in…naked?" Tori asks, a completely ludicrous question at that, as she takes a closer look at ones that may have been questionable.

"As in…hell no?" I respond taken aback, pushing aside Prior's snickers. "As in…no make-up. Sans face-wear!"

"Tisk, tisk, tisk… Tell the truth, Lynn," Tris sing-songs…badly. "You just didn't want to be tempted."

I put my hand up as if to block out her existence. "Please. Not really into non-gays, lady. But, hey! Sof thinks you're hot. Can you dig it?" I ask waggling my eyebrows. "Brown chicken, brown cow?"

"With Sofi?" she shrugs. "I'd consider."

"She crushes on my lady," I state proudly to Tori who does nothing but quirk a barely-there eyebrow at me.

"That I do," Tris adds with an approving head nod.

"Tris," Tori whispers to herself, running a finger over one of the stills—the one Sofi took with her damned cell phone! And, of course, Tris posed for the picture because Sofi was taking it.

I purse my lips, trying not to be pissy because I do understand. In that picture, Tris looks better than she has in months. She looks the most like Prior in that picture. Ya know, when she's in a good mood.

Tori suddenly clears her throat. "Tris, some of these are…really beautiful—"

"Tris?! Fuck her! Me! Lynn! I took them!" I point to myself emphatically. "The begrudging subject does not get the credit!"

"Jesus, Lynn." Tris puts her pencil down and finally turns around while I move in front of the pics protectively. "No one is taking away your moment. What the hell are you doing with these, anyway? What's with the categorizing?" She walks over, still not looking at Tori.

"I'm categorizing, Captain Obvious." I turn to the side and scootch myself so she won't get closer.

"Don't be a twat. Why are you… Why does that say 'Submissions?!'" She grabs for the folder Ling gave me for my gallery photos.

"Because—Give it to me!—It says 'Submissions!'" I rip the folder out of her hand.

"Lynn," she growls. "Don't be a twit and tell me—"

"I thought I was a twat—"

"You're both!"

"Now that's talent," I joke, trying to change the subject, holding the folder away.

Her shoulders fall and she turns retreating slowly back to her lame-o sketches. I giggle triumphantly and turn to see Tori slip the picture Sofi took into her coat pocket. She makes don't-fuck-with-me-about-this eyes, so all I do is nod—"Ow!" I'm suddenly on my ass, my tailbone on fire from being ripped backward and tossed like a ragdoll. I scramble up as Tris scans over my piles, picking up the folder and running across the room with it. By the time I make it to her, her eyes have gone crazy-wide.

"Oh, hell no! None of these are going to a gallery!"

"Oh, hell, yes. Now go back to your mindlessness!" I point to her proper sketchy place at the bar. But not before I see her eyes flick to my unguarded pictures on the table, and she makes a break for it.

"Mmmmmgggghhhhh!" I hip check her…hard, knocking her over as she tries to grab my pictures. I carefully pick up as many as I can, but—"Stop it!" I screech as she tries to pull them out of my hands. "These aren't…digital!"

"No, YOU fucking stop it!" She moves so she's facing away from me, grabbing at more.

"They're mine!"

"They're of…me!"

"I don't care if they're of Kim Jong Un at a...Pimps n' Hoes party! Mmmmm!... I took them!"

"Well they're...not! They're of…me!"

She backs away with a handful of shots and so do I. But all our struggle has left a good amount strewn across the floor. We both seem to realize it at the same time as we slide to the floor grasping for what we can reach, me being much more careful than her and I'm seriously trying not to cry at the way she's handling them.

"Prior, please?" I find myself almost whimpering…piteously…pitifully…pathetically.

"Were you ever going to tell me about this?" She sits back on her heels. "Be…honest."

"I'm never…not honest."

"But you're a professional at skirting around the truth."

"I am not a professional skirter. I'm just really good at it."

"Screw your semantics and tell me…the whole truth. Please." It's a cross between ordering and begging. But I'm going with begging. Definite beggage.

"Look," I sigh. "I was in Pilsen—"

"Please tell us you were _not_ expecting to be picked up by a starving artist scout," Tori droles from where she was enjoying the show, sitting at the picture table.

"No. I wasn't expecting it. It just happened! I was with Sofi. I was introducing her to legit tacos," I explain, moving past this scenario and picking up my pictures gingerly blowing the dust off them—

"Lynn!"

"What?!"

"Continue!"

I roll my eyes, not understanding why I even need to explain my damned self! "I was showing Sof my newest shots with my Autorange 220, and some chick grabbed one off the table—this one, in fact!" I hold up a pic of Tris in the wine cellar downstairs. Only her mouth is showing at the top—it's basically a torso shot, but her form is in perfect focus. "See this?! Look at the contrast! See how I did that? That's really hard to do with a 1930s camera! She said I was…really good, okay?" I tell her in a tone that feels terrible coming out of my mouth. "Along with a lot of other technical mumbo jumbo that I didn't understand—"

"I don't care! You can't give her pictures…of me!" she yells like a stubborn mule.

"Listen to me, you horse's ass, the ones she saw of _you_ are the ones she _liked_. I didn't expect a virgin voyage of Mexican cuisine with my girlfriend to turn into…mmmm…mmmm…." I look around the bar, trying to figure out my closest escape route—

"What did it turn into?!"

I clear my throat and sit up straighter upon Prior's interpretation of a cracked-out screech owl. I will not allow the rug to be pulled out from under me. "If she likes them—her name is Ling, by the way—and if her partner does too…they have a gallery—"

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no—"

"Prior! Prior! Look, it's small. It's in Pilsen, Tris! You'll never see it and no one cares who you are!" I grit out. "I don't think they are interested in your face, per se. We honestly didn't talk much about the subject. It was more about my technique and my cameras."

"Why did I ever agree to this?" she moans.

"Hmmm…stop going to the ER and you may just be able to pay off your bills!"

"What happened now?" Tori asks, yawning.

Lord, she looks like she may pass out. I should move closer…just in case she keels over.

"I'm fine, Lynn, quit the not-at-all subtle scootching. Tris? Why the doctor's appointments?"

"It wasn't a big deal—"

"Yes, it was."

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I hear some serious moaning from Prior's closet. "Oh, man…," I comment in a groggy voice to Sofi. "Whatever she's dreaming about…it must be somethin' special."_

 _"Sweet dreams are a blessing for her."_

 _"Yeah, I s'pose…" I remark dozing again while Sofi rubs her toes on mine to warm them._

 _"This apartment is freezing."_

 _"I know," I sigh. "I'm sorry. You know we can stay at your place whenever you want. Just say the word." I roll toward her, moving a pale strand of hair away from her face._

 _She purses her lips and gets this adorable crinkle between her eyebrows. "Don't you worry about Tris? Her drinking and…I don't know. It's none of my business, but I think she's sleeping so heavily because she's taking prescription—"_

 _"So do I," I interrupt calmly._

 _"Yes, but not with alcohol…ever," she corrects, knowing my aversion to prescription cocktails. "And she's running herself into the ground. You should be here, and I want to be with you. So…we'll just have to cuddle more." She rolls onto her side and backs toward me fitting our bodies together._

 _I smile and kiss the back of her neck. "I love you."_

 _"I love you, too—"_

 _Suddenly, excessive coughing and what I can only describe as a horse dying, resounds from the broom closet. Sofi and I both jump out of bed in a panic, arriving at Tris's bedside to see her curled up in a ball. She's in her workout clothes, shoes still on, bag thrown on the floor, as if she'd passed out right after working out. I put my hand on her forehead and it's freezing and just…gross and clammy._

 _"Tris," I shake her shoulder which must cause her some kind of pain because she shrieks. "Shit, um…"_

 _"Tris, are you hurt?" Sofi asks crouching down next to her head where Prior is definitely awake, but…not with us, if that makes sense._

 _"…happened again. I can't… I can't do it. Why does…he…?"_

 _"Tris? Who?" I move closer to Sofi and yank at Tris's eyelid._

 _"Madelynn!"_

 _"What? I'm trying to wake her!"_

 _"Did he…? It hurts. It hurts…again," she groans grabbing her side. "It's all…back—"_

 _"Shhh, Tris. No, he's gone, he's gone," I say in her ear quite clearly._

 _"Who?" Sofi whispers._

 _"Okay, I'm going to grab her hands, you're going to lift the right side of her shirt," I order, quickly gripping Tris's wrists where she is protectively guarding herself, and pulling them up._

 _Tris shakes her head and curls up more trying to pull her arms back in. "Sofi! Now! Just do it!"_

 _"I, okay, okay!"_

 _I glance down to where Sofi has softly moved Prior's shirt—all I see is a large, swollen, tumor-like red and purple swell. "Stay with her. I'll call Rodrigo."_

* * *

"She woke up, couldn't move, could barely breath, hyperventilating and whatever else was going through her mind. Rodrigo didn't even know what to do!"

"Who the hell is Rodrigo?" Tori asks.

"The neighborhood medic. He's the custodian at the clinic, so he picks up on a lot. But seeing as Tris is snobalicious, she only wanted to see some nurse Evie—"

"Evey," Tris corrects, seeming to stare off at nothing.

"So, we got to drive all the way to Advocate! And let me tell you, getting her into Santi's low-rider was no piece of cake. Strapping her on top of the car would have been easier," I say sarcastically, but Tori doesn't seem to think it's very funny. "So turns out Miss Tris over-exerted herself with…hmmmm…obsessive working out, dance classes, Krav Ma-fuckin-ga—seriously, who the hell even does that?!—and basically just being non-stop and not giving a shit about her health. And then, to top it off, she tore the musculature, right here in the old rib-eye that hadn't healed properly yet."

"Thank you for that very curt, emotionless, shitty-as-shitty-can-be description, Lynn." Tris stares at me, knowing I just outed her to get back at her.

The truth is, she scared the shit out of me that morning and I know there was more going on there than the physical pain. I avert my eyes, unable to apologize. "Look, I have an idea. What if I brought along a few of _your_ pieces—"

"No."

"Why? You have an entire storage unit…full of them! They may LOVE them—"

"No, they won't. Trust me—"

"Please don't do this to me!" I plead.

What I want to say is— _"I'm fucking sick of working at this bar! This is my chance to…NOT…have to work in a bar for my whole life!"_ But, with Tori present, it may not be the best thing. "I, I, I'm sick of you rejecting…everything!" I state dramatically, knowing guilt will be the best way to get to Tris.

"God, Lynn." She hangs her head in annoyance. "What exactly have I rejected?"

"My sister." I shrug like a snot, knowing that's a particularly sore subject for her.

"Can you pleeeeeaaase stop shoving that in my face! You know how much I hate…that!"

"Just sayin', she's down two attendees because of yoooouuuuu—"

"I tried to make that right with her! I… I'll take responsibility for me, but _he_ fucking up and left! Didn't even give a shit enough about…" She pauses and softens her tone. "… _any_ one. Couldn't even…say good-bye."

A quick twinge of guilt starts to take over upon hearing her say those words, especially because I'm, like, 101% sure they're untrue. I see the pain on her face. The good news is that it has faded a bit—it doesn't come out as often. But I can still tell that it hurts.

"Ahem, well, what about…Christmas with my family? I felt quite rejected!"

"Are you serious? After the array of shit you pulled at Thanksgiving? No…fucking…way. I am done with the Meyer-Pedrad mix."

* * *

 **Flashback**

 _"Hey." Tris pulls on my arm, or more like jiggles it, before we go into my parent's house. "Thank you for inviting me."_

 _"Egh." I shake off her hand. "I wasn't going to let you stay home by yourself. Plus, then I'd feel guilty about it for days, and I don't have time for guilt." I think of the many, many photos I still need to develop. I'm really nervous that my 'black room,' a.k.a a storage closet at Hangars, is good enough._

 _"Well, Thanksgiving was, like, THE big holiday with my parents. Ya know, being grateful for everything and all. And Caleb still won't see me, so—"_

 _"Can we please go in?" I ask, really wanting to get out of the freezing weather and get this holiday over with…also to stop her from babbling._

 _She nods and I brace myself for what's about to happen. I open the door and take a quick glance to the right. Yep, there they are. I hear nothing behind me, no movement, nothing. And the same goes for the small crowd gathered in the stupid formal sitting room that my mother reserves only for holidays and entertaining—Zeke, Uriah, Shauna…I look around for Marlene—no sign of her. Damn! She was going to be a great buffer. Tris continues past me toward what she's assuming is the kitchen, purposefully knocking me in the shoulder, causing me to grunt…loudly._

 _"Happy Thanksgiving to you guys too," I say in my snarkiest tone as I follow Tris, not even waiting for a response. I scoot around the corner to follow her and feel a casserole dish shoved at me._

 _"You…are the worst!" she growls as I just about drop the Pyrex on the floor. "So much for Shauna going to the Pedrad's! And Zeke?! Really? What am I supposed to say to—"_

 _"They did go to the Pedrad's…for brunch." I shrug. "I never said they WEREN'T coming here—"_

 _"Give me that!" She rips the casserole out of my hands. "Now introduce me to your FUCKING FAMILY—"_

 _"Tris, hey," Uriah whispers giving her a hug from behind, which she returns with an awkward backward head knock while still glaring at me. "Ow. Happy Turkey Day."_

 _"Yep."_

 _"I didn't know you were coming."_

 _"Well, Lynn likes to lie by omission—"_

 _"What, just because Uriah never asked me if you were coming? That makes me a liar? Uri…" I direct my attention to him. "…next time I'll call first."_

 _"Is Marlene here?" Tris asks hopefully as she peeks around the corner._

 _"She's having dinner at her aunt's. But she would have definitely been here if she knew she had back-up. Mom's on a roll these days," he chuckles._

 _"Hana's here?" Tris breathes out, smiling a little._

 _I give her the awkward side-eye. Apparently, she's never met Hana. Her boys worship her as if she's the sun goddess, but truth-be-told, she's a huge crabby bitch. We have absolutely nothing in common._

 _"Oooooohhhhh, yeah." He slings his arm over her shoulder. "Be happy you're not a girlfriend anymore! Makin' lemons, right?"_

 _"Lemonade," Tris and I both correct as Uriah tries reflect, having no idea where he went wrong._

 _"Enter, Prior," I gesture, prodding her around the corner toward my Mom's way-too-big kitchen._

 _The granite countertops, chocolate brown cabinets, and a back splash of the perfect complementary colors of beige and timber being every suburban mother's dream. The grout color is a perfect shade of taupe—however, that's not the real color. You see, she wasn't happy with the shade the contractor used, so she painted over the grout to make it just a tad lighter as to not contrast too much with the tile. So now all people see is a beautifully put together tile back splash, one unit of perfection. Unless you look really close…_

 _"Hey, everyone, this is Tris Prior," I announce as my mom turns around, wiping her hands on her apron. "Tris, this is my Uncle Leonard and Aunt Renske, my Aunt Jasmine, and my cousin, Jenniversary," I announce over my shoulder as I make a bee-line for the booze._

 _"Hi," Tris waves meekly as everyone erupts in a predictable chorus of 'Hey's,' 'Nice to meet you's,' 'Happy Thanksgivings,' and a "Petty met your tanoggin" or however you say 'Nice to meet you' in Dutch._

 _"She's already breakin' out the Dutch?" I ask Jen quietly because I need to know what I'm in for._

 _"Proost," she says flatly, quirking an annoyed eyebrow at me._

 _Aunt Renske tends to get schnackered at holidays. Her no-nonsense attitude—a mix of informality combined with adherence to basic behavior goes right out the window and she turns full-fledge American sassy-pants with a side of cruditude and sexual exploitation._

 _"Oh, well… Um, hello," my mom begins all frazzled and weird as everyone seems to get back to their conversations. "I wasn't expecting…a guest. Introduce us to your…friend," she says nervously rushing over to Tris._

 _"Mom, I just did," I retort, grabbing two wine glasses and filling each generously with whatever is red and in front of me._

 _"Well, I was…just…surprised…and I missed it."_

 _"Tris Prior, this is my mom, Cheryl," I introduce, noticing my mom's perfectly rouged face is turning three shades of red._

 _"It's nice to meet you, um, Tris. We've heard…a lot…about you—"_

 _"Um…no ya haven't," I interrupt taking a huge gulp of Tris's wine as she hands my mom her cornish casseroley stuff._

 _"Nice to meet you too. Did Lynn not tell you…I was coming?"_

 _"No, no…I would have…remembered that," Mom answers a little rudely, as Tris turns and flicks me in the forehead, mouthing 'Fuck you!'_

 _"Ow! Mom likes to hide my extended family from the public. I didn't think she'd let you…come," I whisper roughly in her ear, shoving the wine in her hand._

 _"Thank you for the…" Mom pauses as she peeks under the aluminum foil with a nasty look on her face. "I'm sorry, what exactly is this?"_

 _I rush back over to Jen as she takes a large under-aged drink of Aunt Renske's cocktail that she lay neglected for thirty seconds on the counter. "What's my Mom's problem?" I whisper._

 _"I think she's in shock that you brought your 'special friend' to Thanksgiving," she remarks using air quotes as I about barf my wine up._

 _"Oh, I'm sorry. Should I not have brought…? Well, it's my mom's corn soufflé recipe. She…um…loved Thanksgiving so—"_

 _"Tris isn't my girlfriend, Cheryl!" I yell._

 _"And let the games begin!" Uncle Leonard chimes in._

 _"Holy shit, no!" Tris adds as the entire room stifles a laugh. "I mean, Holy…um…heck—"_

 _"Pretty sure you meant 'Holy Shit,'" Aunt Jasmine adds holding up her wine glass in cheers. Aunt Jazzy is the ultimate feminist—swears like a truck driver, dances likes a stripper and apologizes to no one. She wears the bras that she has burned just to prove that she did it._

 _"My girlfriend, Sooooofiiiiii…is at her aunt's house, not celebrating 'zee hideous American holiday zat is Thanksgiving,'" I imitate, channeling Gertie even though Tris is the only one who understands. She flicks me off, instead of laughing._

 _"Why? What the hell's wrong with Thanksgiving?" Uncle Leonard asks._

 _"Nothing. She's just French and her Aunt would threaten to stuff her eyeballs with escargot if she tried to celebrate it."_

 _"Ooooorrrr…could it be, Len, that we're celebrating the pre-cursor to the genocide of the Native American population, you asshat?"_

 _"Mom, get off your high horse! You're Canadian. You're, literally, VOLUNTEERING to celebrate Thanksgiving," Jen fires off totally calling her mom out._

 _"Jenniversary Gloria Steinam Meyer!" Aunt Jazzy roars…yep, like a lion…to Jen. "I have marched on behalf of the Native Americans more times than you've smoked a joint, young lady! Now, I brought you into this world—I can—"_

 _"Yeah, yeah…please take me out of it," Jen droles. "Or, at least, let me smoke more of your weed—"_

 _"Wait…I'm sorry, what was your name?" Tris asks Jen as I stifle a laugh. I can't wait for this one…_

 _"Jenniversary," Zeke sighs shaking his head, clapping Tris on the shoulder as she jumps about ten feet in the air. "And the best part is, she's white." He laughs jokingly raising his beer to Aunt Jazz as she returns the gesture._

 _"Ezequiel," Mom says softly covering her heart dramatically. "We're colorblind in this family—"_

 _A throat-clearing noise resonates from next to the fridge. My dad. "Smells wonderful, Cheryl," he interrupts before she can continue with her token suburban-white-woman-trying-to-posture-as-being-non-racist-by-denouncing-color speech, which in and of itself is fucking racist._

 _I instantly stand up straighter, ignoring the prying side-look judgey eyes of Tris. I love my dad. He's dressed like a…well, exactly what he is—a college English professor—slacks, collared shirt and cardigan, geeky glasses that he pulls off as handsome rather than hipster and greying hair that stands in stark contrast to the dark hues of his natural color. He immediately spots me and smiles kindly as I wave back. I won't lie—I'm his favorite._

 _"Thank you, honey," Mom responds patting his hand while he rubs her shoulders._

 _"Now, in vague terms, I'm no anthropologist and there is some debate here, but from what I can see, there are three races in this room—white, black, and Texas."_

 _"Damn straight," Uncle Len, who's technically my Mom's cousin, downs his glass of Firestone and Robertson (He brings his own bottle, but never shares.), thrusting it blindly to a begrudging Jen to fill up while everyone else laughs at my dad's dryer than dry humor._

 _"In addition to that, we have several nationalities. But we'll stick with American, Canadian, and Dutch, although we could go deeper if we wanted— Zeke, Uriah—"_

 _"WHAT?!" Uriah yells in response from the living room, where he's being an asshole and watching football._

 _"Your father was Haitian, correct?" Dad continues addressing Zeke._

 _"100%." The deep commanding voice of Hana comes from the back corner as Tris whips her head around, smacking me in the face with her hair._

 _"My nationality…got me into this family. Right, Len?" Aunt Renske asks, caressing his face._

 _"The second I saw your face on that screen, I knew I wanted to get in your Nether Lands," Uncle Len remarks taking a handful of her ass as she squeals._

 _"Oooh…my…Gooooddd…" Tris mumbles._

 _"It's even worse than you think." Zeke leans in to Tris. " ."_

 _I get hit by Tris's hair again, her wide eyes begging me for confirmation. "It is what you think it is," I mutter, watching Aunt Renske eye fuck my redneck uncle._

 _"Who knew you could get both love-at-first-sight and a 20-year marriage in the mail?" Shauna comments coming up behind Zeke and smiling at Tris._

 _"….. ….. ….. two distinct types of…ahem…sexual orientation," Dad continues, trying to recapture my attention._

 _I clear my throat and raise my glass toward Tris. "Three. Prior's into Sofi," I remark, trying to include Tris in the weirdness of my family, and embarrass my mom at the same time. And by the way Mom's eyes widen slightly, it worked._

 _"Good for you, sweetheart," Aunt Jasmine adds, cheering Tris on before Prior can even denounce my comment._

 _"Verdict is still out on Uri," Zeke adds._

 _"Stop talking about me when I'm out here!…I can't hear…SHIT—"_

 _"Uriah Amadeus Pedrad, watch your filthy mouth!" Hana orders, still from where she's sitting in the corner._

 _"His middle name is Amadeus?" Tris asks Zeke, trying not to laugh._

 _"Yeah, uh…pretty bad, huh?"_

 _"Fucking terrible," I add as Shauna laughs, burying her face in Zeke's back. "What's so funny?"_

 _"Well, I'm pan sexual!" Jen announces, like the high school rebel she thinks she is, while making eye contact with me. "Don't throw your daggers at me, Madelynn. Just because I one-upped you," she jokes, even though, it's not funny…at all._

 _"Oh, honey… I'm so proud of you. That was…very, very, brave of you to say…" Aunt Jazz wraps her arms around her daughter in a pacifying embrace, much to the horror of Susie Homemaker who probably doesn't even know what pan sexual—_

 _"What the…?! What in Sam Hell is a damned pan sexual?!"_

 _"All I know izat I…wanna get in…to your pannnnnnts…sexually," Aunt Renske slurs, which is hilarious considering her Dutch accent that gets stronger the more she drinks._

 _"I love this family," Zeke chides, putting his arms around me and Shauna, ignoring the chastising looks of my mother._

 _"Crazy ass white folk," Hana mumbles behind me, unapologetically._

 _"My point exactly," Dad continues. "Thank you for bringing this full circle, Hana. We are not, by any means, a color-blind family. We are all very aware of the beauty of our differing colors. Can we all agree?"_

 _The follow up "Here, here!" "Proost!" "Halle-fuckin-lejah!" and "Lord, help us," ring true…the look on Mom's face in response to my Dad putting her in her place, thrills me._

 _"Happy Thanksgiving, Madelynn," Dad mouths to me._

 _"Thanks, Dad," I return._

 _"I feel bad for your mom," Tris says in my ear._

 _"What?"_

 _"She's just…ignorant. At least, she was trying. I come from a town where people pat themselves on the back for being ignoramuses—"_

 _"Don't talk to me about this," I snap, putting my hand in her face, which she smacks away._

 _"Yep. Keep that shit in, Lynn. Well done," the hoe bag mutters loud enough for me to hear._

 _Does she even remember, for one second, the situation my mother put me in? The one that still grates on me today? I can still hear the words. 'Madelynn, you don't want to disappoint your father, do you?' loud and clear every time I make eye contact with my mom! The unexplainable twinge deep in my belly? That feeling of loss over something I never had to begin with?!_

 _"I'm sorry, can I just ask one more question?" Prior announces, subsequently preventing me from back-handing her. "That doesn't answer the Jenniversary thing."_

 _"Well," Jen covers her mom's mouth before Aunt Jazz can tell the family Jen's very detailed conception story again. "When your mom is GAF, she names you after the day you were conceived, which happened to be my parents' anniversary."_

 _"What's GAF?" Tris whispers out the side of her mouth._

 _"Granola as fuck," I reply, using my best angsty high school teen voice._

 _Shauna buries her face in Zeke's back again, this time unsuccessfully hiding her laughter while he stands stoic shaking his head._

 _"Seriously, what is so God-damned funny, you two?!"_

 _"What about the Jen part?" Tris asks, for some reason enthralled with my cousin's ridiculous name._

 _For once in her life, Aunt Jasmine doesn't have anything to say, seeing as Prior has stumped her…and me…and the whole room. "I just liked it." She shrugs as everyone laughs at…well, I'm not sure who's expense._

 _"My parents are weird," Jen remarks walking toward us as the crowd starts to disperse._

 _"A little different," Tris agrees. "But your mom seems nice. Is your dad here?"_

 _"My dad's dead," Jen says flatly with legit anger as we all freeze._

 _"Oh," Tris breathes out, resting her hand on her heart. "I'm sorry—"_

 _"Just kidding. He's in the other room," Jen responds as she walks around the corner to join my Uncle Andy._

 _I've never seen Prior frozen on the spot, hands mid-air. They're usually flopping around and gesturing as if they belong to an Italian grandma. And, holy shit was that freakin' funny! I double over in painful laughter, as Tris smacks me on the back._

 _"That…was hilarious. Why did you not use the 'my-dad's-for-real-dead' card?!" I ask, in total disappointment._

 _She's still staring after Jen in shock. "I don't know… I'm losing my touch—"_

 _"Well, that was a little rude, don't you think? I'll make sure Jenniversary apologizes—"_

 _"No need, Mom. It was fuckin' funny," I respond, smiling as she purses her lips at my curse word._

 _"Well, Tris…" Mom rests her hand on Tris's shoulder. "I apologize for my family." Based on her pitiful smile and tilt of the head, 'family' is code for 'Lynn.'_

 _"Please, don't," Tris assures, sincerely. "It's a welcome change, trust me. So, can I help with anyth—"_

 _"Tris?" Zeke pulls on Tris's arm, yanking her into a bear hug before she can even be surprised._

 _"Such a teddy bear…" Mom tisks, patting Zeke on the back as she makes her way over to Hana with the bottle of riesling._

 _"Zeke, what are you doing?" Tris asks, her face muffled in Zeke's oddly-long-lasting hug._

 _"I miss you, SC!" He holds her back at arms-length to check her out as I try to figure out what the hell 'SC' means. "You look…different. Good different!" he approves. "Happy Thanksgiving."_

 _"She's wearing make-up. This is not her morning look," I comment, not wanting anyone to be deceived._

 _"Thank you, Lynn," she answers dryly as Zeke pulls her to the side._

 _Turning away, I take an unnecessarily large drink of my wine and lean back, trying to listen._

 _"Um…you haven't talked to Four, have you?"_

 _I can hear the nerves trying to jump ship from Zeke's vocal chords, and I feel momentarily bad for him._

 _"No," Tris answers with shocking calmness._

 _"Didn't think so. Just drawin' at straws, I guess."_

 _"Is he that hard to contact?" she asks with a hint of annoyance, probably sensing that the only reason Zeke is being nice to her is because he wants information.  
_

 _"It's not that I can't get a hold of him. It's that he doesn't want…to…see me, or hear from me…" he trails off as I nod my head to a sullen-looking Jen to bring me the bottle of red. "And trust me, he doesn't. And I don't blame him…at all."_

 _A lull in the conversation, gives Jen the perfect moment to fill up my glass to the rim and chug the rest on her own. "Stand here and say stupid shit that I don't care about," I whisper. "But not too loud."_

 _"What kind of stupid shit?"_

 _"High school shit—'Everything sucks. Your private Snappy chatty stuff is depressing. No one ever swipes right on Tinder.' Ya know, the usual—"_

 _"What happened?" Tris mumbles, in her I-want-to-know-but-don't-tell-me voice._

 _"I'm fifteen. I haven't even had sex, yet. Isn't Tinder—"_

 _"Shh, quieter," I whisper poking Jen in the arm._

 _"Well," Zeke replies in a lower decibel. "Some of it had to do with you, so…"_

 _"What…?" I say to myself._

 _"What, what?"_

 _"Shut-up, Jen."_

 _"He was feeling all sorry for himself, Tris. And…he, uh, or me, it was me…'cause I found it, I found the food. The freezer food in the freezer…" He leads Tris even further away, apparently sensing my eavesdropping._

 _"Damn it, Jenniversary. Why did you stop talking? Now they think I was listening to their conversation."_

 _"You were, stupid."_

 _I see Tris flailing her arms again, exasperated. So, I casually walk out to the formal bullshit area, stopping just after I turn the corner and flattening myself against the wall._

 _"What would he have to feel guilty about?" Tris asks the very valid question of why food in the freezer would make anyone feel bad._

 _"Because you did all that for him? Because he found out how much you really loved him? I don't know…" He shrugs as Tris's shoulders tense up and she starts to look all around her, wringing her hands._

 _"Jen," I grab my cousin blindly by the collar, seeing as she's lazing on the wall next to me. "Bring Tris that glass of wine on the counter."_

 _"Why—"_

 _"Just do it!"_

 _"I was just…sick of him being so mopey and morselful all the time—"_

 _"Here." Jen shoves the wine at Tris and I'm not sure I've ever seen a more grateful look on Prior's face._

 _"What the hell does he mean 'morselful'?" Jen asks, returning to her post at my side, the bottle of wine in tow._

 _"'Remorseful,' now shhh."_

 _"… … whole day," Zeke groans. "And, geez, I was just trying to take the focus off…my…shit. So, I pushed him. Ya know, with my words."_

 _I inch my body closer, my attention being captured even more._

 _"Is everything okay?" Tris asks, switching roles from agonizing participant to worried friend. And I really appreciate it—only because Zeke is my future brother-in-law and all._

 _"Yeah, I think it will be, just…Shauna's in…uncharted territory and I don't know how to…help her—"_

 _"Something's up with Shauna?" Tris interjects._

 _Zeke hesitates, and searches the room for Shauna. I look away mouthing nonsensical words to Jen by the time he makes his way to me._

 _"What…are you doing?" Jen asks, inches away from my face. She's wearing blue mascara. Weird._

 _"Be quiet," I mutter as I zone in on Shauna, sitting in the corner._

 _Uncharted territory? Hmmm… She barely came into the kitchen and she's usually a better helper to Mom. Hell, she didn't even say 'Happy Thanksgiving' to me! Or Tris! Ah, well. Whatever's going on, I guess it's between her and Zeke. Uncharted territory—could she be…pregnant? My cheeks start to burn at the thought, and the empty tug comes back. Right then I realize how much I truly suck—I wouldn't be happy for her, I'd resent her._

 _"I fucked up, Tris," Zeke whines, bringing my attention back to them. "I told him that his mom—"_

 _"Are you going to introduce me, Ezequiel?" asks the melodically deep voice of Hana. It could be quite soothing, were it not riddled with vitriol toward her intended target._

 _"Sorry, Mom," Zeke apologizes moving aside for Hana's petite form to join the suare. "Tris, this is my mom, Hana."_

 _Tris puts her hand out not-so-confidently-anymore toward Hana. "It's nice to meet you, Han—"_

 _"You can call me 'Mrs. Pedrad,'" Hana responds crossing her arms, unwilling to accept Tris's handshake._

 _I almost think Tris is going to do the whole bring-your-hand-full-circle-smoothing-hair-down move—trying to make shit look natural. But, she doesn't._

 _"What?!" Zeke looks at his mom like she's crazy. "You've never made anyone call you 'Mrs. Pedrad,'" he says using air quotes and laughing as if Hana is joking._

 _"I…know," she agrees still staring Tris down._

 _I crane my neck to see Tris with a wide-eyed expression, frozen in place. A mix of confusion and bleakness on her face. Yeesh. She looks like she's about to kowtow to Hana. Oh, please don't, Prior._

 _"Now Tris, can you give me an acceptable reason why Miss Shauna-Thinks-She-Runs-the-Show ejects my third son from my first born's wedding?"_

 _"Mom, I told you," Zeke begins placing a pacifying ridiculous hand on Hana's shoulder. But her are-you-seriously-touching-me-right-now look makes him pull his hand away as if he had burned it. "Ahem…that, uh, Four crossed a line and—"_

 _"I'm talking to…her."_

 _"Yes, ma'am."_

 _"Now…Tris," Hana starts slowly, her face full of mock patience, while Tris looks shockingly numb or…blank. "The specifics are unknown to me, seeing as my family doesn't seem to have enough respect to give me anything more than ignorance—"_

 _"Ma, that's' not true—"_

 _"Back away from your mother now," Hana whispers, holding a hand up inches away from Zeke's face, who had gone in for a hug. She somehow still keeps her stare trained on Tris, who is shockingly returning the blaze now. "But I have a damned good feeling you just may know why and that you just may be the cause of it."_

 _"I was the cause of it," Tris retorts not missing a beat. " I shared personal information about an argument that was between Tobias and me. It caused a rift and I'm sorry."_

 _Hana furrows her eyebrows, obviously not expecting Prior to just concede the point. She clears her throat, collecting herself. "Last I remember, he prefers to be called 'Four.'"_

 _Tris's non-response is actually a little surprising—a normal chick would say something cheesy like, "Well, I meant more to him than anyone else!" or "That's what happens when you truly loved someone. You open up your soul…and, tell them your name!" But, Prior just stands there and lets Hana do the math. Wow, not responding to a statement or question because there's no need? That's right out of Four's playbook._

 _"What…was said?" Hana inquires, moving past Tris's silence._

 _"If I tell you, I'd be making the same mistake twice."_

 _"Ooooooo…" I say under my breath. "Well done, Prior."_

 _"Hmm. Then you tell me why he up and moved. With no reason, no phone call… That boy hasn't missed a Thanksgiving in six years because he never had a decent one growing up! And he would never…unless hell froze over…miss my sweet potato pie—"_

 _"Ma, stop!" Zeke stands in front of his irrate mother. "That was not Tris's fault. It was mine—"_

 _"I'm talking…to her!"_

 _"Mrs. Pedrad!" Tris shrieks with shaking fists._

 _"Is she gonna punch her?" Jen whispers all up in my personal space._

 _"Stop listening! This is none of your business—"_

 _"'Cause you know Hana would punch her back. This could be good."_

 _I nod my head in agreement, Jen and I taking a simultaneous drink of wine._

 _"Jenniversary! Put that damned wine back! Can't you be a normal kid and, at least, try to sneak it?"_

 _"Sure!" she yells back to Aunt Jasmine. "When you turn into a normal mom and, at least, DON'T steal my pot!"_

 _I grab the bottle of wine and elbow Jenniversary, pushing her toward her mom, where the ethical conversation of the legality of marijuana is about to ensue. Tris's glare making it known that I've been exposed._

 _"Look," she returns her attention to Zeke. "Tobias didn't tell…anyone…his reasons for permanently moving. He gave…no one…that courtesy. But, I can guarantee you that it's not Zeke's fault. No matter what he tries to tell you." She pulls Zeke's arm off Hana, looking him straight on. "It's not."_

 _"Well, this corn soufflé smells…lovely!" Mom sweeps in grandly, making everyone in the very awkward circle jump. "Let's all sit, shall we? I'm just so glad to have a new guest today!"_

 _"Always the pacifying mother," I say snidely to myself while walking over to my mom. "Never an ounce of drama, right Mom?" I ask smiling in my warmest most sarcastic way, grabbing the bottle of riesling to fill her glass. The quick flash of something behind her hazel eyes makes me want to run from the room—regret. But, I keep my steely look until her glass is full, then I take a drink right out of the bottle for good measure._

 _"Madelynn, can—"_

 _"It's Lynn," I correct._

 _"Honey—"_

 _"Well, as it turns out…I'm a dutch," Aunt Renske slurs, tripping her way into the kitchen with uncle Leonard at her heels. "Jazz jus'…told me. Americans have defiled my…heritage…" she trails off doubling-over from laughter._

 _"Yeah, but, I'd smoke you over any stanky weed any day of the week!" Uncle Leonard adds humping her from behind like a bronco._

 _I turn to tell Prior to get to the end of the line before Aunt Renske starts flashing people, but she's gone. I walk to the bullshit room to see her yank Zeke into the guest bedroom and shut the door. And because I'm a total busy body and need to know what's going on at all times, I scramble up the stairs, lying flat on my stomach at the first landing. I turn the non-functional heat exchange grate that had been rendered useless after the front addition was put on the house. It's now nothing but an eavesdropping portal—a straight shot of whatever happenings are going on the guest bedroom…much to the delight of my and Shauna's childhood. Shauna and I had no questions for my parents when they gave us the sex talk._

 _"Zeke, just stop!" she interrupts whatever he's going on about. "Okay, this is the last thing I'm going to say about him, so savor this moment because I'm fucking done after this."_

 _He crosses him arms and kicks at nothing on the floor._

 _"Tobias leaving had…nothing…to do with anything you did. I can promise you that."_

 _"Tris, you didn't hear what I said to him—"_

 _"Shut up and listen to me." She mirrors his position in seeming preparation for...something. "Remember when you came into the bar to talk to me about him?"_

 _"Yes," he sighs, switching from looking at his toes to looking at her. "And I need to tell you something about—"_

 _"Stop talking! Jesus! You looked at me like I was nuts because I had the audacity to liken him to his father, remember?"_

 _"Lychans?" Zeke asks for clarification._

 _"What?" she whispers obviously at a loss. And so am I._

 _"Like…Undwerworld," he answers with his hands out in a how-the-fuck-don't-you-know-this manner._

 _"No, Zeke. Not like…Underworld," Tris answers slowly. "'Liken'…as in to say one thing is 'like' another."_

 _"Holy hell, Zeke," I mumble. Sometimes I wonder how the Pedrad brothers function in society. They aren't stupid, by any means. Maybe it's just a lack of paying attention to anything that doesn't hold their interest. Eh, maybe I'm giving them too much credit._

 _"Do you…remember…what I said...about Tobias and Marcus?" Tris continues, talking to Zeke as if he doesn't speak English._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"That he's a liar, he's calculating, he's two-faced and he's cunning?"_

 _"I've met Marcus, Tris. I know him better than you," he replies in a sarcastic voice._

 _"I'm not talking about Marcus," she answers with sass._

 _"Ooooohhhh…shit," I squeak as a look of near rage and defense cross Zeke's face. Is he going to throw her across the room?_

 _"He's NOT...like his father—"_

 _"Yes, he is!" she yells right back in his face, matching his growling. "And why do people keep telling him otherwise?! He's not a damned child who needs soothing. He can handle the truth."_

 _"What's going on?" I jump, looking the left to see Jen lying next to me with a glass of Len's whiskey._

 _"How long have you been here?"_

 _"Lychans," she informs._

 _"Go do high school things—pop Ocycodone and make a Musicly video," I whisper watching Zeke pace to regain his composure._

 _"Oxy's out. It's heroin now."_

 _"Are you…? Is that a fucking joke, Jenniversary?"_

 _"It's not a joke, but relax I don't like to smoke anything. Burns my throat," she shrugs taking a drink of Len's drink._

 _"Your worried about burning your throat, yet, you drink Texas whiskey? And since when did heroin become smokeable? Gimme that." I pull her drink away from her. "Shape up or ship out. You're fifteen. Now go be depressed and find solace on Tumblr!"_

 _"You're no fun," she huffs, hopping to her feet._

 _"And I'm telling your mother about this heroin business," I whisper after her. "Kids these days…SMH… Glad I missed the heroin train."_

 _"You can be those things and not be a horrible human," Tris starts again, trying to calm Zeke down. "Tobias lies to protect people—to keep them from knowing a truth that he interprets as hurtful—that makes him a LIAR. He's deliberate in his decisions and usually makes them to further his agenda which is rarely selfish—that makes him CALCULATING. He acts one way, but thinks another, particularly when he's ashamed of something—that makes him TWO-FACED. But there are certain people on a very short list who he would never lie to you. You're on that list. He's holding something back because he doesn't want to lie to you, Uriah, your mom, Shauna—everyone else he loves. He's…CUNNING…like that."_

 _"Wow, Prior," I mumble. Tris wears many hats. Perceptive Prior has reared its head._

 _"Do you think you're on that list?" Zeke asks sincerely._

 _"I know I'm not on that list," she answers with a shrug, wandering to the window most likely trying to hold back tears._

 _I bite my lips to fight back the guilt—the knowledge that Four cares a whole hell of a lot. The knowledge that something's up with him. The knowledge that Tris still cries in her sleep and I'm a terrible friend for not telling her about Gertie's—_

 _"So you think he's holding something back?" Zeke asks warily, as if he's testing her knowledge._

 _She sighs, shaking her head and laughing lightly. "I know you're testing me. 'How much does Tris know?' Am I right?"_

 _He shrugs his shoulders as if he'd been caught and doesn't want to admit it but needs to acknowledge it._

 _"Look, don't hide shit from me. I'm a grown woman, fully capable of dealing with…" She rolls her eyes. "… many things. Short version?"_

 _"Each and every time."_

 _"Tobias had tracked me down and wanted to tell me something, but he didn't know how to do it, thus he made a subsequent visit to the bathroom to find his English skills. I saw a text on his phone while he was dealing with his linguistic challenges—some chick named Clare saying she just left her husband and she's ready for round 2."_

 _"Oooooooohhhh," he moans running his hand down his face. "If I ever saw a text like that on Shauna's phone, I would lose my mind. But, may I just say that your 'short versions' are improving."_

 _"Well, at the time it gave me nothing but resolve—I was angry and I kind of fed off that anger. But, then Shauna told me about the girl from the gym, and I put two and two together. That's when it became real."_

 _"Ya know, a part of me didn't really believe he…did that. I mean, I know that was our speculation, but…you just sealed the deal, Tris."  
_

 _"There is something I'd like to ask you, though. I don't know if it'll clear anything up for me or not, or…maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment, but…"_

 _"What's up?"_

 _"How long was it going on for? Tobias and, um…Clare."_

 _"Well, I didn't know anything was going on even when they started training back in June. I mean, he didn't seem…like he was interested. At all. And, well, not to sound like a dick, but she's…older. Don't get me wrong, she's pretty and a decent bod…ya know, considering, but—"_

 _"I don't need a description."_

 _"Yeah, sorry…'bout that. So, it wasn't until the last few weeks before he left that…ya know, I…noticed…stuff. It still doesn't make sense though." He shakes his head, running his thumb over his jawline—Shauna says that's what he does when he thinks._

 _"Makes perfect sense to me."_

 _"Tris," Zeke sighs. "When you died…he watched and…I can't even explain his face—"_

 _"Zeke, stop. I know he loved me," she says calmly, with resignation. "I can accept that…now. I think a part of me hoped that this Clare chick—"_

 _"Lady."_

 _"Whatever. I hoped she was just a rebound, and that he used it as an excuse—an excuse to get over me, ya know? Don't worry, I talked myself off that pedestal real fast," she chuckles in self-deprecation as I take a huge gulp of Len's whiskey, hoping the burn in my throat will trump the burning guilt. "Anyway…" She wipes under her eyes and stands up straighter. "He pushes away those he's closest to when he's ashamed. He puts on a good show, but he buries himself in guilt. He's ashamed."_

 _"If you're right, what do you think he might be ashamed of?"_

 _"That's he's taking part in a situation that he had shunned."_

 _"Huh?"_

 _Tris wipes away the tears like they're causing her third-degree burns. "Tobias was training a married women in self-defense for free. So, considering his sensitivities toward women in abusive relationships, my power of deductive reasoning yells 'spousal abuse.'  
_

 _"Huh, I never really got a good look at her. And he was…um, what's the word?… Discreet."_

 _"I'm sure he was. Anyway, he once told me once that he thinks Carlos took advantage of Evelyn—he knew she was vulnerable and…willing. He felt that if Carlos were more of a man, he would have made sure Evelyn divorced Marcus first. My how the tables have turned."_

 _I exhale a frustrated breath—now I'm torn. Tris just made an excellent point. Now, do I make my conclusion based on concrete evidence? Or just stick with the look on a man's face? I really hope concrete evidence wins…that would be great for me!_

 _Zeke rests his hand on Tris's shoulder, but she shrugs it off and heads for the door._

 _"Tris, I know I'm a thick-headed son of a bitch," he starts, making her stop with her hand on the door knob. "But…I really did already know those things about him—how he's cunning and a liar and whatever other words you used. But, I never really thought of them as good. You have a knack for putting a different spin on things—bringin' the positive out of the negative. I can see why he changed."_

 _"Well…footprints and all that," she says smiling sarcastically._

 _"Eghhh…she got that on Pinterest," I whisper in regards to that stupid meme._

 _"What about footpri—"_

 _"I'm done now," she states flatly and very, very, very intently. "Okay?"_

 _"Yeah, okay."_

 _I roll onto my back as they exit the room, reflecting on everyone's perceptions. And In a shocking turn of events, I find myself feeling bad for almost everyone in this situation._

* * *

"Did you hear a damned word I just said?"

"Ummm…no," I answer honestly. "I was reliving the Thanksgiving from hell."

"So, you obviously remember ME being rejected the whole night by Hana—or excuse me 'Mrs. Pedrad,'" she snipes with her best Hana voice. "Side looks all night while I sat there like an uninvited stranger—seeing as I truly was…uninvited—who ruined everyone's holiday. She wouldn't even pass me the mashed potatoes! How can you count my not wanting to relive the horror as a rejection?!"

I think back to how Hana would interrupt almost every conversation one of her "boys" would try to have with Tris until it got to the point where they just stopped trying (Yes, the Pedrad boys stopped trying to talk. Pussies), making Tris into a virtual outsider seeing as the rest of my insane family was otherwise occupied in their own journeys to Looneyville.

"First of all, don't take credit where it's not due. Uncle Leonard mooning the camera and knocking over Mom's Tiffany lamp, ruined the holiday—"

"And why does your mom paint her damned grout? It was setting me on edge! I couldn't stop staring at it!"

"You noticed that?" Huh. My mom's backsplash has always been my perfect analogy. Maybe more people see through her than I thought. "Oh, man! I can't wait to tell her!"

"So what else am I rejecting Lynn? 'Cause so far, your status of rejections are an epic fail."

"Sarita's tostones!" I blurt out. "You won't even try them! And it's rude!"

"They're made of plantains! Are they bananas? Are they potatoes? No one knows! They freak me out!"

"Well…then, Christina. You reject her calls all the time! Not that I blame you."

"I don't have much to talk about with her right now. And you can't possibly tell me that bothers you."

"I actually think it's pretty savage," I respond dryly, as Tris grins at the dumbest word ever.

"Well, so far your rejection thing is total shit."

"Okay, fine. You win." I shrug, this argument making me nauseous just based in the way she's gripping my pictures.

"What?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "I'm conceding this argument. May I please have my pictures back?" I ask in my nicest possible voice.

"So, you're not going to use them?" she confirms.

"I will not be using them."

"Thank you." She hands the pictures back and I cradle them to me as if a piece of my soul has been returned.

"But I can't guarantee that the gallery…won't," I remark, snickering.

"You…are a bitch…from hell—"

"Whoa, uh…" The accent that most straight women swoon over announces itself loud and clear—frankly all I hear are a bunch of marbles and 'y' sounds. "Is this not a good time?" Tre asks with his hands up in the stop position.

What the hell is he doing here? Oh, poor Tre… He's a pretty cool guy. Felt bad that he was just a filler for her—in every way possible. She kicked his can to the curb months ago. Guess the guy can't take a hint. Women are so much better at reading people. Sad.

"Oh, hey. I…hey," Tris responds scrambling up and almost going ass over tea kettle, smoothing her hair down once she composes herself. _What…the…heeeeeeelllll?_

"You said I could…come by?" he starts as if he's trying to jog her memory. "We could chat? Just…chat, this time," he adds smiling wryly.

"Oh, yeah. Um, sure," she stutters, looking like her face may explode like Mount St. Helens.

He laughs, apparently thinking she's adorable rather than entirely awkward. Why do guys always seem to think her weirdness is endearing? That was one good thing about Four, he never made her out to be something she wasn't. I remember the time she was telling him he just needs to, _"Fucking leave if you're going to be a caveman!"_ He leaned over the bar, lightly grabbed her shoulders and said, _"We'll talk later about why you're being awful. But for now, can you pretend you're a pleasant person?"_ And her follow-up response of a kiss along with, _"I don't like pretending,"_ actually made me laugh.

"Wow, Tris. These pictures are…" He looks over all the pictures as I attempt to lay them out in the order I deem appropriate. "…all of _you_."

"Very good," I deadpan.

"Good evening to you too, Lynn."

"It'll be a good evening when everyone stops _touching_ my pictures—"

"You look… _incredibly_ …gorgeous in this one," he remarks holding up a picture. "When was this taken?"

"Ha, oh, um…Halloween. I was a flapper…" she trails off, not knowing how to take a damned compliment.

"Yep. That was from my Minolta SR—"

"And this one," he continues, ignoring me. "I mean, they're all good, of course, but…"

He keeps rummaging, moving around his favorites and passing over…others. Finally, unable to handle anymore manhandling of my photos, I nudge him to the side, suddenly noticing which pictures are his favorites.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I sit on the counter, kicking the five-gallon bucket that Gertie keeps her rock salt in, both because I like the noise and also because it drives her crazy._

 _"ARRETEZ, MADELYNN!" she shouts from the front where she's berating a customer._

 _I laugh to myself in wonder of how she multi-tasks being awful to one person and then awful to another simultaneously. That takes effort. Gotta hand it to her—she's impressive. I've been coming by Gertie's more and more at the insistence of Sofi who says all her aunt really craves is company. To some extent, I think Gertie is my spirit animal. She spews hatred to deflect what's really going on in her head._

 _I hop off the counter and refill my cup about half-way, pulling a small pod of half-and-half out of my pocket and dumping it in before she catches me and kicks me out. I take a good whiff of the brew and wander over to the TV, turning up the volume on the telenovela to drown out Gertie's "No!" and "Only people I like get my coffee!" I wait for an argumentative voice to pass through to the back, but all I hear is a deep pacifying mumble. So, I wander my way out to the front to observe the abuse._

 _"It's fine. I'm not here for coffee. I came to say hello to you."_

 _I freeze, the hot beverage I brought up to my mouth burning my lips. Four has that unmistakable voice—deep, even-toned, commanding but not demanding, and intelligent. Untiiiiiiilllll…you piss him off._

 _"Oh, so now you don't want my coffee?!"_

 _"Ghertrude, I would be insane not to want your coffee. May I have…a cup of coffee?"_

 _"No."_

 _I peek my head around the corner because I just can't help my damned self. Starting from the feet up, I'm pleasantly surprised. He's looking way more casual than normal—sneakers, jeans, a plaid shirt, (untucked, whoa!) and a plain brown jacket. He could definitely use a shave. And he looks pretty damned tired—_

 _"Madelynn, get off your fesses and grind me some beans!"_

 _I look across the room, willing the David Blain in me to come out, summoning the large burlap sack of Colombian goodness toward me so I don't have to make my presence known._

 _"Now, you little donkey! Or I'll ship Sofi off on the next Air France in a plastic-wrapped suitcase!"_

 _I take a deep breath and decide to buck up, walking out from the small back room. I cross toward the counter behind where Gertie has braced herself, sauntering like I don't give a shit. Four immediately freezes—cryogenic style. I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips in greeting, while plunging the scoop into the sack of beans and unceremoniously tossing them in the grinder, not at all caring that a good amount ends up on the floor. I can feel the shithead's eyes on me while I push down on the grinder._

 _"_ _Qu'est-ce que tu fais, crétin?!" Gertie yells. I've heard it a thousand times and still have no idea what it means, but it can't be good._

 _I hum to myself to drown her out, hoping she'll leave me alone and focus her attention on the resident asshole. I stop the grinder and dump out the contents into the press as she pushes me out of the way to take over. No one gets to use her coffee press…because she's ridiculous._

 _"Get two cups," Gertie says over her shoulder, interrupting my exit to the back room._

 _Not trying to hide my growl, I crouch down right next to her and take out the two cups that she was more than capable of fetching herself._

 _"You've evolved from Styrofoam," Four comments. "I've been telling you for years—"_

 _"Yes, well, your opinion mean nothing to me anymore! How does THAT make you feel?!"_

 _I choke back a laugh because I'm pretty sure Gertie wishes she could tie Four up in her basement, dress him in an original Hubert de Givenchy suit, and pump him full of formaldehyde just to keep him preserved so she could worship him like the little French pagan she is._

 _"Quite sad, in fact," he says sincerely rocking back and forth heels to toes and back again._

 _"Well," Gertie softens her tone as she pours the coffee. "I have three millennial hippies crawling up my ass who want to save the world. It's easier to get off-cyled cups—"_

 _"Up-cycled," Four and I both correct._

 _"Egh! Same, same!"_

 _"So, you've got some new company?" he asks casually, leaning on the counter, nodding in my direction. I assume he's trying to connect the dots._

 _"Oh, that? That's my Sofi's lesbian lover, so she's here by fault."_

 _"Default," I correct._

 _"No. You're Sofi's fault! And, of course," she purrs, turning her attention back to Four, "Ma Petite visits me…all the time. More than you ever did!"_

 _He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head. "I used to visit almost every day," he mumbles. "Does…she—"_

 _"Well, she wishes she could!" Gertie snarks as I narrow my eyes at Four, not missing for one second his fishing for information. "But she is busy and she lives in the hood! It's worse than a Colombian jungle out there. Her boyz-in-the hood probably have Pablo Escobar's number on speed dial!"_

 _"That would be difficult seeing as Pablo Escobar died 23 years ago," Four remarks with amusement._

 _"Internet rumor. I know these things!"_

 _"Why are you so damn understanding when it comes to Prior?" I ask, wanting to test a theory. "I come here almost every day. She's only good for every other day! And…Gertie was she here…yesterday?" I glance at Four to test his reaction and…as suspected—shifting weight, scratching of the head, looking toward the door, but then staring desperately waiting for Gertie's answer._

 _"Yes! You were here, idiot!"_

 _"Do you have to say 'idiot' with a French accent? It's an American word!" I slide Four his cup of coffee._

 _"No! It is FRENCH! The 'ot' is silent. And that's not for him!" She pulls the cup back spilling on her hands, although it goes completely unnoticed because of the mass amount of nerve damage already done from years of coffee scaldings. "It's for me. And this is for you," she offers it to me with complete fake gratitude and nothing but total spite towards Four. I decide not to take it from her because I don't play games. I back away, making quick eye contact with Four as he laughs under his breath and makes his exit._

 _"Just…wanted to say hello. Take care, ladies—"_

 _"Wait! Wait! Where are you going?! Don't you leave me again, monsieur!" She scurries after him, pulling him back in by the hem of his jacket. And based on his exhale of breath, I can't tell if he's relieved or frustrated. "What, you were only here to drink my coffee? Not for my company?"_

 _"No." He rests his hands on both of her shoulders, getting down to her level. "I came to check on you…and that's it."_

 _"You don't want my coffee?" she ask with a little French pout._

 _Oh, good grief…_

 _"I want your coffee," he assures with more patience than I would have expected out of him._

 _"Well, you can't have your cookies and eat them too!"_

 _"Cake," I add, ripping apart a blueberry scone and popping a piece in my mouth. Lord, these are a gift from the Gods…_

 _"Gertie, tell me what to do," he sighs._

 _"Sit down. I get you coffee."_

 _She bustles by me, putting more beans in the grinder because God forbid she serve Four a cup of five-minute-old coffee. I munch on my scone as he sits, or slumps, into a folding chair at the table. He keeps flitting his eyes to the door. It's either in expectation or dread of a possible Prior sighting. Suddenly his orbs land on the wall and I crane my neck to see what he's honing in on—Tris's North Beach pic. I'm suddenly pissed off. He doesn't get to be a flip-flopping bastard and then come in here and get all nostalgic!_

 _"You're staring," he comments, annoyed._

 _"I do that. So," I casually head toward him with my coffee in tow. "So you've been gone for what...like-"_

 _"A month and three days," he responds immediately. Do I detect a hint of redness on his face? The semi-beard doesn't help my watch-dog likes senses._

 _"Whatcha back in town for?"_

 _"Tying up loose ends," he grumbles._

 _"With work?" I inquire, hoping to get some sort of information out of him, seeing as his absence has affected my family. But that's the only reason._

 _"Yes," he laughs lightly, drumming his fingers on the table. "It is…work."_

 _"Does Zeke Know?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Uriah?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Hana—"_

 _"No one…knows." He stares at me as if he's trying to convey a message._

 _"Lemme guess—I'm supposed to keep it that way."_

 _"I'm not asking anything of anyone," he responds with emphasis on the 'any' words._

 _"Hmmph. So, how's La La Land?"_

 _"It's what you would expect it to be."_

 _"I have absolutely no expectations of Los Angeles."_

 _"Well, then your standards would be met."_

 _For a guy who was so damned motivated to up and move his entire life across the country at the blink of his blues, he sure is meh about the whole thing. This only makes me want to dig deeper. But not too deep because I don't care that much._

 _"Ya workin' hard?"_

 _"Mmm hmm."_

 _"Livin' downtown?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Oh, God, don't tell me you live in some weird neighborhood. Lord, not Venice. Nothing worse than a hipster with an over-appreciation for board shorts. That place is, like, where the flip flop goes to die." I shake my head. "Hmmm…you're not the board short type. Wait a minute…or could it be…Malibu? You do hail from Winnetka and the West Loop…so, gotta keep up with those appearances. I can see it now…" I put my hand in the air as if I'm looking into the future. "A quaint two-million-dollar ranch overlooking the Pacif."_

 _He stares at the table drawing circles with the pads of his index finger._

 _"Or…maybe not. Could it be…Santa Monica? Equally as pricey, super cute, semi-trendy but not too-uppity neighborhood. Yoga studios, vegan cafes galore! I bet there's a lot of Lulu Lemon goin' on. You always did have an appreciation for yoga pants."_

 _He takes the deepest breath ever and runs his hands through his hair, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. Geez, he's hanging his head like a dog. Now it seems that I've successfully perturbed him, so…_

 _"Okay, I'm just gonna out this shit. Did you leave because of some chick? Some married chick?"_

 _"Well…I'm pretty sure she's not married," he says into his hands. "At least, I hope not. 'Cause that…" He lifts his head and drums his fingers on the table again. "…would be a surprise."_

 _Whereas before I was just trying to rile him up to get information for my own personal arsenal, now I'm straight-up pissed. I guess I hadn't really believed it, that he had actually left with another woman. I was convinced there was something else going on. I was wrong! He made me…wrong!_

 _"Oh…right, right, right, right, right. Heard about that. Yay." I grab my coffee, ready to blow this popsicle stand. "Well, hope Round 2 went real well—real, real, well for ya! Hasta la vista, Ghertrude!" I yell to the backroom, as I sweep my bag off the table hoping to catch Four in the face. But I'm yanked back as my bag gets caught on the edge of the older-than-fuck folding chair, spilling the contents on the floor. "I got it, I got it," I grunt, swatting Four's hands away as he tries to help me. "Dude! Stop being chivalrous—"_

 _"I'm not," he whispers as if he's out of breath._

 _"Okay, then stop—"_

 _"What are these?" he mumbles in a voice akin to someone on their death bed as I lean over to see my folder of Prior Pics that had slid across the floor, leaving a trail of Tris in its wake._

 _"Oooohhhh…" I begin, as he pulls the pictures out of the folder looking like he's just seen Jesus. "Those? Those are pictures."_

 _"Why? I mean, what are you…doing with them?"_

 _I don't think I've ever heard his voice softer…along with his face—eyes turned down and a smirk appearing as he moves them around._

 _"Practicing," I reply quickly, not wanting to explain…not that he seems at all interested in me…at all, at all all. "Uh…yeah…I'm not really into people's dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty fingers all over my pics—"_

 _"I'll be careful," he murmurs, moving his eyes all over them, seemingly lingering on each._

 _It's like he's taking a mental picture and it's kind of endearing. Exceeeeeeept for the fact that he had just admitted to me that everyone's speculations had been…true!_

 _"Well, in that case…" I smile wryly, deciding to torture him from the beginning. "Let me tell you…ALL…about these." I pull them out easily enough seeing as they are in chronological order and start at the beginning…when Prior was at her worst. "Yeah, as you can see right here, well, she was goin' through a little somethin' somethin,' so she was drunk—like a lot. Ha! I really should have taken better shots, considering all my opportunities. But, then again, as you can see, she was taking all the shots. Get it? Shots and shots—"_

 _"I get it," he states quietly._

 _"Yeah. Tequila. Whoa."_

 _I must say, I have had better memories of Tris. Her drunken off tequila is not on my top ten. She turns into a hot-headed bitch…who throws things—my things!_

 _Four runs his hands down his face and shakes his head only slightly as I smile, proudly, obviously causing him much grief._

 _"Well, then she stopped—cold friggin' turkey. And let me tell you, Tris Prior coming off weeks of binge drinking and other extra-curricular chemicals was not pretty…as you can literally see in these pics." I point out the ones where she looks just…tired, almost haggard if it were possible for her to look haggard._

 _"What do you mean…extra-curricular—"_

 _"None of your business," I interject, unwilling to relinquish that I had to call my insurance company to refill my anti-anxiety meds early because Prior stole them. Or how she talked Rodrigo into swiping Ambien from the clinic, and I'd find her passed out with a wine glass in her hand, red all over her shirt. And then her rock bottom...seeing her in that hospital bed, with her face whiter than her gown.  
_

 _He nods his head, resigned to the fact that it was indeed none of his damned business._

 _"Here, at least, she finally learned to grin. Although, I have to say a lot of these were luck of the draw. Okay…they were all luck of the draw. I swear she just…looks good in pictures. She's like proportionate or something—"_

 _"Did she dye her hair?" he asks as if it would be some huge disappointment if she had._

 _"No. That's my magic right there. Holga Wide Pinhole. The camera uses a super small hole instead of a lens. The hole focuses the light using some crazy quantum physics magic and produces…a…darker…image… And then Sofi walked in naked and threw me down on the bed. We absolutely went downtown like China town on each other. You have absolutely no idea how amazing lesbian sex can be. Care for a three-some—"_

 _"What's with all the make-up?" he interrupts as I give him the most unintentional wide-eyed stare possible. He didn't hear any of that? Wow._

 _"Who cares?"_

 _"Just…wondering," he mumbles flipping through them as if she were legitimately unattractive with a lot of make-up on. Huh._

 _"Uh, well, in her defense, she was just…trying something new." I reflect on the reinvention phase she was going through. It was weird. "Anyway, she got over that pretty fast. She's back to normal Prior-wear now. Ya know, minimalist extraordinaire."_

 _"Yeah," he breathes out, pausing and laying three pics out in front of him, lingering on one where the lighting was perfect behind her, and she's laughing her ass off. "She looks…happy. Is this…um…recent?"_

 _"Last weekend. Oh, yeah, she does…definitely does. Super happy." What I should say is that the only reason she's laughing is because a cabbie came into the bar and punched an Uber driver._

 _Swallowing loudly, he not-at-all-inconspicuously slides one under the folder-the one where some dude has his arms around her. I swear I could hear Four's breath shake. Is it my place to tell him it was a random, overly friendly, Chicago drunkard who called himself the photo-hugger…trying to play off the words photo bomber? Nah._

 _"So, uh…this has been…real fun, but…" I stop in a tad bit of shock as Four's face turns more serious than I've ever seen it._

 _He slowly moves the last set of pictures so they are laid out in front of him. Now, being in the bar industry, I see guys in all kinds of states. I mean, name an emotion and I've seen it. The real shit comes out when they're drunk, much to their misfortune. But this—what the hell kind of look is it? Awe? Wonderment? Reverence? He's inspecting them so severely I think he may burn a hole in them. It's almost like if he looks away for one second they'll disappear._

 _"She…let you take these?" he questions as if that's incredibly unbelievable…and, he's right._

 _I put those aside because they are her at her most, I can't believe I'm using this word…but, vulnerable. No make-up. Sad. Thoughtful. Wistful. They're all legit because she would never pose. I'd have to catch her when she's staring off or when I'd say something that shocks her and she has no response._

 _"Well, I wasted a ton of film trying to get these moments right, let me tell you. They're my favorite. And my personal best, I must say. I used my Rangefinder. You're basically just looking through a window. But there's a small patch which shows a ghost image on top of everything. By turning the focusing ring, the ghost image will move left and right—"_

 _"Is she seeing anyone?" he blurts out. "I know it's none of my business and I don't deserve to know, but…I think I…"_

 _"So, let me get this straight. You leave. And come back. See some pics where Prior looks, well, don't ever tell her I said this, but…beautiful, and now you want to know if she's seeing anyone? That's some Dawson's Creek shit right there! She's Joey."_

 _"I know how that…sounded. But, this is…her…and…"_

 _I purse my lips not knowing what the right thing to do is. He doesn't deserve to know a damned thing. But who am I to make that decision? Four has been gone, what, like a month-and-a-half? Tris is actually starting to be in a better place now…ish. And that's a big ish! I don't think I can handle seeing her go downhill again. I don't have time for her downhillness! Is she seeing someone? Tre is long…gone. But…_

 _"Yes." Am I leaving out that the person she's "seeing" is a top-notch therapist? Mmmmm…yes._

 _"Is it…serious?"_

 _"Oh, yeah. Really…serious. Haven't seen her…like this…ever." I nod my head._

 _Ya know, I'm not a morbid person, and maybe this is the photographer in me, but I have always kind of wondered what someone's expression is after they were delivered a fatal blow—gunshot, stabbing, drowning—where they just know they're going to die and there's nothing they can do about it. Well, now I have my answer._

 _He stands and walks to the counter where Gertie has been, apparently, observing which is totally unlike her. He opens his mouth to say something, but Gertie just shakes her head and puts a piece of paper in his hand._

 _"Hey, Four—"_

 _He exits before I even finish my sentence. Yeah…I feel like a bit of an asshole._

 _"I know what you were doing, crétin," she comments, leaning her slim moo-mooed hip against the counter. "Did the look on his face tell you nothing? Are you so lacking in compassion that you cannot even see when someone is broken? You don't know very much about him, do you?"_

 _"I know…plenty—"_

 _"Because if you did, you wouldn't have been dangling Tris like bait on a hook."_

 _"I know enough. And I've heard enough. You don't live with Tris. You don't have to see every day what she goes through. How she's finally getting better—"_

 _"Do you give her so little credit, that you think all it took was one…man…to bring out the nasty side of life, to bring out the bottom she needed to hit? You think my Four was it?"_

 _"Well, he was the proverbial straw."_

 _"Straw? What is this straw? Do not use your American bullshit with me!"_

 _"Look, you didn't exactly interfere, Gertie." She doesn't say anything…for once. But by the look on her face, I can see she wishes she did indeed put a stop to my actions. "And I realize he had a shit childhood—his father was an abusive dick…not to him, might I add…and his mother died. It's sad, but he's not a cautionary tale, geez."_

 _"As…I…said, you don't know much about him. And I'd bet my 1912 Coco Chanel that it is because mademoiselle Tris has not told you. She is loyal to default."_

 _"To a fault."_

 _"No, it is her default."_

 _"Whatever," I shake my head at her semi-correct attempt at English. "And what else is there to know?! I've heard enough nonsense pass between Tris and Four to last me through the apocalypse. And yes, I said 'through' because you know I'd be a survivor," I quip._

 _She laughs condescendingly. "Interesting word choice you use, crétin—'survivor.'"_

 _"Why?" I chuckle. "It's true—"_

 _"Because you were just treating a survivor like a victim—you were exploiting their weakness."_

 _My jaw suddenly throbs because of how much I must have been clenching it._

 _"A survivor? He wasn't abused! As far as I know, his Dad barely paid him a bit of attention and he was raised by doting nannies living the high-life. I'm not totally lacking in compassion—his mom died of a drug overdose. It happens. It's sad. But, he does not qualify for survivor versus victim status. Trust me; I'm an expert."_

 _Her lack of response and penetrating stare is a little scary._

 _"What'd you give him, anyway?" I ask, changing the subject._

 _"Stay out of my business," she grumbles walking over to clear away Four's coffee. "You go, now."_

 _"Oy vey," I sigh crouching down to pick up my pictures, taking my prize…pics…first—"Hey, what the hell?!" I crawl around frantically not being one bit ashamed that I look like a deranged chimpanzee. "Did he...? That son of a bitch stole my picture! My Pure Prior!"_

 _"You let him keep it!" she orders, pointing at me._

 _"Why?!"_

 _"Because sometimes we need things to hold onto to keep us afloat, idiot!"_

 _"You know, by that logic, Jack shouldn't have died in Titanic," I call her out on her favorite movie of all time._

 _"I remember a different ending…" she mutters shuffling to the back room._

* * *

I scratch the side of my head where my hair is growing in, listening to Tre absolutely _guffaw_ at how hot Tris looks in the I-need-to-reinvent-myself phase she went through. The one's that basically hide everything about her.

"Excuse me, señor!" I move him to the side with my forceful hip check. "Now, which ones do you like the best, if you don't mind my asking. Please, take your time," I nod graciously, attempting to—

"Definitely these," he answers without forethought, pulling aside the one from Halloween along with a side profile shot that I took right after she told an Uber driver that he _"doesn't need to talk anymore."_

"Huh," I say, pulling out my Pure Priors and laying them in front of him. "Not these?"

"Put those away, I hate those!" Tris seethes, trying to reach at the pictures.

"Why? You look really…nice," Tre comments as if he had to pull that adjective out of the archives. "Ya know, the just-out-of-the-shower look."

"So, your favorites are the ones that look nothing like her?" I confirm.

"Lynn, don't be a whore bag," Tris chastises.

"Oh, shit. Please, don't take it like that—"

"I don't," Tris pacifies, interrupting Tre's backpedaling.

"Because, you know, Tre…there is something to be said about looking natural!" I growl, putting my pictures back in their rightful home in my folder.

"Lynn, why are you tweaking about this?!" Tris asks as if I'm batshit crazy.

"Because he's criticizing my work!"

"Ummmm…no, he's not."

"Lynn, I swear I didn't mean—"

"You asked him…what his favorites were…and he answered," Tris says slowly.

"Well, he's wrong!"

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I watch after Lynn as she stomps off like a child to Tori's office.

"What…was that about?" Kristen asks, appearing out of nowhere, leaning on the end of the bar.

"I…don't know. Lynn's a little…off, sometimes."

"So…" glance over at Kristen wondering if I forgot to give her her paycheck or something.

"Oh. She's my babysitter," Tre informs as he leads me toward some bars stools away from Kristen.

"Come again?"

"Ah, yes, well, she's here to make sure I'm a decent bloke. No shenanigans allowed." He winks cheekily as I pick up on his insinuation.

"Oh, that's…thoughtful," I respond at the weirdness of the situation.

"Right? Isn't that your middle name? Kriiiiisten Thoughtful Thompson?"

Her middle finger and sarcastic closed-mouth smile at his proper pronunciation of her name…still a joke I just don't get. Her eyes are flitting behind the bar apprehensively.

"You can have a drink," I chuckle wondering why she's always so on edge around me.

"Oh. Okay, yeah, thanks." She lifts the removable counter, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. "Uh… You guys want anything?"

Tre raises his eyebrows, turning his entire body toward me while I stay seated facing forward. "The Knob? I figured we could start from square one."

"Sure," I smile at the nice gesture. Square one. I like that. Starting fresh. Makes sense, right? Right.

Kirsten passes us the whiskey while making herself a Hendricks and tonic. I remember the amount of Hendrick's Tobias had to drink to drown out the sheer possibility of my being pregnant. Wow. How did I not see that as a red flag?

"Don't mind me," Kristen sighs, heading back to her perch at the end of the bar. "I don't have papers to grade, or lessons to plan, or parent emails to return or…anything of importance to do." She pulls out her phone. "Just me and Candy Crush."

"You know, she isn't really necessary," I whisper as we cheers and take a drink. I actually don't love Knob Creek, but…oh, well.

"It's purely symbolic, a gesture of sincerity if you will." He clears his throat and turns his chair to face forward. "Well, I'm just gonna get right down to it. Ah… So…I really _do_ …like you."

I smile, having no idea if it comes across as sincere or not seeing as I don't even know if it's sincere. "I like you too."

"But, now excuse me if I come across as accusatory, but…I feel that when you broke things off…or, I guess we were never really together, but…you didn't exactly give me a chance to…anything."

I open my mouth, ready to go on the defense, but then I reflect on the last time I saw him, my words being _—"I don't want a relationship of any kind…at all…with anyone. Don't call. Don't text. Don't come into the bar."_

"I know, or I know that now. I was unfair to you. I was in a bad place—"

"No, no…just no." He stops me with his hands up. "I don't want to know anything about you, yet."

"You don't?"

"No. I would like to go the traditional route."

I raise my eyebrows in question. Is it possible to go the traditional route once one has seen the other naked and then other stuff?

"I would like to take you on a date…"

 _Oh, good Christ…_

"…then I would wait two days to call you…and I would call—not text…and then I would ask you out again. But there would be no kissing on the second date. We would save that for the third—but it would only be a kiss on the cheek. But we could hold hands…if you want. And you would not be paying, even though, I have a feeling you would try."

"I would, yes," I agree, pondering the arcane reason behind the man paying.

"Can you change that _would_ to a _will_?"

"Ah…" I breathe out, not knowing how to explain my distaste for formalities.

"Look, Tris, I know I'm just a bartender and—"

"And you think I give a shit about your career?" I ask semi-offended.

"Most girls are hesitant and consider a man who tends bar for a living to not be a 'go getter.' The fact is, I like it and I'm content with it."

"Tre, seriously, as a fellow bartender, I would never say we are not go getters. We work our asses off. And…I don't have what some would consider high aspirations either. I've been pretty much taking my life one day at a time since…well…whenever."

"One day at a time. I like that. So…can we try to take it one day at a time?" he asks lifting up his glass in cheers. "And…that sounded like it belongs in a romantic comedy. But, cheers anyway."

"It was pretty…corny."

Suddenly, as clear as if it were lying on the bar right in front of my face, the ghost of the physical incarnation of a note with perfectly perpendicular creases on it appears—

 _YOU ALREADY HAVE THE KEY TO MY HEART…THOUGHT MAYBE YOU'D WANT ONE FOR MY APARTMENT... PLEASE SAY YES! –T_

"So…was my corniness a deal breaker or—"

"Sorry. Um…yes. Or…no. It wasn't. And, yes, I would like to take it…one day at a time. One day…at a time."

* * *

 **Tori's POV:**

I rub my stinging, dry eyes and decide that I'm unable to take the pain anymore. So, I pull my eyedrops out of my pocket and add a decent cooling amount onto my eyeballs.

"No need to hide the reefer effects, Tor. It's legal," Lynn remarks, walking in and dropping herself like a ragdoll onto the chair across from my desk.

"Dry eyes, sensitivity to light, trouble seeing in darkened environments, redness and distorted eyelids," I explain, blinking back the excess liquid.

"From weed? That must be some...strong shit."

"Or the effects of a nice dose of chemo and targeted therapy," I remark, putting the night's cash in an envelope.

"Oh. Targeted therapy? That's a new one for you."

"Well, it worked. Tumor's are small enough where I qualify for surgery, so…"

"Weren't your lungs shred to shit the last time? Is surgery your best option? I mean, don't they do stem cell vita-injection whatever stuff now—"

"Let's leave it up the oncologists, shall we?" I interrupt, before she starts suggesting alternative therapies in the jungles of Brazil. A genuinely worried look crosses her little demented face. "Lynn…" I lean my elbows on my desk, knowing I have to say at least one iota of bullshit positivity. "I don't have smoker's lungs, so lots to work with. Okay?"

"Fabulous. Please continue with your story," she commands as if I wasn't done with this conversation.

"Meaning?"

"Tumors…plural. What happened to the singular version of that noun? Thought it hadn't spread."

"It hadn't." I shrug, feeling only minutely guilty about keeping this new information from Lynn and Tris.

"And…now…it…has?" she clarifies.

"Now it has."

"Dude, explain! Please?!" she begs. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"

"It's in my lymph nodes," I state with finality. "Okay?"

"Oh," she remarks like it's no big deal. "Well, that's common with lung cancer. What do they call that? Shit… Comorbid! Comes with the territory, right? They can remove it."

"Right," I agree, not needing to tell her that it's everywhere. "And wow, Lynn. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, The ACS website is easy to navigate, okay? Don't get all weird about it. When do you go in?"

"Tomorrow."

"What?! Does Tris know?" she asks, just about jumping out of her chair.

"No."

"Well, are you going to tell her?!"

"No, and you won't either," I respond calmly.

"I won't lie," she says matter-of-factly

"Ya know, you toss that phrase around a lot, Lynn. You might not lie, but you definitely squander the truth and frankly I don't know what's more calculating." I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, the blank look on Lynn's face telling me I struck a nerve. "I'm not telling her because I need her here, as in, I need her in work mode, not worry-about-Tori mode."

"No, you don't. The first couple weeks after New Year's are dead. And she's stronger than you think," she says almost angrily that I would underestimate Tris.

"Again. Wow, Lynn. How does it feel to give a shit about someone else?"

"Shut-up. I give a shit about people! The list is just…pretty damned short. And I like it that way! It's less stressful."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel better. Now hear me out—this bar; it's mine; I created it; I need it taken care of. And Tris does a shockingly good job."

Lynn seems to be lost in thought as she moves her chair on a diagonal and puts her feet on my desk, crossing her ankles.

"Does she like it? Taking care of the bar?" I ask, hoping for an honest answer.

"No," she immediately responds, chock full of honesty.

I nod my head. "Thanks for not bullshitting me." As much as that was not the answer I was hoping for, having one still relieves a decent amount of stress. "So, you followed me in here like a scared pit bull. What's your problem?"

She sucks in air between her teeth, purposely avoiding my stare. "Ya know that whole squandering the truth thing—"

"Okay my name is Kirsten not Kristen!"

"I knew it!" Lynn shouts pointing at the girl who just burst into my office spouting nonsense in one breath.

"Oh…Tori. Hi. I, uh, didn't know…or I would have…waited or—"

"You cut your hair, holy shit," I comment, now recognizing her and connecting the name with the face while she searches mine picking up on only one thing—cancer.

"Oh, yeah," she runs her fingers through her super short locks. "It's drastic. I'm drastic sometimes. Anyway—"

"Tori introduced you to me as Kiiirsten, but then you went along with it when Tris called you Kriiiisten." Lynn points directly at Kirsten as if she's trying to solve a puzzle. "Holy fuckenheimer. Why would you do that?"

"Because I dated Four!"

"Oh, man," Lynn laughs clapping her hands. "This is amazing."

"It was brief! Like maybe a month of just texting and then do-you-maybe-wanna-hang-out and then sex because…sex, ya know?"

"No," Lynn and I reply together.

"Anyway, I immediately recognized her when she first came behind the bar. And, well, her name is also a dead giveaway. And I had heard her name…many, many times. But I don't know if she knows about me or even cares, ya know?"

"No," we both respond again.

"Well, Four went on and on about her over the summer when I was his server at Riley's Pub, even after I was serving him doubles because I wanted good tips. Then like weeks later, he came into the bar again, seemingly forgetting that she existed. He was lying. Guys are so dumb. They think we don't pick up on anything. But, I figured they broke up and I was a willing rebound, which was really shitty, but he's hot and super charming, ya know?"

"No," we again answer in unison.

"Anyway we went back to his apartment and almost had sex. We had almost-sex. I threw myself at him. It wasn't one of my finer moments. He stopped me. It was humiliating. But he made up a bullshit excuse about not having protection and…seriously…a guy like that…has condoms, ya know?"

"No."

"Wow, you two are…really on the same page, huh? Anyway, I went along with it because I thought it was really sweet and incredibly amazing that a guy would actually stop mid-almost-sex because he couldn't be with the one he really wanted. I mean, he had a naked girl under him, ya know?"

"No."

"And then…oh, this is the bad part… I saw her in front of his apartment. It was Tris. She was really nice! We talked. We actually _spoke_. And then Four and I made out…right…in front…of her. Well, at least I did. He was not into it. A woman can tell, ya know?"

"Yes," Lynn and I both nod, finally on the same page with Kirsten.

"First of all, Kirsten, take a damned breath," Lynn orders as she immediately complies. "Well done. So, I'm reading between the lines here, but I take it Tris didn't recognize you when she met you? Like, officially?"

"Not as far as I can tell. It makes sense because I didn't have this haircut. And I look very different during the day. All this…" She circles her face with her hands, regarding her smokey-eyed-look make-up and mahogany lipstick. "…isn't really my style."

"And you don't want her to know who you are?" I ask, trying to clarify the reason for her insane revelation.

"Well, I didn't want her to hate me because she's my boss."

"Psh… No, she's not," Lynn comments rolling her eyes and reclining in the chair again.

"She's not?" Kristen looks at me for clarification.

"For all intents and purposes, she is. Get over it Lynn."

"Whatevskis."

"And I knew I'd make a lot more money here than at Riley's and I'm trying to pay for my Master's degree out of pocket. No debt. I…hate…debt—"

"Kristen!" I yell which I rarely do, being in no mood to solve miniscule problems.

"Kirsten," Lynn adds, covering her mouth on the side as if it's a secret between her and I.

"Whatever. Tell me you don't want… _us_ …to do anything about this…"

"I don't know," she sighs. "I just needed to tell someone about it. It felt right. So, uh, are you guys going to tell her?"

"Helllll, no. That's your place, lady," Lynn answers for us. "And don't ask me to be your buffer."

"Yeah, don't," I say. "She'd be the worst."

"Ha, yeah, I know. So, wellllll…there's another reason for my presence…in your office…right now."

"What's that?" I imitate her precise hand gestures.

"Tre is my best friend; my oldest friend. Aaaaand, Tris kind of screwed him over."

"Literally. That should be taken…very…literally," Lynn informs as if this is brand new information.

"He really likes her!" Kirsten points out to Lynn defensively, obviously not loving her aloof attitude. "He gets girls hitting on him…all the time. He could have his pick of the litter, and don't get me wrong, he _has_ had his fair share of ding bats, but my worry is that she's not a ding bat! And I can see him only liking her more and more and they're getting quite cuddly out front. Shoulder to shoulder! Laughing and displaying…cuteness!"

"Ugh… Thank God I'm not the only one who sees this as a problem," Lynn grumbles.

"What the hell am I missing?" I ask just wanting to get this conversation over with so I can go home and have insomnia.

"I ran into Four at a bar, drinking _alone_ … _alone—_ not good for a man because they're irresponsible and stupid—after Tris busted his heart—"

"Uh…two sides to that story, sweetie," Lynn remarks on the defense. "But I totally get the irresponsible and stupid part."

"I only saw what I saw, okay? He was…I feel like this word is used too lightly, but he really was… _heartbroken._ And just based on his way-too-detailed drunken anecdotes, like—I can pretty much tell you whatever you need to know about Tris's—"

"Already seen it all! No need to relive," Lynn adds.

"Yeah," I concur. "I've seen her do a strip tease and sing the Pledge of Allegiance in her panties. So…I'm good."

"Ooookay," Kirsten adds with a quizzical look, most likely unable to envision Tris doing any of that. Give that girl some booze…s'all it takes. "Moving on, he made it sound like it wasn't a one-sided relationship, so…"

We wait for Kirsten to keep talking, but she seems intent on leaving us hanging.

"It wasn't! Everyone who even took two looks at those shitheads knew that. So, what?! Soooooo what?!" Lynn finally asks frustrated.

"I don't want Tre getting hurt! And he would kill me if he knew I was interfering!"

"You should tell her," Lynn quips with a smirk.

"Tell her…what?"

"That you saw Four, drunk and heartbroken. Tell her everything. Ya know, where he was; how he acted; what he said, well, maybe not everything, but, basically what he said. But, don't skimp on his facial expressions—Prior's a sucker for that," Lynn says, sitting back again looking like all her problems were just solved.

I look at Lynn with a pretty horrified expression on my face, I'm sure. "Don't…you…dare," I tell Kirsten.

"Why?" Lynn asks. "If Sofi and I broke up, I'd want to know—"

"Because Tris is finally back to normal," I interrupt, not understanding why Lynn would want to mess with that, seeing as it would mess with her life as well.

"Ish. She's backish to normal."

"She finally feels good in her own skin again—"

"Ish. Goodish. She still has nightmares, you know."

I stop and look up at Kirsten, realizing she shouldn't have heard any of that.

"Hey, I'm not saying a word," she says putting her hands up. "And Four told me the basics…very, very drunken basics. We all have our shit. I teach on the Southwest side. I've seen it all."

I'm suddenly reminded—as happens so often when I think of Tris and Four—of myself twenty-two years ago. The amount of time it took for me to be okay with myself hits me like a brick to the face—how I changed my life because of someone else's interference, and the weakness and grief I felt because I listened to them.

"If things don't work out with Tre, it needs to be because of her and Tre, not because someone told her that Four was heartbroken," I reply, staring off at nothing—memories of happiness, heartbreak and, in the end, emptiness all right in front of me. "She needs to concentrate on what's in front of her—"

"Meaning Tre?" Lynn asks with disgust, Kirsten scoffing at her attitude.

"Could be," I say shrugging. Although I know better than anyone that someone doesn't have to be a physical presence to be right in front of you.

"And if she's still in love with Four?! Where does that leave Tre?" Kirsten asks desperately and every ounce of me wants to tell her to mind her own fucking business.

"Then _she…_ " I lean forward, communicating to Kirsten that I don't give a shit about Tre. "…can figure that out on her own. She's no dumby."

"Oh, no. She _definitely_ is—"

"Lynn, just…stop, okay? Now, she's perceptive again. She doesn't live in a fog. If Four's the guy for her, she needs to do something about that on her own. And, ya know what, he may be the guy for her. It doesn't mean they'll end up together. And either way, it's on her to make her own decisions…even if she makes a mistake," I mumble, Lynn's penetrating eyes boring into me. "Better to make a mistake on her own recognizance that she can own up to, than feel the weakness knowing that she made a mistake because someone else swayed her decision."

"And what if she uses Tre as her guinea pig?" Kirsten asks as I realize I just gave away more information than I intended. "Her I-just-want-make-sure-I'm-over-Four pig?"

I lean back and sigh, pulling my bandana off my head. "How is this _not_ a conversation you should be having with him? You're a CPS high school teacher! How can you _not_ handle confrontation?"

Kirsten purses her lip and pretty much storms out. I do feel a little twinge of guilt. But now I'm over it.

"Wow, you really don't give a shit about poor Tre. Unless it was your scary cancer head that drove her away."

I shrug, staring after her. "Could go either way. And my loyalties lie with very few. I don't know a damn thing about him. Anyway, my opinion stands. No interfering." I rub my eyes, hating cancer. "You were saying something about…squandering the truth?" I ask, trying to bring this back full circle.

"I… _was_ …saying something…about that." She nods slowly.

"Care to continue?"

"Changed my mind."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

"Progress…" Tre nods his head, his dimples flashing, as they always do. "…I like it." He nudges my shoulder, and I have to admit, the fact that he wanted to actually _date_ me is flattering. Plus, he's easy to talk to, cute, sweet, just…easy. "Sooo…our first date. This Wednesday? Before you answer, can I just say how great it is that I don't have to apologize to a girl about my bartending hours? Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays being off limits." He chuckles.

I momentarily frown at his words—Does he have to apologize to _a lot_ of girls about his bartending hours? Ha! That doesn't even bother me! It doesn't! I don't even care! This is…a change…

"Very true. And very fortunate for both of us." I raise my glass in celebration of myself, finishing my whiskey in one gulp while he leans over the bar and grabs the bottle raising his eyebrows to refill mine. "None for me, thanks."

"Really?" he confirms most likely reflecting on my heavy drinking during our several night stand.

"Really, really," I sigh wishing I had my drink on ice, so I could have gotten a couple extra sips out of it.

"So, does dinner sound okay? I promise no pub food," he says as if pub food would be unheard of.

"Oh, no. I'm perfectly okay with bar food—"

"No, no, no. You deserve a nice restaurant—one where they have violin music playing in the background, white table clothes with candles, twenty different flatware options and no prices next to the entrée."

"Or we could go watch a train wreck?" I respond to his horrific description of what I 'deserve.' But, his immediate laughter informs me that he thinks I'm being sarcastic. "Look, I don't need all that. We can pick up tequila and hit up Taco Bell and I'd be good."

"I…cannot take you on our first date…to Taco Bell," he chuckles obviously thinking I'm joking again. "But…how about Jimmy Johns and beers?"

"No," I answer flatly before I can even stop myself.

Jimmy John's has been something I have yet to conquer. I haven't had it since the last time Tobias brought it to the bar for dinner—the same day I saw my brother emaciated in the hospital. I broke down when I saw Tobias, smiling sweetly holding up the sandwich as if the only thing he wanted in the world was to brighten my day. Although, all it did was make me cry…an unexplained emotion. He was always good at bringing those out in me.

"Tris, I was kidding, that would be equally as bad. I'd be better off taking you to a diner for greasy omelettes or the arcade to hang out with high-schoolers," he jokes while I clench my jaw, an unexpected bout of defensiveness trying to take over.

I laugh awkwardly not knowing if I want to roll up into a ball and cry from loss of a would-have-been future chock full of Jimmy Johns, games and diner food, or sit back and smile celebrating that I have those memories that hopefully someday I'll learn to cherish.

"So, we're good for Wednesday?"

"Ah, sure. Should I meet you…somewhere?"

"Noooo…" he says slowly as if I don't speak English. " _I_ …pick _you_ up. Have you never been on a date before?"

Mmmm…let's see, always chaperoned ice cream and movie with Robert—doesn't count. Dinner and a smoke-filled bar followed by Eric vomiting in his car and making me pay for the professional cleaning because I did a "shit job cleaning it up"—Does that count? He did pay for dinner. Impromptu arcade and hotdogs? I paid for the hotdogs. Tobias was mad…in a funny way. Accusing me of hi-jacking his date. Tee hee. And then, David… Oh, God. I should feel terrible for him. But it's Tobias that gets me. Sifting through the nearly-vacant memories of that night, one thing rings true—the hurt. It was all over his face—his eyes turned down, red cheeks, running his hands down his face, pursed lips to hide his frown. And he stayed and…he…

"I think the full gamut of human emotions just crossed your gorgeous face. Some good ones and bad ones in there, yeah?"

"Mmm hmm. Just… So, yeah. Pick me up here? So, I can open the bar and stuff."

"Sounds good," he smirks putting his arm around the back of my barstool. "Reservations are at 7:00."

"You had already made them?" I ask, slightly ticked off.

"I was feeling overconfident." He hops out of his stool and walks toward a suddenly reappeared Kristen. "Now, I'm just confident," he laughs over his shoulder. "Okay, Kriiiiisten. I assume you charge per hour. What do I owe you?"

"School supplies."

I get Tre's ever-present dimply smile, accompanied by a wink this time as he exits with Kristen. I don't return the smile until I hear the closing of the back door. Then I allow myself a good five seconds. Wait, am I allowing myself to smile or am I making myself smile?

"I have a date. I have a date with Tre," I say aloud.

This will be good. I like him. He's cute—no, he's hot. And he seems to…like me. He's funny too. And I think he's…smart? I'll have to test that theory. How do I test that? I can ask him how to spell Dubai! Hopefully he won't say Doo-bye. That would suck—

"Bye," Lynn grumbles walking past me and almost slamming into my shoulder.

"You aren't going to wait for me?"

"You're a grown ass woman. You get to make your own poor choices," she remarks heading to the back.

"Well, if you'd just wait five FUCKING seconds—"

"Hey, come in here," orders the groggy voice of Tori. "I want to talk to you."

I drag my feet in, stopping at the door, still unable to look at her—I already know what she looks like, I just don't want my face to betray me.

"Tris, look at me."

I purse my lips, my eyes welling up.

"It's okay to be sad. To be mad. To feel sorry for me. To feel sorry for yourself. If I've learned anything through this journey, it's that every emotion counts—they all have a purpose. So stop being so damned proud and look at me."

I decide to buck up in the bravery department and look at her. She has her bandana off, having finally decided to shave her head she now sports her baldness with pride. Her face is three shades lighter than her normal olive complexion—her Indonesian skin, normally the perfect shade of gorgeous. But, somehow she still looks fierce.

"Renato," she states pointing to the chair across from her desk.

I sit tentatively and with disappointment because…again…there's another Spanish word I don't know. "What's a Renato?"

" _Who_ …is Renato," she corrects.

"Oh," I reply feeling a sense of reprieve, but now like kind of an idiot. "Okay then… Who is Renato?" I prepare myself for another I-hired-an-illegal-immigrant speech. I'm cool with it, I just worry that we may have some douchey president someday who's going to pull a dick move and—

"The love of my life. My soulmate."

I just about choke on absolutely nothing. "Did you just say… _soulmate_?"

"Yep. I believe in soulmates, even though I used to consistently tell myself otherwise. But, I now have no room in my head for bullshit."

"Um…wow, I—"

"Let me be clear, when I say soulmate, I don't mean some whimsical, melodramatic, threadbare phrase. I mean the real deal—raw, not at all wrapped up in a pretty little bow, ugly, passionate, angry, fighting for dominance, sometimes oppressive, perfection. We loved each other fiercely and there wasn't a time in my life that I'd been happier. From the outside some would say we couldn't have been more of a mismatched pair. I knew better. He knew better. He picked up what I put down. I finished what he started. But it wasn't always in the good way. Sometimes people put things down for a reason and start things that shouldn't be finished…" she trails off.

"You're being cryptic," I inform her, my head still spinning at the joining of the words _soul_ and _mate_.

"Well, it's impossible to put some things into words." She smiles to herself almost shyly. "Alright, I'll start from the beginning. My dad was the President of Northwestern."

"Really?" I ask incredulously, wondering how the daughter of the president of one the top universities in the country ends up a bar owner.

"Yep. I have a bachelors in business thanks to him and Georgie has a PHD in Religious Studies.

"Whoa. George? Seriously?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "We thought dad would die of a heart attack when George converted to Buddhism. It was the running joke in our family—'At least, it was lung cancer and not George that killed Dad.'"

I freeze not knowing how to respond. I knew her family won a big lawsuit from years of asbestos exposure in her childhood home. And that's most-likely the source of Tori's cancer, but I hadn't put two and two together about her dad.

"I bought this building with my inheritance and started the bar from the ground up," she states proudly. "Anyway, my father, being the President of a rather prestigious university, was given the opportunity to host a very prestigious international graduate student for a year—Renato Josué Salvador Almodóvar IV."

"That's…quite a name," I respond, realizing the unimportance of that detail.

"Yes. Renato was…you're not going to believe this, but he was Spanish royalty."

I swallow my laugh at the unbelievable notion.

"You can laugh. I'm well-calloused to the crazy nature of this tale. But, it's not as bullshit as it sounds. Royalty is a very broad term in Spain. He was a fourth cousin of the King—meaning his great great grandfather and the King's great great grandmother were siblings. So he wasn't even slightly close to the throne. But it was royal enough to have an arranged marriage. Well, at least a very, very, very strongly implied marriage—the kind that says the-family-will-cut-you-off-if-you-don't-marry-this-chick.

"Oh." Why am I at such a loss for words?

"Yeah, 'oh.' So, my dad found it to be this big honor and he was thrilled. Come to find out Renato was not the behaved male child that royalty implies. There was a reason he was sent abroad." She laughs staring at the nothingness that's in front of her. "He showed up at my parents' door step all Antonio Banderas charming and handed my mom this gorgeous bouquet of flowers. They were so perfect they almost looked like they weren't real."

"Sounds nice." I shrug.

"That's because they were fake. He gave my mother fake flowers as a joke. And he laughed as if no one was watching. It was so weird."

"So, did you guys have...an immediate connection? Or—"

"No, not at all. I had expected a snooty, uppity, rich, entitled Spaniard. But as it turns out, he expected a snooty, uppity, rich, entitled American, who would open her legs up to anyone." She says with an angry shake of the head which I share. "Don't worry I set him straight—just because I'm American and a woman, doesn't make me easy, but if I wanted to be, it's my own damned prerogative. That was the thing about us—we learned a lot from each other." She pauses and collects her thoughts. "We started spending time together and found out we were the opposite of what we expected. He was smart, quick-witted, ingenuous and rebellious. He had this whole I-want-to-change-the-world attitude. But it came from a place of privilege so it wasn't particularly authentic—he lacked drive in that area. But I didn't, and that's where we differed. But he taught me to take more risks and be more carefree while I taught him that things are worth more when you have to work for them. We were both opinionated and we fought just as much as we got along."

I laugh lightly out of surprise and just…shock at how forthcoming she's being. I don't know this version of Tori. "Okay, back-up." That is also something I've never said to her. "You said he was _supposed_ to take a year's-worth of classes…"

"Yeah. He didn't. Well, he dropped out mid-semester."

"Why?"

"Because we got married and I got pregnant."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" I ask as if my world was thrown off its axis.

"Originally, we got married so he'd have to break off his strongly suggested marriage. Catholics don't get divorced and all that. But we had…um, assumed…permanence, so why wait anyway."

An impending sense of a very unhappy story hits me as I take note of the sadness in her voice each time she speaks in the past tense along with her struggle with the word 'assumed.'

"But it was real and we both wanted it…forever and all that mess. Yeah. Let's move right along now. So, I lost the baby."

"You…" I trail off, not knowing how literally to take that.

"Not like that. I miscarried."

"Oh, Tori…" I breathe out.

"For the record, I had always regretted not telling you about that. Especially when you told me about your experience. Frankly, I fucking hate talking about it. Plus, I was only twelve weeks—"

"It's still a loss," I say sincerely. "And it helps to talk about it."

"I see Dr. Ramos too, you know."

I nod my head, glad she had told someone.

"So," she sighs with a shaky voice "I found out I couldn't have kids—that they'd never make it to term. The funny thing...or not funny at all...but, I don't even remember why. I blanked after the doctor said 'never' and left his office."

 _I should say something. Say something!_

"And...as it turns out, there is nothing nobility likes less than a non-Catholic, American who can't produce offspring," she chuckles.

My defense-of-Tori comes out, just picturing some assfuck 'soulmate' arrogant Spaniard uttering those cruel words to her! "He said that to you?!"

"No. Never."

 _Oops._

"I made that call for him. It was my excuse." When Tori averts her eyes, it's usually out of shame. And boy is she _not_ making eye contact with me.

"You broke it off? What happened to him being your soulmate?" I ask in a semi-accusatory manner. _Why am I so caught up in this?!_

"Hmm." She sits back, laughing under breath with furrowed eyebrows as if she can't believe my reaction. She's looking at me like the hypocrite I am NOT! "I was really caught up in the grief of losing a child. The call from his mother about two weeks after I got home from the hospital didn't help. She had some choice words and made me feel like a bottom-feeder. I bought into it. I broke his heart. Told him I didn't love him and that I only stayed with him because I was pregnant. So, he left, and I went into a deep depression. It took me two years and four therapists to come out of it."

"Why do I feel that that is the most vague cliff-notes version I've ever heard?"

"Because it is. I'm already on the verge of losing it and I physically can't handle stress right now," she states simply.

"Okay. Do you want to be…done—"

"But as far as I knew, we were still married," she scoffs. "And I think a part of me held onto that."

I pull on my fingers, knowing all about holding onto things irrationally.

"I reached out to him, when I was more myself, ready to pour my therapied heart out, willing to hop on a plane that day just to see him. But his mother answered. And that conversation was..." She pauses while I think of a million ways to avoid that situation.

"You didn't hang up?"

"Do you know how much money that call costed?"

"Well, your dad was the President of Northwestern. No international phone plan? Or, maybe a warning text through Wi-fi?"

She stops and shakes her head. "Do I give you too much credit?"

Then I do the math. Tori is 42. "Sorry, not...an option in...the 90s?"

"I was in high school when I bought my first CD, Tris."

"Oh. Yikes."

"So…his mother informed me that, during my two-year hiatus, he had gotten married and his wife was pregnant."

The devastation she must have felt trumps that of how I felt when I found out Tobias had moved. But, this whole scenario is nothing like mine! "But, _you_ two were married!"

"According to her, our marriage was nothing but an irrelevant piece of paper. Especially since a priest didn't perform the ceremony. Oh, and we didn't have children, so it _really_ wasn't Catholic."

"Oh, God, Tori. Are you _sure_ all this really happened? I feel like you were living in a soap opera—"

"You should talk," she points out, rightfully so. "About a year later, I got a package in the mail from the law office of 'Santiago y Navarro.'" She clears her throat, looking like she might die...and that's saying something. "Renato had…died," she chokes out. "In a sailing accident. He had never married and had no children to speak of. His wedding ring, the one I gave him, was in the package."

"Oh, shit," I breathe out. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I want to hug you right now but—"

"Don't fuckin' hug me," she answers letting the tears fall. "I know this looks bad…" She points to her eyes. "But it feels amazing, so I'm not going to wipe the tears. So you just have to deal with them."

"Kay."

"There was also a letter from Renato…saying…well, everything the love of your life should say—the good, the great, the awful," she says hurriedly, obviously not wanting to dwell on the contents of the letter. "His last sentence, plagued me for years. 'We were a puzzle.' I took it to mean we were too complicated, too hard to figure out, and that's that. It took Dr. Ramos, much to my shame, to dissect it. She made me write down all the aspects of a puzzle. In the end I came up with the following: Imperfect pieces that make up perfection…only when they're together."

I notice how intently she's looking at me. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask trying to put the my own pieces together. "You can't possibly think this pertains to me?"

"Tris, I lost Renato when I wasn't myself. At that point, I couldn't have been with anyone. But in the end, it was someone else's words that made me stagnant."

I clench my fists and swallow as her meaning—the true point of this conversation, comes through.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _Tori leans on the bar, sipping on her soda water as I walk by tossing a lime in it._

 _"You know I don't like lime."_

 _I reach over and toss a lemon in her drink for good measure._

 _"Is it entertaining to make people miserable?"_

 _"Lynn rubs off on me." I sigh because it's so damned true. I go back to wiping down the bar in front of her for the tenth time, waiting for her to notice me—_

 _"Spit it out, Tris," she orders, double checking my inventory._

 _"Turns out my first therapist was an unqualified thingamafucker."_

 _"Yes, anytime someone says first therapist, that usually means they're a thingamafucker."_

 _"It's actually the unqualified part that scares me," I mumble, thinking back to how confused I felt after almost all of our sessions._

 _"Well, if he has a Doctoral in Psychology; he's qualified. The rest is subject to opinion."_

 _I clear my throat a little too roughly, turning around and grabbing the bottle of Gentlemans…but then immediately putting it back. "Well, I got a letter from the Sociology Department at Columbia."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"That's where he worked," I mutter._

 _"Speak, Tris."_

 _"That's where he worked!" I exalt, looking at the bottle in longing._

 _Tori's raised eyebrows in the reflection of the mirror speaks volumes._

 _"Don't judge me, please," I moan, turning toward her. "Someone in one of Christina's classes was handing out cards for a doctor to do free therapy as long as they could publish their findings. It was anonymous, and I didn't need any more medical debt!"_

 _"Fine, fine, whatever. Just glad you upgraded." She shakes her head with wide eyes._

 _"Anyway…" I pull out the envelope to read the letter, even though I had every word memorized._

 _"To Miss Beatrice Prior,_

 _We regretfully inform you that Columbia University will not endorse any further studies performed by Dr. William DuBois. It had come to our attention that his intentions toward his subjects had been poorly communicated and the services he claimed to be providing were without merit and lacking in the quality one would expect from a Professor of Sociology at our university._

 _Our deepest apologies for this inconvenience,_

 _Dr. Stanley Crimson, Chairperson of Department of Sociology"_

 _The silence and blank stare she gives me leaves me both confused and knowing exactly what she means at the same time. "You were getting…therapy…from a Sociology professor?"_

 _"I didn't… I know I should have… Can we stay on point?!"_

 _"Which is?"_

 _"Well, some of the things he said…were…weird. He was entirely too interested in my…relationships." I purposely stop, trying to avoid the still troubling and unresolved feelings about Tobias that this letter has stirred up. "But, some of the other things he said…resonated. Do I just totally classify everything he said as bullshit?"_

 _"I don't know because I don't know what he said. Are you going to share?"_

 _"I mean, he said…a lot. And I always left feeling…just, not great. And, at that point, I was grasping on to anything that felt like a solution!"_

 _"Talk to Dr. Ramos."_

 _"Thanks for nothing."_

* * *

"I was never able to own up to my decision to stay away. For me, the truth…I never heard those words come out of his mouth. I never heard him say he didn't love me, or that he got married. But, I couldn't see that at the time. I couldn't see anything."

"Tori…" I turn to her shaking my head. "You don't think I can smell your analogy from a mile away? Is this your way of giving me direction without giving me direction? So fucking typical. Is Renato even real? Or are you using your fake cancer tears to your advantage?!" I regret saying it immediately after I say it. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I just don't understand why you're suddenly deciding to tell me this… _now._ "

She shrugs. "I just wanted someone to know my story. You think this has anything to do with you?" she asks as if I'm reading too far into this.

"Yes."

"Hmm," she hums. "I wonder why..." Her crappy straightening of papers and pretending to be suddenly busy is annoying as fuck.

"So that's all you've got for me?"

"Yep."

Have a good night," I say sarcastically, exiting the office.

"Oh, hey, Tris?"

"Good Lord," I mumble walking backward and leaning my head in.

"Don't think for one second that I don't love Bud. Because I do. He's a good man. He makes me smile which is hard to do, and he makes me happy. I may have met him after Renato, but my life still turned out…great."

"Can I go now?"

"Please do."

* * *

Bethany Joy Lenz is my Tris inspiration BTW. I'll be posting some of the pics on the Facebook page that inspired parts in this chapter. Search Kris Daniels and 'like' the fanpage. Then send me a message if you want to join the private page.

Thanks for reading!


	30. Envelopes

**Chapter 30 - Envelopes**

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

Walking through the doors of Hangars is surreal, to say the least. The last time I was here, I was slinging cocktails in a black crop top and white jean shorts with an adorable pair of suspenders. This time I'm about to sling cocktails, wearing something much different—no white, just black. (Black palazzo pants and a sling neck blouse to be exact. I wasn't quite sure about the openness of the back, but I got the who-the-fuck-cares-what-you're-wearing Tris shrug of approval. So, at least, I can blame her if it's inappropriate for the occasion.) I know black is what people wear to funerals, and I'm sure there's some kind of historical bullshit behind it, but with or without the strongly encouraged fashion of fatalities, I would still wear black in honor of Tori—I had never seen her in a different color.

I give Tris a quick wave as I spot her leaning on the counter behind the bar, watching people trickle in to pay their respects. She jerks her head back for me to join her which I excitedly accept, skipping a little as I duck under the removable bar top. "Hey, chickadee," I say as I slide next to her, giving her a little hip nudge.

"Hey," she says quietly and with a teensy bit of relief. "Thank God you're here. I don't want to talk to these people alone."

"We have to talk to them?" I mutter out of the side of my mouth, a little scared at the thought.

"We should at least respond."

"Yeah, I guess."

I drape my arm around Tris's shoulders and lean my head on hers while she stands as stoic as expected. When she met me at the airport today, she was a sight for sore eyes. And not just considering the expression, but because my eyes were literally sore from waking up at 3:00 AM and not being able to sleep on the plane. I'm still a little puffy, but I suppose it works for a funeral. And Tris was quite the sight as well—sweatpants (like the kind that have elastic at the ankle), an over-sized sweatshirt, cross-trainers, hair piled on head, no make-up and eyes to match mine. She looks better now, dressed in a super flattering wide-legged trouser and fitted high-necked lace blouse—

"Stop sizing up my fashion sense."

"I'm not!" I defend a little too defensively.

"You've been doing it since you got off the plane…to everyone. I know it's your job, now. But, you're off the clock."

"Sorry," I sigh. "I'm not judging, just observing, ya know?"

"No, I do not," she replies dryly.

"I still think you should stay at The Thompson with me. Why sleep on a cot if you don't have to?"

"Why stay in a hotel if you don't have to?" she responds coldly.

I sigh, knowing this is a lose-lose.

"I'm sorry. I realize my apartment is terrible. I didn't really expect you to take me up on the offer. Lynn got our couch from the ER waiting room at La Clínica. I would never let you sleep on that couch, and I'm not about to give you my bed."

"So, why not stay at the hotel? We can catch up!"

She leans forward looking past me and around the room. "I…I feel bad leaving Lynn and—"

"Why?!"

"Because she loved Tori and—"

"I'm not sure Lynn loves anyone but herself." I cross my arms thinking that I can't even count on two fingers the amount of times Lynn has done anything nice for anyone. I don't think I've even ever heard her give a compliment—something simple, like 'Nice nail polish, Christina—'

"And who exactly are _you_ loving these days?"

I purse my lips taking that dig straight to my corazón. "Look, I know me; and yes, I know I am…or _can be_ …self-centered. But, at least, I'm…nice, and I do _care_ about people—"

"So does she."

"Friggin' weird way of showing it," I mutter feeling a mini-twinge that Tris is so defensive of Lynn.

"The…weirdest."

I sigh, knowing we have so much to talk about—she hasn't mentioned Four in a long time, but I could see distance in her little Facetime eyes when I used to mention him, so I stopped. I really thought those two were meant to be, like the real meant to be. I still can't believe he just up and moved. I know I'm missing a good 90% of the story and part of me doesn't want to know. New York is going so great, and if I get too caught up in what's going on here, I'm afraid it will throw me off. I still get homesick, but not enough to move back. However, I do have an amend to make—Will. _Is that plural? Amends—amend—amends—amend—_

"Quick drink before we get bombarded by whoever the hell these people are?" Tris suggests.

I look around at the crowd. Most people seem to be trying to figure out if they should order a drink or if it's open bar. "I'm in." I shrug. "So, should we, uh…tell them…something?"

Reaching for the rocks glasses, she glances over her shoulder. "Maybe in a little bit."

"Allow me," I state, pulling the glasses out of her hands. "I need the practice. Especially since I've never tended bar for grievers." Glancing up, I take in the scene—some seem ready to drown their sorrows, others seem ready to party in the name of Tori. "This could go either way."

"Mmm hmm." Tris nods returning to her token stance as I fill two glasses with ice. The bartending vibe quickly comes back to me as I multi-task—booze with one hand, Diet Coke with the other—switch! Lime and straw for me…just Jack for Tris. "To Tori," I say sadly, holding my glass up as Tris returns the gesture with a little less gusto than I would expect.

"Yep," she answers with an extra amount of oomph on the 'p.'

"So—"

"Team Marlotte is at your service!" Mark announces, some girl trailing behind him. "Christina, this is my wife, Charlotte. That makes us Marlotte."

"Nice to meet you." I shake Charlotte's hand, but she forgoes it, giving me a genuine mid-western hug.

"You too. I'm so sorry about Tori. She was really—"

"No need to make something up just to make us feel better," I interrupt before the bullshit can start.

"Phew, thanks. I didn't really know what I was going to say, there." With relief, she quickly moves on to Tris, who returns her hug with one arm while taking a drink with the other.

"So, we're relieving you of you bartendress duties. Go mingle with…those people. Whoever they all are," Mark says as if he's doing us a big favor.

"No," Tris and I both reply shaking our heads.

I turn to watch Tori's mother and George give and receive awkward hugs. And Amar, always the country-clubber, trying to lighten the mood with kind smiles, handshakes, and motivational catch phrases.

"Well, you girls can, at least, go in back and enjoy your cocktails?" Charlotte suggests. "We didn't know Tori all that well, so…you girls should go relax."

Tris and I make eye contact, communicating a hell-yes and make a break for the back room.

"No top shelf, Mark," Tris says walking backward. "Tori's request."

"You got it."

I chuckle to myself as Tris follows me to the back room, both of us sitting with a thump on the dusty couch _. I wonder if anyone has ever even vacuumed this thing. Yewwwww…._

"Hey, what do you mean 'Tori's request?'" I ask suddenly wondering how the hell Tris would know that.

"She told me a few weeks ago," she responds, staring at the wall ahead of us.

"Really?" I whisper.

"Chris, she was dying. There were tumors all over her lymph nodes. And the doctors kept finding cancer cells in other places. This last surgery was just to prolong her life. I think she did it for Bud."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, a small piece of unnecessary betrayal setting in.

"I barely admitted it to myself. These past few months, I've become quite accustomed to compartmentalizing," she chuckles.

"Um…how does your therapist feel about that?" I brace myself for some sort of snarky comment.

"She just lets me be me." She takes a sip of her drink leaning her elbows on her knees while I sit back.

"Huh," I respond, not knowing what else to say to that.

"Funny thing is, even though I was one of the select few who knew how bad her cancer was, she still didn't tell me she was going in for surgery."

"Sounds like Tori—"

"I knew," Lynn walks in, interrupting my reply. She looks way classier than usual in her ankle length fitted black pants and tunic-style sheer black sleeveless shirt. She could do without the sequins in my opinion, and maybe add some larger earrings, but otherwise, it's a win. Ehhhh…except the red shoes. I don't like 'em. "I was eavesdropping. Thought that was my 'in.'"

"You…you knew?" Tris asks in a whisper that screams how- _dare-_ you. It's for sure, like, a cross between disbelief and pure anger.

"Yep," Lynn answers as if she doesn't give a shit in the world, plopping her ass down on the bench in front of the lockers.

"How…could you not tell me that?"

"She asked me not to. And, please put your stones away because this glass house ain't crackin,' Miss I-knew-Tori-was-dying."

"That's…" Tris pauses, apparently trying to get her shit right. "…so _not_ the same thing."

"How? She said that if you knew, you wouldn't do your little 'job' of taking care of the bar. I can only assume Tori told you not to tell _me_ how sick she was for similar reasons. So, bygones and all that, yeah?"

"No, we are _not_ bygones. Tori went into… _surgery_! She was a cancer patient, and the risks are…higher and…I didn't even get to… You should have told me!"

"And go behind her back? No," Lynn responds as if that would be fuckin' preposterous.

"You do shit behind people's back all the time!"

"Um… No, I don't."

I feel a lightness next to me that I figure out pretty quick is the absence of Tris and the presence of her across the room.

"Lynn!" she growls. "You operate under the guise of full-disclosure, yet you actually only use information to benefit yourself! Now, what was the benefit in not telling me Tori was going into surgery? There must have been something! God! You don't even…know…" She wipes under her cucumber-begging eyes. "The last conversation I had with Tori…I was…terrible to her!"

"Shocker."

"Jesus, Lynn. _Now_ who's throwing stones?" I ask, feeling the need to be a part of this argument.

"I'm just saying those two didn't exactly have a warm and fuzzy relationship. And Tori preferred it that way. It was her love language! Now can you please just relax—"

"Nope. And fuck you! Tori was my…she was…."

Tris pauses like she doesn't know how to explain her and Tori's relationship. And I can see why she's at a loss for words. It was kinda odd.

"Prior, chill the fuck out. It's not like you don't have anyone—"

"I don't!"

"Hey!" I chime in fully ready to smack the shit out of her.

"Christina…" She puts her hand out toward me. "…you moved. I love you, but, you're no longer in the count," she explains with a bout of honesty that punches me in the gut, even though it's nothing I didn't already know. _Sad emoji…_

"And anyway, if you God-damned feel like you have no one, it's your own friggin' fault because you pushed everyone away. Pretty ridiculous, if you ask me."

The seminar my company made me take—Crucial Conversations must have some sort of effect on me because usually this is where I would jump in and smack the dumb bitch in the face for calling Tris 'ridiculous.' Instead, I find myself pondering Lynn and where she gets her cruelty from. _Hmmm…_

"I… I'm trying…" Tris stops, mouth partially open…but nothing's coming out. "I'm…" She heads for the door with the tears a'flowin'.

I look toward Lynn as she swirls her beer around, pretending the contents are a real amazement. "Do you feel better?" I ask in as genuine a way as I can. I really do want to know if making a very sad individual run from the room in tears makes her feel good. Because if it does…this girl needs therapy.

"Better, like how?" she replies looking at the exposed ceiling's ventilation system. "Because today, well, that is a very relative—"

"Why are you so cruel to her?" I blurt out, deciding not to Crucial Conversate and get down to the goods.

"Um…when did honesty become cruelty?"

"Hmmmm…check your baby book. Maybe your mom wrote down the date of your first words."

She laughs under her breath and takes a chug of her beer.

"What? Just being 'honest,' Lynn," I retort giving her a taste of her own poison.

"Alright, Mama Bear, I get it—you're back in town and all protective of your version of 'poor little Tris.' Now, shoo!" She flits her hands toward the door as if I'm a mangy dog. "Go do your self-proclaimed job and take care of her."

I narrow my eyes at Lynn as something comes to me. Lynn is rude and lacking all sense of manners and boundaries, but she's not totally lacking in compassion. _Unless…_ "How much do you know about her?" I ask crossing my arms and sitting back even more comfortably. But then I lean forward again because this couch is gross.

"You want a list?"

"Ha. No. I just know that you don't come out and ask people…anything…about themselves. You kind of just wait for the opportunity or snoop around. And Tris doesn't give up…anything…without some serious digging."

"Okay?" she responds impatiently as if she has somewhere better to be. And…she might, but she gets to listen to me first.

I take a deep breath, knowing I'm about to cross a line. But, when have I _not_ pushed the envelope? "Did you know her ex-boyfriend was abusive?"

"Common knowledge."

"Yeaaaaaah, but, like, really abusive—like the throw-her-into-the-wall-pull-her-shoulder-out-of-the-socket-on-purpose-smash-her-arm-in-the-car-door kind."

Silence…except for the tearing of a label on a bottle of Stella Artois.

"Yeah. Got that one out of her when she offered to stitch me up when I sliced my finger with a paring knife. You see, Tris used to stitch her own wounds, so she didn't have to go to the doctor."

Silence…except for the clearing of her throat.

"Did you know her ex-boyfriend used to rape her? Yep, while many women harbor the memory of that beyond-awful experience—Tris harbors several—several rapes."

Silence…except for Lynn's tapping heel.

"Did you know that he pushed her down the stairs and caused the stillborn death of her 20-week old baby? And how the fact that she didn't want it, causes her more guilt than most of us could ever bear or even imagine? Yep. Found that out when she lost her shit watching a three-year-old toddler making sand castles at Montrose Beach."

Silence…so much so that I think Lynn may have stopped breathing.

"Oh. Here's a really good one—Did you know that her parents knew she was being beaten and did nothing? That her parents purposefully never instilled an ounce of self-esteem in that girl? So, almost everything she is now…is because _she_ did that."

I finally take a good look at her. If Lynn were capable of crying, she would be—she has the crying face without the actual crying. She gets up to leave, and I let her without an ounce of sympathy or guilt.

"Quite a swift exit, I must—"

"Gah!" I shriek, Amar suddenly popping up on the bench replacing Lynn. "Are you a mutant?!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Ya know… X-men? You're a teleport, aren't you."

"Indeed not, my dear," he sighs, not wanting to joke around in the least. "How is our friend Lynn? She was rather close to Tori."

"No one will ever know how Lynn is," I answer confidently. "But, I can tell you one thing about her—She certainly likes to think she knows more than she really does."

"I have to say, I've been guilty of playing that card a few times," he responds, sounding kinda regretful.

"Well, I'm sure you, at least, weren't a total dick about it." I shrug not being able to imagine Amar having a nasty bone in his body.

"I think Tris would tell you otherwise," he mumbles stares into his glass.

"Well, she didn't."

He looks at me as if what I just said was funny. "She didn't mention…anything to you about…how I treated her? At the office?" For once in his life, Amar looks confused. "Have I been misled in that you two are, in fact, best friends?"

"Well, first off, it's not surprising in the least that she didn't spill about…whatever you're talking about. Tris doesn't talk behind people's backs. Like…ever. And if she does, it's not in a busy-body-judgey way. It's kind of infuriating," I say jokingly, but it only seems to add to his guilt. "And as far as the best friend thing goes…" I sigh. "I love the hell out of that girl, but she was always holding something back… I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I'm not sure it's really in her to have one of those life-long female relationships." I think about that briefly, wondering if _I'm_ the type of girl to have life-long female friends. "But, anyway, um, when she met Four…she really…like really...like finally…let someone in. Not just in a let-me-tell-you-my-story way, but in a what's-your-favorite-flavor-of-toothpaste-and-how-do-you-feel-about-the-inner-workings-of-soul way. Am I making any sense? God, everything feels weird, and I'm acting weird, and—"

"I can understand you entirely, Christina. I'm very familiar with that kind of connection with a person. And I agree, I was convinced Four and Tris shared that commonality. So, how are you, my dear? You look quite well."

I respond slowly, making it known that I picked up on his subject change. "I'm…fine. Sad. But, ya know…expected. How are you?"

He looks up at the ceiling in the same way Lynn did. "Well, my heart is breaking for my husband and my brother-in-law. But…" He stops to pull a tissue out of his pocket, to dab a tear of sympathy from under his eye. "My mother-in-law—to lose her husband and then her daughter. It just goes against logic to me. Although it is, unfortunately, a situation George and I share."

"Really? I hadn't realized…that you…" I trail off because I am uninformed.

"No matter. My story is irrelevant today. Were you close to Tori?" he asks, changing course again.

I think about that for a moment. _Was I?_ "I guess as close as a loyal employee could be. I mean, she was always so hard for me to read. Sometimes I think she hated me, sometimes I think she loved me…or, at least, liked me."

"Yes, Tori was never particularly warm toward anyone. But George knew her on a different level. He always said there was more to her. I believed him, but I still never saw it for myself."

"Yeah."

"If you don't mind my asking or my prying… How is Tris? I've been…quite worried."

"Why? I mean, aside from the obvious."

"I had the honor of breaking the news of Tori's death. And, well, put it this way, her _tolerance_ could use some work. Although her language was intact, just…not tactful."

"Oh, yeah, well, that's a Tuesday for her these days."

Amar quirks his head. "I was told she had been refraining from alcohol…"

I look down at my drink, feeling shitty that I didn't know that.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he states quickly. "You know how word spreads in this crowd—so many connections. Information tends to get lost in translation."

"Oh, yeah, that's probably…um, true. Anyway, I think she'll be okay. I mean, she looks great, right?" I say with too much enthusiasm.

"You think?"

"You _don't_?" I respond feeling a little offended on behalf of Tris because even given the circumstances, she's back to her normal 125 L Bs—damned small people, although, I'm perfectly happy with my 130—no dark circles, she looks more alert, attitude for days…the old Tris.

"There's something…behind her eyes," Amar says as if he's giving me information, a warning.

"Yeeaaaah," I answer warily. "I think those are just her eyes."

"Well…" He slaps his thighs, pushing himself up to standing. "Will I see you out there?" he motions his head out front. "There's a crowd who I'm sure would love to see you."

"Yeah, a crowd. Hey, uh, have you seen Four? Did he come back for the funeral? What's his deal? I just want to be prepared," I deflect, crossing my arms as Will's—not Four's—face suddenly comes to the forefront. How his hands are always in his pockets while he rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes. How he laughs at almost everything. The smell of coconut oil…

"I haven't seen him," Amar answers calmly, with a smirk on his face.

"What, he won't even come back for his partner's sister-in-law's funeral?" I honestly don't give a shit. He packed up his life and left. Who _does_ that?

"Christina, my dear, could there possibly be anyone else you're looking for?"

"Ugh…," I groan. "Damned perceptive people!"

"Well, William is doing quite well. I assure you." He grins, making his way to the bar.

"Oh. Really? Like…is he—"

"I'll see you out there."

"Yeah…," I reply more to myself than him.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to make my way out to help Marlotte. Maybe I can avoid Will. He probably won't want to talk to me, anyway. Agh! But Holy Moly am I wondering how he's doing! He stopped calling, and our texts got fewer and farther between seeing as neither of us had much to talk about anymore. _Wait, is it 'fewer and farther?' 'Further?' 'Farther?' 'Farther.' Definitely 'farther.'_

According to Tris, she hadn't seen him since the infamous Panty Pool Party—Quite the scene, _that_ was! And I just can't shake the feeling that he isn't having much of a social life seeing as Four is gone and, let's be honest, Four _was_ kind of the glue between Will and Zeke—

"Tori looked like she was going to rip your head off when you used her Cornelison jersey as a napkin!" yells the unyielding voice of Zeke.

"I was drooling! I had to hold Fireball in my mouth for 30 seconds! Go behind the bar and try it, asshole."

I smile instantly at the sweetly defensive voice of Will. He's always taking a hit from someone. And he just takes it in stride—

"Well, just don't drool on your lady," Zeke points out as I stop short. "Does he drool on you, Zo?"

"Well…"

I crane my neck to see who this "lady" is that they speak of.

"You can _not_ count the time you tricked me into eating a ghost pepper!"

I see him wrap his arm around the shoulder of the unknown person.

"Uuuuum…I did _not_ trick you. Unless you count—'Eat this ghost pepper' as trickery."

"Sounds pretty straight forward to me, man."

"Zeke, you have done way dumber shit. And in my defense, I didn't think it was real! I was trying to find the perfect pomegranate, and she offered me up a ghost pepper?!"

"Yeah, Zo. There's a reason why they call it a ghost pepper. People die from them," Uriah responds sternly as I wonder who the hell 'Zo' is.

"That's bullshit, little brother. They call it a ghost pepper because it haunts you for the rest of the night…if you know what I mean. They should be called butt peppers—"

"Hi," I eek, suddenly horrified at how I had drifted over here without any sort of plan of attack or thought whatsoever.

"Hey, Chris!" Uriah pulls me in for a hug while I feel another from behind as Marlene screeches in my ear.

"Weeeee miiiiiissss youuuuu!"

Then another jostle and a big wet kiss on my cheek from the other Pedrad along with a near debilitating hug. I make awkward eye contact with Will, waving my hand from under Zeke's armpit.

"Is…" I cough, tapping Zeke on the back to release me. "…Shauna here?"

"Nah. She had to hold down the fort with George gone. And Max is being Max, so."

"Oh," I mutter still giving Will the side-eye and wondering who this other girl is. "I was hoping to see her."

"When do you fly back?"

"Tomorrow," I sigh, wishing I had made my stay, at least, a day longer.

"Well, let's go out tonight!" Marlene suggests.

"Oh, um…I was planning to hang out with…Tris. Can she…come?" I ask, testing the waters.

" _Can she?!_ More like, _Will she?!_ I barely see her outside of class! I try to get her to hang out, but she seems perfectly content in her routine of boringness," Marlene quips.

I look around to see if anyone has anything to add to that, but all I get is a Zeke who won't make eye contact. So, may as well face the music—the 'music' being Will and _Zo._ "Hey!" I say with more enthusiasm than I probably should have.

"Hi, Chris," Will answers warmly as we embrace in a friendly hug, not too much gusto involved. "Um…I think you two may have met briefly. This is my girlfriend, Zoe."

I run through the files in my mind, unable to place her…even though she does look kind of familiar.

"You told me if Amar wasn't gayer than a three-nutted billy goat, he would have hired me based on my looks," she answers flatly.

"Oooooooh, yeeeeeah…" Whereas before I had just taken a fleeting glance at her, now I do recognize her—the girl who needed the pump-me-up session with Four while I was eating a not-spicy tuna roll. Who orders those anyway? Short blond hair, whatever eyes, pale complexion, short. "Ya know…I didn't mean that you weren't—"

"It's okay. I knew you didn't mean that I wasn't qualified."

"Well, it was more that _Four_ would never hire you for that reason because he was head over tush for Tris. So, you wouldn't even have crossed his mind." I shrug, correcting her and becoming semi-reminiscent of when Four gave a shit. "So…" I clap my hands feeling everyone's eyes on me for some reason. "What's…new, everyone?"

"Tori died."

"Thank you, Mar," I state, annoyed at how damned flippant she can be.

"What? Just trying to lighten the mood…take away the weirdness—"

"There's no weirdness!" I say in protest.

"Oh, no, there's definite weirdness—"

"Nope, Uri," I interrupt. "Just…friendness. All around friendness, right?" I motion to all of us standing in the circle. "This is for Tori. We are here for Tori. Tori was our friend." I take a huge sip that doesn't even qualify as a sip to occupy my hands.

"So, how, um, well did you all know Tori?" Chloe asks as if she's trying to change the subject.

I notice Will nudging her, and lacing their fingers as if he's reassuring her of something. Whatever that could be… We all kind of stand there, pondering her question. I realize that out of this group I'm the only one who qualifies.

"I don't know if _anyone_ knew Tori _well_ ," I answer, looking around at the room to see people still milling about, not knowing what to do.

"I've gotten to know Bud and…he kinda told me what Tori wanted," Chloe says quietly.

"Really?" Will asks.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?" he prods, looking at her in awe.

"Well, apparently, she left very strict instructions that people are not to dwell. She wanted to be cremated and then have half her ashes spread by the Balearic Islands—"

"Where the _hell_ is that?" Zeke interrupts as if that matters.

"—and then Bud can have the rest. There was to be no pastor, reverend, priest or any other person that would preside over a service—"

"He told you all this? I've barely heard Bud speak more than twenty words," I comment doubtfully.

Looking at me with a very scrutinizing expression, she continues. "I'm good at reading people. And I get the feeling not a lot of people talk to him, so…I _do._ "

"Chhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooo—"

"What are you doing?" Marlene pulls at Uriah's hands that were placed like he was holding a light saber.

"Cutting the tension."

"Keep going, Zoe," Will instructs, kindly interrupting the 'Well, _some_ one had to, _'_ coming from Uriah.

" _And_ …if anyone feels the need to say anything, it can't be sappy. Then the best part," Chloe adds, laughing inappropriately...in my opinion. " To please make sure her mother stays away from the Peach Schnapps."

"Everyone should stay away from Peach Schnapps," Zeke comments.

"To no Peach Schnapps," says the pleasant voice of George, who is holding his glass up about as high as Uriah jumps, his beer overflowing onto the floor.

"Shit, George! Where the hell did you—"

"And to Tori," George adds softly.

"To Tori," we all say and take a tentative drink in George's sudden presence.

I feel a tug on my elbow, and see that it's Will. "Are you okay?" he asks softly pulling me to the side a little.

"Yeah. I mean it's hard, but not as hard as it is for them." I glance at George who is trying to smile congenially. "She was…Tori. No bullshit. No excuses. No secrets. There aren't many people like that. She was the most honest person I knew."

"Yeah. One time she told me to 'lay off the coconuts.'"

"Aw," I chuckle. "I like the coconut oil."

He kicks at the floor, and I realize how awkward I've just made things. "So, how's New York?"

I smile and sigh, feeling suddenly lighter at thinking about my new adventure rather than the weighed down feeling of this moment. "It's good. I love my job. It was hard to make friends at first, but I've met people now, so." I think about Donovan's striking smile, and my stomach does a somersault. "Um, yeah, so…what about you? How are…you?" I unintentionally nod my head back towards Chloe.

"I'm good. Work has been pretty crazy. Ever since Four left, and Matthew has taken over the residential venture—or 'resiventure', as he cleverly calls it—I've been left with a mass amount of projects. But…" He glances over at Chloe. "…I don't mind spending so much time at work."

"Mmm hmm. I bet not. Chloe seems nice," I remark, just now noticing how stylish her hair is.

"Well, if by Chloe, you mean Zoe, then yes, she is…very nice."

"Oh. Whoops."

He backs away, laughing lightly, to join the rest of the group.

"Will, I'm really sorry I hurt you!" I say lunging forward and grabbing his arm. I've heard the non-existent, yet somehow audible screech sound of the diamond bee-lining it across the record player enough to fully recognize it. I've evoked it so many times, that I've learned to ignore the follow-up silence. But ignoring the reassuring look Will gives Zoe is harder as I pull him toward me, keeping a friendly distance between us. "I don't want you to think it was an easy decision to make."

"I never did," he responds as if I'm silly for even thinking such a thing. "You just handled it like a total jerk. I felt completed disrespected and ate too much ice cream. But, I realized my feelings weren't about you, they were about me. You made me feel insignificant."

I open my mouth out of habit, almost always having a response. But, this time I don't.

"And that's okay. We weren't on the same page." He shrugs as if that was just some off-the-cuff comment.

"That's…not at all true." I want to argue with him—to tell him I legitimately thought I wanted to marry him. And I did! I furrow my eyebrows realizing the past-tensness of that thought.

"Christina, you wouldn't have left if we were."

"Well…don't think the thought didn't cross my mind! I just didn't want to end up resenting—"

"Don't feel guilty," he says holding me literally at arms-length, making me feel like I should flex or something. "It was the right choice. I'm… _happy_ …with your choice."

"Yeah?" I ask unsure.

"Yes." He smiles in the direction of Zoe, who's constant glances our way are giving me the heebie-jeebies.

"Okay, well, for the record," I respond, as the words I've wanted to say but had no idea how to say them finally come to me. "Even though we weren't together for that long—you taught me what to look for in a man."

"That could be…the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he replies looking for real surprised at my answer.

I wait for a few moments, fully ready for my return compliment—

"Do you know what's going to happen to the bar?" he asks, leaving me fucking dumbfounded.

"No," I state flatly, crossing my arms. "Why don't you go ask Zoe."

"Hmm," he hums, ignoring me. "Bud looks alright, though. Don't you think?"

"This whole thing isn't exactly a shock," I say just as flatly as before, not needing to turn and stare at Bud. "I mean, I'm pretty sure they got married because she was dying."

"I was kind of surprised by that, but I was too chicken to ask about it. We could all learn a little something from Zoe, I guess," he chuckles.

"Why did that surprise you?" I ask, ignoring the subtle Zoe-ness.

"I just wouldn't have pinned Bud and Tori as romantics."

I furrow my eyebrows at Will and his surprising lack of common sense. "They didn't get married as some romantic parting declaration. Think _life insurance_ , or a _will_ or…anything along those lines, William," I inform, stating the obvious.

He must pick up on my tone because he scrutinizes me right back. "Doubtful. It's legally unnecessary and makes little to no sense. Where did you hear that from?"

"I just assumed."

"Well, since you're _assuming_ she had life insurance, a will, and or a trust…anyone could have been her beneficiary. You don't need to get _married_ for that. In fact, being married _can_ cause more of a headache because the widow or widower is left to deal with the after-death mess. So, maybe you shouldn't _assume_ anything about Tori. She may have been more of a romantic than you thought."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I wipe fiercely at my eyes, storming down the street as the wind attempts to send me straight to the nearest burn unit.

"Windy City, huh?!" some guy comments as he walks by.

"That's not why they call it that, you jackass!"

The look of shock and then sadness that crosses the man's face makes me even madder. Although, it's directed at myself because who the hell yells at friendly people?!

I continue on to my destination which is…nowhere. I'm going nowhere because nothing feels like home. I don't want to ride the EL and then walk four blocks to sit in a closet and freeze. I can't go to work out, because I no longer officially belong to a gym. The bar is packed full of white noise and people I don't know—people Tori probably doesn't even know! And then there's Lynn and…fuck her.

"Tris! Tris!"

I hear the voice of Bud, and the only thing that makes me stop is the fact that his wife just died. Not the fact that he's about to offer me a ride—

"Relax, I'm not going to offer you a ride," he chuckles, jogging up to me.

"Oh," I remark, slightly disappointed. "Really?"

"As much as I'd rather be driving you, I kind of have somewhere to be."

"Yeah…" I sigh, seeing the dark circles under his kind hazel eyes stand out even more starkly in the clouded over day—circles that represent countless sleepless nights. His stocky build seeming a little less sturdy—all around stress taking its toll. "I'm sorry. I'll come back with you—"

"No, you should go…wherever you're going. Seriously funerals are for the living…and I don't need this shit. You've done enough for George and me just by setting all that up." He motions back to the bar.

"All I did was open the bar and make a sign, _'If you didn't know Tori you can't come in.'_ I didn't even hang it up. Al did. I don't even know if I used proper punctuation..."

"I think that's all the effort she would have wanted. Anyway, here." He pulls out of his pocket an envelope with the pre-printed Hangars logo on the return address area. An envelope I've become very familiar with since managing the bar. "She left this for you."

"Thanks," I say, accepting the envelope but second guessing my reaction. "Is that the right thing to say?"

"Depends on what's in the envelope. You may not want to speak too soon."

"True," I return his subtle uncomfortable laughter.

"Hey, I'm going to close the bar for the weekend. But, can you still be there on Monday?" he asks as if I would be doing him the world's greatest favor by showing up to work.

Then I realize I may be out of a job sooner than later. But, damn, now is not the time to ask him about it. "Sure. Of course, I will."

"Thanks, Tris. See you then." He starts jogging back to the bar, his suit blowing due West as if he's running past a wind turbine.

"Hey, Bud!" I suddenly run after him, surprising him and myself by delivering a large hug. "I'm so sorry," I choke, fighting back the tears.

"You lost her too, Tris, " he responds returning the hug as if I'm the one who needs consoling.

"I know, but…" I pull away and purse my lips feeling the need to say…something to make the man who stood by her feel an ounce of good. "She loved you so much."

"I know she did," he responds, understanding my motive. "Don't think for one second I didn't." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gives me a quick wink and retreats to the bar again.

Tori's words coming back to me makes me pause. _"Don't think for one second that I don't love Bud."_

A sudden knife of wind slashes my face, and I'm brought back to the reality that I'm in the windiest part of the city, and I need to jump ship before I die. So, I start my brisk jog—or more like a toe scoot seeing as I'm in heels—to the one place where I find some sort of odd comfort.

I'm grateful for the wind that is currently making my face feel like it's being scraped over a cheese grater because it tricks me into not knowing if my tears are from the tundra or from grief. I was so terrible to Tori—and, of course, it had to be after she did the one thing that is so out of character that it's almost unbelievable. She poured her damned heart out to me. She chose me! And I threw it in her face because I was selfish and automatically assumed she was somehow relating it to Tobias and me. It's practically humorous! But, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I rest my forehead on the bar after noting the time—1:20. I sent Mark home at 1:00, in which case, of course, an entire group of men from some office or firm down the street came waltzing in. I could already tell these were the type of guys who will need an education on the words "last call."_

 _"Ahhhhh…" one of them sighs as he walks in the door, hands up in the air grandiosely as if he owns the place. "I love this bar. Prettiest thing you see from Printer's Row." He looks at me as if I'm supposed to take that as a compliment and thank him. "Can only handle so much concrete, you know?"_

 _"Not really," I respond, thinking he's a dumbass. "Can I help you?"_

 _"Bourbon? Scotch? Whiskey? Rocks? Neat? Come on! Come on! The girl would like specifics." He snaps his fingers continuing to talk to his followers as if they're dogs he just picked up from the pound that he's trying to train. "Give us a minute. But, I have a feeling you may just want to leave a bottle once I get these yahoos to agree."_

 _"We don't sell by the bottle. But I can do just as good of a job and pour your drinks in a glass."_

 _With a snide grin, he turns back to his comrades while I wait for further instruction. Although, they seem to be waiting for him to tell them what to do._

 _"Two Blanton Straights, a Redbreast 15, Yamazaki—"_

 _"We don't have Japanese whiskey," I interrupt his obvious test of my knowledge._

 _"_ _Well then…Balvenie Single 15 and—"_

 _"_ _Your subbing whiskey for scotch?" I ask, wondering if this guy is an ass hat or if he actually knows his liquors._

 _"_ _A man can change his mind."_

 _Ass hat it is._

 _"_ _Four Jameson Gold and…" He turns and counts heads. "…that'll do it."_

 _Internally shaking my head, I grab the stool so I can reach the high-enders. Walking to the other end of the bar, I climb up and sift through the bottles._

 _"All neat!" he yells down to me._

 _"No shit," I say, seeing as any dipwad who order $100 whiskey would never drink it over ice. Well, this guy might…_

 _"What was that?"_

 _"Be there in a jiff!" I sing-song, balancing one bottle in the crook of my arm and reaching for another._

 _"You know anyone who invests in Eaton Funds?"_

 _I stumble down the rungs of the stool and just about lose the bottle of Jameson's at the quiet words of a guy who followed me down the bar._

 _"You okay there, sweetheart?"_

 _"Yeah, just…um…didn't know if you were… Were you talking to—"_

 _"To you?" he chuckles. "No."_

 _Then I notice a man standing behind him. He gives me a kind smile as if that will excuse his friend's condescending behavior toward me. I climb back up the stool after setting the bottles on the counter, still listening intently._

 _"I know quite a few," the kind-eyed-still-not-an-excuse guy answers. "Why?"_

 _"I think Eaton's turning into a crackpot," condescending jerk states as the bottle of Blanton I'm holding slips out of my hand, but I catch it by the neck._

 _I almost wish it had hit the floor so I wouldn't have to subject myself to this conversation._

 _"Unless 'ole Taylor's running a smear campaign," he continues. "Which is possible. That guy is old-school as fuck. He still thinks word-of-mouth and personal integrity have anything to do with business," he laughs, sealing the deal that this guy is indeed, a fuck nut.  
_

 _I don't know who this Taylor guy is, but anyone willing a give Marcus Eaton his due diligence is a friend of mine. I sigh as flashes of a small boy in a closet and the lost look in a grown man's eyes that no one but I seemed to notice come forth quickly. Except, it's not only me—he found someone else. And…I…may have found someone else. My heart sinks at the thought…_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"Marcus Eaton tried to invest in Connie Grayden's charity."_

 _I scrutinize the rocks glasses in front of me, in disbelief that the words 'Marcus Eaton' and 'charity' would be in the same sentence. Although, maybe not. Marcus funneled money through a 'charity.' Could be a similar situation. Don't get involved. Don't get involved. Earplugs?! Where can I get some?!_

 _"What do you mean 'invest?'" kind-eyes questions._

 _"Sounds pretty ridiculous, right? Apparently, Eaton gave some quack doctor 50 grand…cash...to be part of Connie's 'little project.'"_

 _I roll my eyes at the way he said 'little project.' I have no idea what project he's referring to, but my perceptions are telling me his flippancy comes from the fact that Connie is a woman._

 _"Oh, yeah. I heard about it. Something to do with cultural assimilation—"_

 _"Whatever. Who gives a shit?! Eaton gave the doctor the money as leverage—so Connie Grayden would hire the doc to help her with the training program."_

 _"What the hell does Eaton get out of this?"_

 _I realize I've over-poured almost every glass while shamefully listening, particularly when I hear the name 'Eaton.' It should remind me of Marcus, given the circumstances, but all that appears in my mind is Tobias James Eaton. Tobias James Eaton. Tobias James Eaton._

 _"He wanted the doctor to run experiments on people's brains—Hook them up to machines. Put them in trances. Fuck with their minds!"_

 _"What the…hell?" I whisper under my breath, as I pour the Redbreast._

 _"Come on...," the kind-eyed-still-not-good-enough guy says as unbelieving as me._

 _"I am…not…shitting you! And if it worked…get this… He was planning to use it on his clients!" The condescending fuck claps his hands and bends over in laughter._

 _But I must say, the idea of Marcus Eaton going over the edge doesn't displease me._

 _"Corky, seriously—"_

 _I choke back a laugh at the stupid, condescending fuck nut's name. It just adds to his fuck nutness._

 _"—this makes me want to tell all my clients to pull their business," the nicer of the two says with semi-legit concern._

 _"No, shit. I'm tempted to call the SEC myself."_

 _"Does he have any next of kin? Ya know, to take care of his finances when he cracks?" the nice-ish guy chides while my breath leaves my body._

 _"Haha, yeah, he has a son—"_

 _"Ahem! Here you go, boys!" I interrupt sounding overly cheerful as I lure these two back down to the others with their drinks._

 _I say his God-damned name enough in my sleep! I don't need to hear it aloud!_

 _"Thanks, love," the unspoken leader of the group disgustingly says. "Leave the tab open, will ya?"_

 _"Of course." I give him my most insincere smile and head to the other end of the bar to NOT ponder the conversation I just overheard. I sigh and close my eyes, mumbling under my breath. "Don't think about him. Think of what makes me happy. Sweatpants. I love them. Sweatpants and my Blackhawks sweatshirt…which Lynn stole. I know she did it, that sneaky little shit! What else makes me happy? Don't think about him. Don't think—"_

 _"Tris?" The entirely recognizable voice of Amar pulls me out of my muttering state._

 _"Amar? Um… Hi." I glance toward Tori's office door by the stage. If she's here, she usually leaves it open. But, it's closed— just as I left it. "Tori's not here."_

 _"I know," he responds quietly. "Is anyone else? Someone who could…take over?"_

 _I frown at his odd question. "Just Chucho. So, basically, that's a solid 'no.' Why?"_

 _He sighs and shakes his head in his hands, making my heart race because I've never seen Amar do that before._

 _"What's…wrong?" I ask, even though, I know. Having seen that look before—the bearer-of-bad-news, no…devastating news. I remember Campbell's dopey face when he gave Caleb and me the official news of my parents' death._

 _He hesitates before walking down the bar toward the customers. "Gentleman, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I'll cover the cost of your beverages—"_

 _"Amar," I choke, the hole in my chest opening up like a fresh wound. A million words left unspoken—lies that seemed like the truth, denied feelings, loneliness…perpetual, forever loneliness. I had been holding onto…something. But now it's gone and I'm left alone…again. Again. Again—_

 _"Tris, breathe, my dear," Amar soothes suddenly right in front of my face. "Let's sit. Take deep breaths." I pull my elbow away from where he's leading me and stand unmoving, feeling as though if I move life will continue on…and I don't want that. "Again, gentleman, there is the exit!"_

 _"We'll go when she kicks us out!"_

 _"Tris, let's sit. I don't have much time—"_

 _"I don't want to sit!" I say spitefully as I try to scrape away the tears on my face._

 _"Well, I do… I…I need to sit—"_

 _"Take a seat, babe. Leave the bottle!" the head asshole chortles._

 _Feeling suddenly very light-headed, I lean my forearms on the bar and hang my head. The look on Amar's face etched into my mind, my heart racing at an almost uncontrollable pace. I know that look. I've seen it a thousand times. The death face. Palid, sorrowful, unable to put a word to emotions. Oh, God…now I know…how Tori…felt…. I need to call her. I only want to talk to her. She's the only one._

 _"Don't tell me. I want to talk to Tori," I grit out, trying to push all possible images out of my head._

 _My parents' bodies were nearly unidentifiable, and I chose not to see them. All I have left are what they looked like as they were living...but my mind has been left to run wild with images of mangled teeth, sloughing skin and the putrid stench of burnt flesh. I don't want to know what happened, yet. I don't want to know. I feel like I want to claw my skin off. I don't want to know._

 _"Tris—"_

 _"I don't want to fucking hear it from you!" I scream. "CALL…TORI—"_

 _"She's dead!" Amar yells as I suddenly feel trapped in my own body._

 _The horrific feeling of relief floods over me and I almost smile looking down at Amar's hands gripping my arms. But then I stop short…as the devastation hits. The tears come, which isn't a surprise, but unwanted all the same. A million questions run through my mind that I can't put into words—questions that don't matter anyway. She's dead. That's all. It happened._

 _"Hey, does she need a cocktail?!" a faraway voice yells._

 _"No," Amar answers for me as I meet his eyes._

 _"Well...we kinda do!"_

 _"You know what, my friend, this young lady needs a moment—"_

 _"Nope." I shake my arms free and walk towards the lovely assholes. "Not what Tori would want!" I yell over my shoulder as I meet the stupid jerk's stare, not giving a rat's ass about my tear-filled eyes. I notice his receding hairline and his bad dye-job. He looks like an idiot._

 _"Uh…okay…so, are we still in good hands?" he asks warily._

 _"I have hands. They pour liquor."_

 _"Greeeaaaat… Well, turns out my associate here doesn't do whiskey." He gestures to the man standing next to him who looks like the spawn of Donald Trump and Danny DeVito. "You got any good tequila?"_

 _I throw my head back in dramatic laughter at his fantastic suggestion that I'm taking to heart. "Yep! In fact…" I pull the key off the hook under the bar and waltz down to the locked cabinet we keep the 200-and-up bottles in. "Let's drink…the real goods! Chucho!" I shout, knowing I need his Mexican guidance._

 _"¿Sí, bella?" He scurries to my stool ready to assist me._

 _"Favorito tequila? Bueno tequila?"_

 _"¿Tequila favorita?¡La que hace mi abuelo! Pero, la quemará la cara…"_

 _"Uhhhh…" I look up into the tequila section, not seeing anything that remotely sounds like 'kay assay bway pe la ma ra cara' or some shit. "Don't think we have that," I sigh. "But…there's always the Don!"_

 _Chucho's eyes go wide when he sees me pull down the bottle of Don Julio Real. I kind of feel like a shmuck, seeing as this bottle is probably equal to the cost-of-living for four months in Mexico. But, that's not my damned fault!_

 _I pass by Amar, ignoring his blank accepting stare. "Ya know what, guys? In my case, this stuff…" I pull out four rocks glasses and start pouring. "…should be called 'to-kill-ya.' Because that's usually why I drink it—when I'd rather have that dead feeling. Ya know, not having to think. Baseless? Soulless? Shameless? Guiltless? Just…punch drunk. In fact, I've been known to punch people when I drink to-kill-ya. So…watch out, gents," I say in jest but in all seriousness._

 _"Not sure you could snap the legs off a spider. But, we'll be on the lookout," chides the over-exposed forehead douche._

 _"Really?" I lean over, inches from his face. "How about I box your left ear with the heel of my hand to throw off your equilibrium and then give you a stiff three-finger jab into your right eye socket?"_

 _The silence from him and the stifled laughter from the rest is really…quite pleasing, and music to my ears as I happily pour the tequila and slide it to the non-whiskey guy._

 _"This stuff…" I raise my own glass in cheers. "…you won't feel the next day." I toss it back, hearing Chucho suck in a deep breath of shock because you really aren't supposed to shoot top-notch tequila._

 _"Aren't you forgetting something?" the guy who has yet to drink his tequila asks._

 _I run through my mind everything I'm trying to push back—Tori, dead on a table somewhere. The shame that I'm glad Tobias isn't dead on a table somewhere. "No. I am…trying…to forget a lot, right now. But, unfortunately, I have forgotten nothing."_

 _"Okay…let me help you out. Ice, lime, salt."_

 _"Not with this, you don't," I argue.  
_

 _"Ice. Lime. Salt."_

 _"Whatever, man. It's your world. I'm just bartending in it. This is a $400 bottle of to-kill-ya. I should have been struck by lightning for not even taking a moment to savor it."_

 _Another deep breath and some grumbling come from Chucho as I grab a new rocks glass, tossing some ice in it. Then I snag a few limes and the salt shaker shoving it at the dude unceremoniously. "There you go! How-to-Ruin-Tequila for Dummies. You should write the book," I suggest like a smart ass, not giving a damn that I'm angering him. Why the hell should I care about anything, right now? In fact, not caring about anything is pretty liberating!_

 _He shakes the salt and squeezes the lime right into the glass as I pour myself, Chucho, and Amar a few inches._

 _"No, no, bella. ¡Espera!" Chucho pulls a martini shaker out and puts exactly three cubes of ice in it. Dumps the contents of all three glasses in the shaker and swishes it once, twice, thrice, frice, then pours it back into our glasses. "¡Ahora, salud!"_

 _We lift our glasses, and I take down the contents in one gulp._

 _"Oh, no…Bella…" Chucho groans._

 _"Well, Chuch. No…lo siento. Me no lo siento. Stupido gringa no lo siento. But…" I shove the bottle at him. "Here. Para ti, amigo."_

 _"¿En serio?"_

 _"Buy a village," I state, walking back down the bar to ring up all their drinks. "Tori's not…with us. So, my rules, right now!"_

 _"How about your rules can be…take care of the customers before the spics?"_

 _I turn to face the non-sensical-tequila-ass with my face turning about 30 shades of red. "Oh, I'll take care of you alright," I say smoothly, walking over to the computer to ring them up, selecting the icon for tequila—top shelf—high end—Don Julio Real and pushing the icon over, and over, and over, and over..._

 _"Hey!"_

 _I look on the Barclays business card searching for a name—Todd Evanston. "Did you hire this guy, Todd?" I ask, nodding my head in the direction of the serial racist._

 _"Yes. He's my—"_

 _"Don't care. My main clientele is businessmen in the Loop. I will be sure to tell everyone that you're known for hiring racist and sexist bigots. In fact, I'm gonna make a sign. Todd Evanston!" I hold my hands up, admiring my vividly imagined neon-flashing sign. "Come consult with my douchebags!"_

 _"I'll boycott this place!"_

 _"That's the idea." I stop pressing the button once the total hits 512.00 and hand him the receipt._

 _He scoffs and walks out without signing it, the line of pricks following like idiotic ducklings. I exhale a deep breath, having thoroughly enjoyed that brief interruption from where I know my mind is headed._

 _"Chucho?" I begin, my head hanging between my braced hands. "Un poco más?"_

 _"Tris. Maybe you shouldn't—"_

 _"Don't chastise me for drinking, Amar," I warn. "Like you said, you're not my father, no matter how much you may have acted like it in the past." I stop, not enjoying the after taste of a grudge. "That is shockingly unlike me," I state looking at him straight on. "Holding onto things… Huh. You must have made quite the impression." I avert my glare and concentrate it on a random beer cap on the floor. I'm not even mad at Amar. It just feels good to fake it, right now._

 _"Would you care to know what happened?" he asks softly._

 _"No, I wouldn't care to know. But, I can't exactly avoid it, now, can I?" My stomach cramps up in preparation for the blow I'm about to receive._

 _"She came out of the surgery just fine. No complications—"_

 _"Surgery? What surgery?!"_

 _"She was having her…tumors removed?" he answers in the form of a question. "You didn't know—"_

 _"She decided against that!" I yell argumentatively._

 _"She changed her mind," he says, looking at me intently as if I'm not following. "She had the ones removed that were the most logical—"_

 _"Logical? Ha—"_

 _"—to slow down the spreading and—"_

 _"Yeah, yeah…" I laugh at the irony. "Prolong her life—give her a few more miserable months! Well, look where it got her." I flinch away as something tickles my shoulder. But, then seeing it's Chucho handing me a tissue, I grab it ungratefully and wipe at my eyes._

 _"Hemorrhagic stroke_ _._ _Post-surgery."_

 _I furrow my eyebrows and do the math, still avoiding his stare. "So, you're telling me…Tori died of a brain aneurysm."_

 _"Yes. She was still sedated when it happened, so she felt nothing. It was quick. The doctors promised."_

 _"Well, doctors are assholes. So, after all the shit she went through, it wasn't even the fucking cancer that killed her?!"_

 _"Not directly…no."_

 _"Well, that's just…great." I raise my glass to my lips. "To-kill-ya. Takes on a whole new meaning."_

* * *

I cringe at the fact that I have no recollection of closing the bar down, a hazy memory of puking on the El, and then a very mild memory of telling Sarita I'd eat her tostones because, as it turns out, the likelihood I would die from them is actually very slim. And I may have sung a fantastic final rendition of Que Sera Sera.

I push roughly through the alleyway door of Gertie's café, hoping to garner some sort of diversionary reaction out of her.

" _Putain de BORDEL de merde_!" she shrieks as beans fly across the floor.

I sigh, not exactly expecting _that_ to happen, as I kneel and start picking them up seeing as they skeetered their way right to my feet.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Gertie exaggerates as she grasps at her chiffon moo moo and holds the back of her hand to her head. "I am old! I could die any minute!"

"Ain't that the truth," I mumble, thinking of Tori and her expected-unexpected death.

"Excusez moi! What is _that_ supposed to mean? I'm not that old! I'll outlive all you stupid, fat, lazy Americans!"

"Must you make everything about you," I state flatly, sitting back on my feet. "Tori died. My boss, my friend. She died."

"I get you coffee," Gertie responds without missing a beat.

I sniff, wiping under my nose, not even able to get enough gusto to say thank you. I pick up the beans one at a time, making a nice pile in my hands, noticing her floor is immaculately clean. It wouldn't surprise me if she washes it daily, if not after each customer leaves. Memories of picking up beans off someone else's immaculately clean floor just makes my tears run faster. I should be thinking about Tori! Not Tobias's post-break up apartment disaster. Post break-up #1, that is. I sit back on my heels again, the nagging feeling returning about Tobias. Everything he went through…for me, for us…and then he moves on _that_ quickly? I know I made him do it. It was the right thing. I just—

"Stop being so annoying! You're picking up the beans all wrong!" she yells from the back. "Just sit your petit cul on that chair!"

I laugh under my breath and rise up on my knees, pulling the envelope out of my pocket. **_Tris_** That's all it says in Tori's small script.

"Get off your knees. You're not a roadwalker!" Gertie orders as she brings a steaming hot _mug_ of coffee and sets it on the folding table.

 _"_ _Street_ walker," I correct, pushing myself up to standing. "What's with the mug?"

"What? You tell me to be eco-frenzy, and now my mugs aren't even good enough?"

"No. I like the mugs. Stop always thinking the worst," I tell her as I slump into the chair across from her.

"Ha! Always comedy with you, ma petite. You should carry a mirror in which to look at yourself!" Gertie leans over her cup to do her 'nasal appraisal' as Lynn calls it, wafting the scent toward her nose. "It's twenty-minutes-old. I make you fresh—"

"No." I rest my hand on her thin arm. "Just…don't."

She relaxes back in the chair, pausing for a minute to search my face as she so often does. "And where is le crétin?"

"At the non-funeral-non-wake-funeral-wake. Probably being awful to everyone."

"What is this nony wakey funeral thing?" Gertie asks.

"Tori didn't want much…when she died. She just…" I trail off, at a loss for how to describe it.

Thankfully Gertie seems to understand. "What is this?"

I flip the envelope over in my hand. "She left me a letter," I say, sighing to myself.

I want to read it. But I didn't want to do it alone. I'm tired of being alone.

"Blech! C'est la merde totale!" she exalts after taking the smallest sip of coffee I've ever seen her take. "I cannot! I make fresh."

I nod my head knowingly, appreciating the fact that she's giving me a moment. But, Gertie is nosey as all get-out. She'll be back soon enough. I sigh, sliding my fingers under the seal to rip open the envelope, and unfolding a small piece of notebook paper.

 ** _Tris,_**

 ** _I'm not sorry I didn't tell you about the surgery. I told Lynn because she compartmentalizes and you don't. Put it this way, I didn't tell Lynn because she's the stronger of the two of you._**

 ** _I know you think the last things you said to me were shitty. Get over yourself._**

 ** _If you care to take anything away from our conversation, remember—I ended up being happy. My life turned out great._**

 ** _Sell your art._**

 ** _Tori_**

A sense of lightness hits me, and it's one of the most welcomed feelings I've had in quite some time. I suppose my last words to Tori being curt and riddled with attitude would have been entirely expected from me. She probably would have hated it if I had gotten all mushy gushy. She probably would have hated it even more if I told her that I went home that night and laid awake going over her story.

I had come to the conclusion that she _was_ drawing parallels between her story and mine and Tobias's, just not how I had initially interpreted. Because whereas my first reaction was that she was using her and Renato as analogous to me and Tobias—fucking typical of me—it was actually about Bud and her…and Tre and I. Or…maybe not Tre, but whoever I end up with. She was trying to tell me that she had a person whom she _felt_ was her soulmate—but it turned out that it wasn't her life's path and she ended up happy, in the end. _Yay! Ugh…_

"You are smiling? Or…not? What is this word? Smeeerking. Yes, that's it."

"Smirking."

"Whatever it is. You are doing it."

"I'm not. I mean, maybe I am, but…I'm just feeling…relieved."

"Strange emotion, no?"

I laugh at how on point that is. Who feels relief the day of a funeral? "The thing is, the first day I met Tori was the last day of her third round of chemo from her first diagnosis of stage-three lung cancer. She literally told me 'Don't get too attached. I won't be around for all that long.'" Seeing the confusion on Gertie's face, but knowing she's too proud to admit that she didn't even understand half of that, I rephrase my explanation. "Tori was dying. Her death was abrupt but not a shock." I realize that response was overly frank, but I'm in no mood to mince words. "So…every emotion I feel is a bit strange."

"May I?" Gertie asks, taking the paper from me without waiting for my rebuttal.

I shrug anyway, knowing there is no betrayal in showing Gertie a quick note from someone who is no longer among us.

She quirks a skeptical penciled-in eyebrow at me. "What is this 'story' she writes?"

"Um," I sigh, wondering how far into this I should go. "She told me she had a soulmate, and…just, they didn't end up together." I feel a strange lurch in my gut every time I think about that.

"Hmmph. Soulmate, eh? You believe in that merde?"

"No."

She looks down her nose as if she doesn't believe me. Hell, I don't even know if I believe me.

"So…she was…not so happy, eh?" Gertie asks, still eyeing the note.

"No, she was...happy."

"She says, ' _I ended up…being…happy_.' So, she was not so happy then, oui?"

"Okay, I know you, minimally, struggle with English, but—"

"No! My English would be perfect if the language wasn't so stupid. Now, this is _your_ fault! Your English needs some work!"

"Good Lord. Explain yourself, please," I groan.

"You said 'being.' You tell me I should say, 'Le crétin is _being_ a prostitute who does not deserve to drink the same champagne as Sofia,' not 'Le crétin _is_ a prostitute who doesn't deserve to drink the same champagne as Sofia.' _Being!_ Big difference! It's how American's be terrible without being terrible. A false truth! This is a false truth, no?" she asks tossing the note my way, leaving me at a total loss for words. " _I ended up…being…happy._ The proof is in the Jell-o, ma petite."

"Pudding."

"Whatever. And what is this 'great' word? So…simple…um…generic! Yes, that word. Is it good? Is it amazing? No, it's…neither. It's great. It's wishy-washy bullshit word with no real meaning. I hear you Americans say it all the time with your big thumbs-up and your Frosting Flakes!"

I momentarily stop my immediate connection with how much Tobias hated the word 'great.' "Our what?"

"Frosting Flakes. You know this guy. Tiger." She makes a gimmicky uppercut with her arm. "They're grrrrrreat!"

"Oh, Ghertrude…" I whine into my hands. " _Frosted_ …Flakes."

"Yes, this. _Great,"_ she spits. "Who wants _great?!_ My Gilles and me—we were not _great._ We were full of life! Very fiery, we were. All the time, I wanted to dump water on his head, stuff a hose up his nose, and put it on full tilt booger."

"Boogie," I correct, trying to push that vivid image out of my mind.

"Whatever. Oh…that man, that man. So stubborn. How did I live with someone so unlike me?"

I'm pretty sure I give her my are-you-crazy look, but she doesn't seem to notice. I've never heard Gertie speak of her husband. But, the passion she's presenting me with is in direct contrast to the way Tori speaks of Bud.

"We had a life, ma petite. He was my best friend, my lover, my husband, my…" She looks like she's being transported to another realm.

Tobias has a similar look when he's remembering things. I wipe away the tears his pondering face triggers. I'd always wondered what he was thinking about during those times he was lost in his own thoughts. I knew he wouldn't tell me, even if I had asked.

"When Gilles died, I died too. Well, I felt like I died. Part of me—just gone."

I'm reminded of that empty feeling that took over my entire body when I thought Tobias had died. It makes no sense to me. I've moved on—accepted my choices, accepted his choices.

"So, we were not _great._ Never just _great._ Many, many things…but not _great._ " She picks up the letter, scrutinizing it again. Although, I think she's holding it so close as to hide the tears that are certainly going to spill at any moment. "This letter is… How do you say it? A caution tailor. Even I can see that…"

I don't have it in me to correct her misusage of 'cautionary tale' because everything I had talked myself into…has been upended. Talked…myself…into. I shake my head at myself. I shouldn't have to talk myself into anything. I should know it. I should feel it.

"Tris," Gertie asks softly…yes, softly as she lays her cold hand on mine. "Do you know how to say, 'I miss you,' in French?"

"No," I answer matching her tone.

She gets up, grabbing Tori's note and quickly walking behind her counter. All I hear is the brief shuffling of papers and a pause before she returns.

"This…" she points to her writing, turning it to face me.

 ** _Tu me manques._**

"Tu me manques," I say, confused as to why the hell she's writing in Spanish.

"Bah! No! This is not Spanish! Toooo…muhhh….monk."

"Are you sure?" I ask, looking doubtfully at the spelling. "That can't be right." The baffled look on Gertie's face along with the red blotches creeping up on her neck puts me in check. "Sorry," I murmur.

"You should be!"

We sit for a moment as I look over the words, still trying to comprehend the pronunciation, happy that it is momentarily occupying my thoughts.

"Such a common phrase," Gertie continues returning to her reminiscent tone, running her thin-skinned fingers over her script. "When I was learning English, I had to use a French-English dictionary. This was no good because French is a beautiful romance language and English is shit, so translation is…not so good. But this one phrase…was…everything to me." She focuses her red eyes right on mine. "It means 'I miss you,' but to translate directly is…very hard and sometimes…odd—I understand it as, 'You are missing from me.' Do you know that feeling, ma chéri?"

I clench my jaw, grabbing a napkin to catch the mascara that's probably dripping down my face. I don't want to answer her. But, yes, I feel that…and I can't even quantify how often.

"Oh, and sell your damned art. I hate art. But sell it. Because you're American and money is all you care about. Your coffee is cold. I make fresh."

* * *

"Ma'am?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah…" I hand the cabbie my credit card and push my way across the seat toward the sidewalk, trying to hide my disdain at the fact that he just called me 'ma'am.'

"So, would you like me to wait? This…is…not a good neighborhood and—"

"I'll be fine," I interrupt taking my card from him but still looking up and down the street wishing this storage facility were in a better location.

"Well, take my card. It is for if you change your mind."

I tentatively take the card from him, seeing nothing but his name and phone number embossed on it— **Abdullah 312-676-7897**. "Since when do cab drivers carry business cards?"

"Since those dirty Uber muthafuckas take my business. You know, they are not licensed! They answer to…no one! No one—"

"Okay, yep. Bye." I hold his card up in a I'll-call-ya way.

I've learned to stay out of the Uber-Cab debate after Lynn and I got kicked out of a cab. Apparently, Lynn's comment of _"It's called the free market, bro! Competition. Step up your friggin' game!"_ wasn't appreciated. Truth be told, I _am_ thankful for the card because my Uber rating is so low that no one would pick me up. I said and did some pretty dumb shit when I was going through my binge-drinking-prescription-stealing days. God, I was so stupid.

I quickly make a break for the EZ-Store Storage door, entering post haste and yanking the door closed behind me. I take a right, walking slowly to my assigned unit. This being only the second time I've been here, I'm not familiar with the numbers yet. _104, 105, 106….110…113…_

I stop in front of unit #114 and take a deep breath.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I exhale deeply, pulling more Christmas lights out of the storage boxes, still not understanding why putting up holiday décor at the beginning of November is even necessary. The holidays being the last thing on my mind, I'm ready to throw Tori's strict orders straight to hell_.—"Make this place look like the offspring of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye puked Christmas. Got it?"

 _My phone rings, giving me a moments reprieve of dust and hateful holiday cheer. I see it's my old landlord. Oh, no…_

 _"_ _Hello?" I squeak, knowing this has to be about money._

 _"_ _Why you no tell me about break-in?" asks the brash Greek voice of Nick._

 _"_ _Um… I'm sorry. I should have—"_

 _"_ _I need to know these things. You leave window open again?"_

 _"_ _No." I roll my eyes, remembering Tobias's strict instructions of 'Lock the fucking window, Tris.' In the end, it didn't matter anyway._

 _"_ _You sure? You leave door unlocked?"_

 _"_ _No." It's not a lie. Christina is the one who left the door unlocked. Ha!_

 _For a moment, I don't hear anything. Did he hang up? I clear my throat to signal that I'm still there._

 _"_ _You okay then?" he asks in a fatherly way. He really has always been a nice guy. But his Greekness gets in the way of his true self._

 _"_ _Yes," I answer, only taking into account the physical toll on my body. Although my ridiculous workouts have been giving me some issues. "So… I guess I owe you more than the security deposit…"_

 _"_ _Why? What you do?" he asks harshly._

 _"_ _Umm…" I'm not really sure how to answer. What the hell is the point of his call if I don't owe him anything?_

 _"_ _I already give the crazy one half. The other half I used for hole in drywall in hallway."_

 _Assuming 'the crazy one' is Christina, I can only wonder about the drywall… Drywall? Then I remember. It was the night I locked Tobias out in the hallway. He punched a hole in the wall. That should have been a red flag. But I can't deny the memory—it was one of the best nights I've ever had in my life. I haven't thought about it in a very long time. Even when Tobias and I were still together, I had been so preoccupied with myself and how he was acting toward me that I forgot all the good. Tobias telling me he loved me and then…an experience I doubt I'll ever be able to replicate on many, many, many, many levels—_

 _"_ _I have new tenants and you leave pictures. Many pictures. Why you no take?"_

 _The cold instantly replaces the warm, and I can't tell if I'm thankful or not. A bad memory replacing a good. What kind of person is thankful for that?_

 _"_ _Hello?!"_

 _"_ _Sorry, I, uh, didn't want them."_

 _I purposefully didn't tell the movers about the hidden room. I wouldn't have been surprised if the new tenants hadn't even discovered it, being flush with the way back corner of the oddly shaped walk-in—more like, walk-to-the-right—closet. There's no handle, just a small latch at the very top painted white to blend in with the drywall. The only reason Christina and I had found it was because she was inspecting to see which closet was bigger and she fell into the wall. The hollowed sound it made led us to discover it was a door. She lost her mind and ran, but I opened it. There was no light. Nothing but old chairs, a pipe, some glass bottles, and an oil lamp sitting on a wooden crate. I wouldn't have been surprised if no one had been in there for over 100 years. I fell in love with the idea that my pictures may just stay hidden, to be discovered in another 100 years. Oh, well…_

 _"_ _Well, I no want them."_

 _I sigh at Nick's what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-them tone. "No one does."_

 _"_ _But they yours?" he asks, making sure._

 _"_ _Yes."_

 _"_ _Then you take! Come get key at restaurant. Maria make you souvlaki. And pita is fresh."_

 _I smile at his invitation that I will definitely be taking because his wife's Greek cuisine at their family restaurant is orgasmic, and he always gives it to me to-go. He's about as social as me._

 _"_ _Nick, I really don't want to…go to the apartment. Can they just throw them away?" I close my eyes, my cheeks burning at the thought of my pictures in the garbage. "Actually—"_

 _"_ _Key for storage unit. Not apartment."_

 _"_ _What? You put them in storage?" I ask in disbelief at his generosity._

 _"_ _In storage."_

 _"_ _Thank you," I respond sincerely…until I realize this is going to cost me money. "How much do I owe you?"_

 _"_ _Nothing."_

 _"_ _Why…?"_

 _"_ _People take care of each other. In this town, we take care. It pay for."_

 _"_ _Really? It's paid for? Are you…? Well, for how long? I mean, thank you, but…" I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but, financially, I need to know this shit._

 _"_ _The storage guy say, it pay for. Okay? I go now. You okay?"_

 _I open my mouth wanting to thank him a million times over, but all I can get out is, "Yes. Thanks, Nick. Thanks so much."_

* * *

I slide the envelope out of my purse, gingerly pulling out the gold key to open the lock on the unit. I don't fully understand why I'm here. Maybe because I need a distraction…or a challenge. The memories my pictures evoke now cause me anxiety—and in there lies the challenge.

Tori and Gertie, of course, each made an impression on me. But I still have no intention to follow through with their advice. At this point, I have a feeling that I'm going to be so immersed in the bar that I won't have time to think about art. I can't even fathom leaving Bud in a lurch with all of that.

Taking a breath, I plunge the key into the lock and yank the handle to the left, jumping back as the door flies up faster than I had intended. I yelp at the crashing sound it makes when it hits the end of its track.

Before me lies, just as it was the first time I saw it, every photo I had left behind—some framed, some not, some with backing, some without, black and white, sepia, colored, painted, penciled, crayoned, watercolors, gel pens…whatever I felt made the photo more beautiful. I sigh as a feeling of longing hits me hard—I miss this. I miss creating. Do I even know where my camera is? Buried in Santiago's garaje, probably.

I slowly walk into the space—which is further than I got last November—and do a 360. All the photos that are framed are leaning against each other precisely, so only the frames are touching—organized from largest in the back to smallest in the front. As I keep turning, I notice the unframed prints—the ones I had haphazardly pinned to the wall in my abolitionist closet—are placed equally as nicely along the opposite side of the unit.

I migrate to a picture I had taken of Caleb and Susan, picking it up to inspect it. It's only their feet. We were at the cabin, and they were sitting at the end of the pier, swishing their toes in the water. Caleb's feet were swinging back, and Susan's were coming forward. Susan's feet were blurred, but somehow Caleb's came out focused. I printed it out in black and white, and then went back and colored in the pier to make it an exact likeness of the brown color of the actual pier.

I remember that being a good day. We all just hung out and floated around the small lake on our tubes. We had filled all our soda cans with beer so it just looked like innocent fun to any adults that may wander over. Although, Eric did eventually end up ruining it when he showed up, later in the day, with weed. He flicked his joint at me because I rolled my eyes at his immaturity—fucking burned a hole in my red bathing suit. I was so pissed. I can smoke weed with the best of them, but once people start acting like those asshole babies that can't stop laughing every time their dog barks, I've had it. Fuckin' dickhead, laughing because he kept farting in the water. It might have actually been funny if it hadn't been Eric.

I groan, knowing I just ruined a perfectly good memory by thinking of Eric. But nonetheless, I take the picture, looking at it again. This time Caleb comes to mind. I wonder if he ever thinks about Susan. Probably not, considering his newest…tryst.

* * *

 **Flashback**

 _"_ _Kerrington residents' hall, Nurse Patricia, speaking. How may I help you, today?"_

 _"_ _Hi, Patricia," I say in my perky voice. "This is Caleb Prior's sister—"_

 _"_ _Yes, Beatrice. How are you?" she asks as if I'm boring her._

 _"_ _Fine. Um… So, I'm coming to visit today."_

 _"_ _I'm aware."_

 _"_ _Oh. Good. Anyway, I wanted to call first. Just to find out how he's doing…?" I wait, hearing nothing…nothing at all. "Hello?"_

 _"_ _Beatrice, the last time you called and inquired about Caleb you gave me an earful of choice words because I was going against his wishes of privacy…even though, you are his medical proxy."_

 _I can feel the disdain seeping through the phone. "Well, this time is different," I say defiantly. "I'm… I haven't seen him since he was…debilitated." I choke back the memory of the comfort I took in Tobias's arms after that encounter. "And…I just want to know what I'm in for. I want to be prepared, mentally prepared."_

 _"_ _Are you going to choose your words more wisely?" she asks as if I'm in middle school and I just got caught swearing in the hallway._

 _"_ _Yes," I groan._

 _"_ _Good! He's doing better than I've ever seen him! He takes his medication regularly. He participates in activities. He works out at the gym. And he's even tutoring the younger patients—"_

 _"_ _WHY DID YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME?! I mean, what the hell, Patricia!? I've gone months—MONTHS!—without seeing him, and you decide to tell me NOW that he's some Nut House super hero?! You guys are the worst!" I fully expect her to hang-up, but surprisingly she must have a least an ounce of compassion for an irrational sister. "So, um, what's so damned different this time?" I ask sheepishly._

 _"_ _Well…" she laughs lightly, taking way to long of a pause. "…he has an…online friend. So that's seemed to help him."_

 _"_ _A…a…a… WHAT?! An online—wait, dating?! Like, online dating?!" I stutter, trying to wrap my feeble brain around this crap!_

 _"_ _Well, they do seem to have a lot in common. But, we usually give Caleb…privacy…if you know what I mean…"_

 _"_ _Aaaaagh…"_

 _"_ _So, technically, I'm not sure if they are…dating."_

 _"_ _How?" I growl, ignoring the eyebrow waggling that I can literally hear through the phone. "How did this…happen?! Is this some sick service you provide?"_

 _"_ _Well, we do try to make our patients as comfortable as possible. Nothing wrong with a little…ya know…Facetime…"_

 _"_ _Ohhhhhh, you did not just say that…"_

* * *

I stave off the need to puke in my mouth, remembering how disgustingly defensive Caleb got when I asked about his 'friend'—shame and embarrassment, a dead giveaway. Oh well. The less I knew, the better. But…upon seeing Caleb standing in front of me in jeans and a collared shirt, a normal weight, hair patches growing in, no dark circles under his eyes…I just about broke down, definitely forgetting all about his cyber endeavors. Seeing Caleb was amazing—healthy, quick-witted, proud. He looked…taller. The cynical part of my nature, the one that never seems to be satisfied with anything, was searching for that light Caleb always had in his eyes. You couldn't _not_ smile or be somehow affected when he was around. I couldn't find that light, but, who the hell am I to talk—I literally drag my feet when I walk.

I flip the photo over, sighing because I've been so out of touch that I don't even remember reinforcing the backing. I take one last look at the picture and decide to, at least, have it framed and hold onto it for a while.

My eyes do a quick lap around the storage space taking in years of work and memories. "What the hell am I going to do with all this?" I laugh.

Tori's written words along with Gertie's verbal lashing both make their appearance one more time— _Sell your art._ Who's gonna fuckin' buy it? Don't have Amar to 'vouch' for me anymore!

I purse my lips, suddenly ready to set fire to this place. And knowing myself as well as I do, that's my cue to leave. Turning in a dramatic fashion that is for none other than my own benefit, my purse swings out and I hear what at one point in my life would have been the pleasing sounds of Dominoes that I would watch with rapt attention as one plastic rectangle hit the other, praying they would all fall perfectly and my efforts would be a success. But this time my eyes are squeezed shut, and I'm praying for just one piece of my metaphorical Domino to be angled wrong, disrupting the whole process. But instead, seeing as all are at perfect angles, the grand finale is a large…rip.

Finally, getting the guts to open my eyes, I see that every picture that lined the right side of the unit has in some way, shape, or form…collapsed onto the floor. The temptation to leave the scene so as to never know the source of the deafening rip presents itself momentarily, but I succumb to the notion that I won't be able to sleep unless I know which one was destroyed.

I walk toward the corner where the catastrophic event ended to inspect the damage, starting by moving the smaller pictures aside—train tracks, lily pads—but not seeing anything. Then the more medium-sized ones—a whole field of day lilies, a 'Christmas Trees For Sale' sign, a Kum and Go gas station sign that I took as a joke, but actually turned out pretty cool. Then I see it—the edge of one of the smaller pictures had ripped into the paper backing of a larger one. I notice immediately that the ripped picture is framed—an expensive frame.

"What the hell," I mutter as I lift the picture. I find myself instantly on my ass with the photo in my lap—the covered bridge, the tiger lilies growing nearby toward the woods, the water running…red…under the bridge.

Spying a piece of paper folded perfectly and tucked in between the picture and the frame, I instantly grab it.

 _ **PROOF THAT I NEVER THOUGHT YOU WERE A VICTIM.**_

 _ **LOVE, SOME DUMB FUCK**_

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _Rolling my eyes at his quite-predictable response to Tori's request that I return to work, I follow his adorably controlled hell storm into his room. "Tobias, I need to work," I say trying to reign in my oh-you're-so-ignorant look, and give him an expression that feigns understanding instead._

 _"Then work on your photography! And the cute doorway lean is my move."_

 _I stifle a laugh, not even realizing I was enacting his self-proclaimed trademark move. "I will. But that's not a sustainable income right now. And, you didn't corner the market on doorway leans," I point out as I loosely grasp his hips._

 _"Well, once they start trading it on the markets, I will make sure I do," he mutters as I lean up to kiss his nose. "Don't do that—"_

 _"Although…listen to this," I begin, trying to put a positive light on this conversation, even though it'll go against my point._

 _"Can't wait," he deadpans sarcastically._

 _I want to jump up and down because I was so damned excited, but I decide to take out my excitement using my colorful language. "Some dumb fuck did pay $1000 for one of them!"_

 _Expecting some sort of smug I-told-you-so smile, I am entirely shocked when he looks like he's about to bite his tongue off…and the redness in his face is concerning, to say the least._

 _"Well, maybe it was priceless!"_

 _I just about jump at his freak-out and back up a few steps, but he doesn't seem to notice._

 _"Did you ever think about that?" he asks running his hands through his hair. "And why does that make them a dumb fuck?!"_

* * *

A tear drips onto the painting, and, honestly, I don't even care. It's happened before—the conference room at ALG when I had a panic attack. Explaining—actually giving an explanation for—the picture to Amar; tears dripped right onto the unsealed picture. I just shrugged it off at the time. Now I feel like it adds to it; like a time capsule captures memories. Except…what would be memorable about this moment?

My eyes wander back to Tobias's perfect handwriting – _**PROOF THAT I NEVER REALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE A VICTIM.**_

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"Jesus, Tris! You're a victim of abuse! ….. ….. ….. dealing….. ….. ….. much. ….. ….. you….. ….."_

 _My mind travels to the moment that I'd assured Dr. DuBois that Tobias doesn't think I'm a victim. Was I that much of a blind idiot? I look at Tobias pacing and spouting out…whatever. Maybe I heard him wrong…_

 _"What the hell did you just say?" A part of me wants him to admit it that he said it unabashedly so I can hate him. The other part hopes that I misheard him so I can hold onto the connection we had—the fact that we both had shit experiences, but came out ahead. But I can see by the fervent way his eyes are moving that he's trying to figure out what I'm talking about. I sigh aloud…he meant it. "Victim. You called me a victim."_

 _"Is that…inaccurate?" He gives me a how-do-you-not-know-this look while I feel like my entire self is being crushed in a vice._

 _"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God." I know I'm hyperventilating, but I don't know how to stop._

 _"What, what, what?!"_

 _"I DEFENDED YOU!" I shriek in hysterics. "He was right. That fuckin' piece of shit was right!" I walk across the room trying to put as much distance between the two of us as possible as I run through all of the other possible ways Dr. DuBois may have been right._

 _"Who? Marcus?! Don't defend me to him! Ever!"_

 _I stop in my tracks, narrowing my eyes at his single-minded bullshit face realizing at that moment that he can't function beyond the world his father created for him. "Of course, you would make this about your father! No, my therapist, you one-track, shithead!"_

 _The look of embarrassment on his face only validates my claim that he can't see outside of his father's shadow._

 _"He asked if I was absolutely sure you didn't think I was a victim, and I assured him…you didn't. Fuck, was he right about everything?!"_

 _"Ummm…. What? Or…wait, you…talked about me?"_

 _I look at him incredulously because how could he not fathom that I would discuss him with my therapist. "Of course, we fucking talked about you!"_

 _"Okay, can we please back up because…I don't really know what the hell is…happening." He widens his eyes as if he's trying to focus._

 _"Everything is happening!" I yell. "You… It's just too much… You…you went to… You talked to him—"_

 _"So you wouldn't have to! I'll say it a thousand times if I have to!"_

 _His words hit me hard—He talked to Eric, so I didn't have to. The decoded version—he did it because he didn't think I could._

 _"And…you…you think I'm a victim?" I stutter, not knowing if it's a question or a statement. I need one more piece of validation that I'm hearing this properly because I feel like the world is closing in on me._

 _"SO FUCKING WHAT?!"_

* * *

I let out an unrelenting sob as that night comes pouring back—the confusion I was feeling, the anger. The blow of disappointment as everything he had ever convinced me of came down on my head. I don't know if I was more disgusted with him or with myself. How did I not see his interpretation of me? He was constantly at my beck and call, checking up on me, making sure I'm 100% taken care of, at all times. After a lot of reflection on the days following, I came to a conclusion—I was more disgusted with myself for not having seen it. I think I felt it, but could never put it into words. It's not his fault. We can't help how we feel. And that's what he felt.

"Proof that I never…really _..._ thought you were a victim?" I whisper, suddenly angry at myself for allowing him to have this effect on me again. "What? Did he just go back in time and change his mind?!"

How would buying this painting…and then giving it _back_ to me…be proof of anything?! It's more like proof he cleaned out his closet! Proof he was downsizing! Proof this wouldn't go with the color palette his girlfriend picked out for them seeing as he has absolutely no personal style! I laugh under my breath as his real motivation appears—this note, this _proof_ , is riddled with guilt…not truth. And what makes it the _worst_ …makes this shitty piece of paper look even more clad with guilt is the damned fact that he couldn't even GIVE IT TO ME IN PERSON! He had to leave it at my damned apartment! For my damned landlord to take care of!

I crumple up the note, then change my mind and smooth it out flat, folding it back in half just enough where the edges of the paper no longer line up exactly, but are actually about a half-centimeter off and on a slight diagonal, knowing that alone would set Tobias's OCDesque nature on fire. I whip the note across the room Frisbee style and stand, holding the picture at arms-length.

"I'm going to do exactly what Tobias James dumb fuck Eaton thinks I wouldn't—I'm going to hang you over my damned fireplace! If I had a fireplace…that's where you'd go. I'm going to download the fireplace app and hang you above my tablet!" I announce as if the painting were my companion.

And I plan to look at it every day and think of how full of shit he really is. I'll think of him basking in the California sunshine—getting pre-mature wrinkles, learning to surf even though he'll look like a mid-western jackass, wearing flip-flops to work and using the word 'like' and 'dude' way-too-often along with developing the whiney, slow-talk, over accentuation of the 'aaaahhhhh' sound—

"Is that really what you think I was doing?"

I freeze, not out of shock, but out of the unwelcome intrusion of my subconscious. I glance over my shoulder, seeing, as expected considering I concocted it, Tobias leaning against the doorframe—arms crossed, his left foot crossed over his right, the toe of his shoe tapping the ground. I have no interest in meeting his gaze, but I don't need to, I already know his eyebrows are furrowed in a challenging way with a hint of amusement as well.

"Yep, sure is." I quip, tossing the picture up and catching it with one hand by the frame. My fingers get caught in the tear in the backing, only ripping it further. "Shit!" I look over my shoulder in an irrational manner, just to make sure fake Tobias isn't there anymore. Let's face it, if Tobias were really _here_ , he'd be unsuccessfully trying to hide his entirely unsexy deep laughter.

Nodding my head in a self-assured manner, I kneel down with the painting, balancing it on a corner to inspect the damage. I pull at the very significant tear, peering at the small space in between the backing and the picture. The tip of my finger runs over something sharp…or perceived as sharp seeing as it didn't injure me. I look further and spot the corner of something white. Flicking at it with my finger tip, it instantly comes loose and disappears behind the picture, sliding in the opposite direction. And because I'm a firm believer that curiosity, indeed, did _not_ kill the stupid cat because I've seen cat's do some really dumb shit and they always seem to survive, I pull at the tear, even more; eventually ripping the shit out of it to discover…an envelope.

"What…the…?" I sigh because the damned thing is so thin it's nearly weightless. Which means I just destroyed the perfectly expensive backing of a semi-okay-decent picture just to discover what's probably the damned receipt for the job, mistakenly left there.

I quirk my eyebrow in curiosity at how much the framing did actually cost. I wouldn't put it past Dalilah to upcharge customers even though the framing costs pennies. Seriously, what kind of person upcharges their customers? I rip it open, pulling out the papyrus-thin paper—as in, I think this could be actual papyrus—

 ** _TO WHOM THIS MAY OR_** _—_

I immediately smack the note, face down, hard, and flat on the concrete floor upon seeing the entirely recognizable handwriting of Tobias. My fingers sting from the force of it almost as much as my bottom lip does from biting it.

That was no receipt. That was a note…nope, not a note…a letter, that was a very, very, lengthy letter. I collect myself after a moment and wonder if I'm mistaken. Maybe I'm wrong. Lots of people write in all caps, right? And with mechanical pencil, right? Uuuuggghhhh…Very…few…people. I peek my left eye down at my white hands being cut off from oxygen, the see-through paper smashed into the ground.

I have two options here. I can either read it or… There is absolutely no other option.

 ** _TO WHOM THIS MAY OR MAY NOT CONCERN,_**

 ** _I MUST FIRST APOLOGIZE FOR PUTTING YOU IN THE POSITION TO BORE YOURSELF WITH THE RANDOM WOES OF A STRANGER. WITH THAT SAID, PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK._**

 ** _I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU CAME ACROSS THIS NOTE, BUT MY HOPES WERE THAT THE ARTIST OF THIS PAINTING HAD KEPT IT AND HUNG IT WHERE SHE COULD LOOK AT IT EVERY DAY, SEEING HERSELF IN IT—HOW FAR SHE HAD COME AND REFLECTING ON THE GOOD THAT CAME OUT OF THE BAD._** ** _ ** _ANOTHER OPTION I WOULD DEEM ACCEPTABLE WOULD BE THAT THIS PICTURE ENDED UP AT THE ART INSTITUTE, THE MET, OR THE GUUGENHEIM—OR I SUPPOSE ANY PLACE WHERE PEOPLE COULD LOOK AT IT WITH WONDER. HOWEVER, IF YOU ARE READING THIS BECAUSE YOU FOUND IT BURIED IN A GARAGE, ESTATE, YARD, RUMMAGE, THRIFT, OR ANTIQUE SALE, (GOD FORBID, A FLEA MARKET) GO BUY A LOTTERY TICKET BECAUSE YOU MAY JUST BE THE LUCKIEST PERSON ALIVE—THIS PIECE IS PRICELESS._**_**

 ** _THE ARTIST SHOULD BE KNOWN. ALTHOUGH, I'M CERTAIN THAT TO THIS DAY, WHATEVER DAY THIS MAY BE, SHE WILL REMAIN ANONYMOUS. SO, ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT HER: SHE WAS FIERCE, LOYAL, SHARP-TONGUED, STRONG-WILLED, SELFLESS, STUBBORN, SPIRITED, RUDE, SEMI-PETULANT, WISE-BEYOND HER YEARS, INTELLIGENT, BLUNT, AND COMPASSIONATE. THERE WAS NOT A WOMAN ON THIS PLANET THAT WAS MORE OF A CONUNDRUM—BUT EVERY PART OF HER INCREDIBLY FLAWED SOUL IS WHAT MADE HER BEAUTIFUL._**

 ** _ ** _I LEFT THIS NOTE BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, I AM A SAPPY SCHMUCK WHO FELT THE NEED TO SOMEHOW LEAVE A PART OF HIMSELF WITH HER, BEING FULLY AWARE OF THE MELODRAMATIC NATURE OF THAT OUT-OF-CHARACTER GESTURE._** YOU SEE, I WAS, AND WOULD FOREVER BE, HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH HER (A PART OF ME REALLY HOPES NO ONE EVER READS THAT)AND I'M 99.9% CERTAIN MY HEART HAS BROKEN EVERYDAY BECAUSE I COULDN'T HAVE HER. (I HAD TO PUT THAT .01% IN THE THERE FOR MY OWN SANITY)._**

 ** _I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND LOVE. AND I WAS A ONE-TRACKED PIECE OF SHIT, AS THE ARTIST HAD, SO KINDLY, POINTED OUT TO ME; THEREFORE, WHEN SOMETHING BAFFLED ME, I HAD A MINOR DIFFICULTY IN GETTING PAST IT. SO, THIS WAS WHAT I HAD TO DO TO RATIONALIZE MY FEELINGS FOR HER—I HAD TO MAKE A LIST:_**

 ** _1._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HER DAMNED FAVORITE COLOR WAS, ONLY THAT IT WASN'T PINK._**

 ** _2._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE DRANK REALLY, REALLY, STRONG COFFEE (NOT TEA—EVEN THOUGH, SHE DRANK TEA.) AND SHE LIKED IT BLACK, JUST LIKE ME._**

 ** _3._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE EVERY TIME I LAUGHED (IT DIDN'T HAPPEN OFTEN) SHE LOOKED AT ME AS IF I HAD JUST GIVEN HER THE BEST GIFT IN THE WORLD. (SHE WAS PRETTY LOW-MAINTENANCE.)_**

 ** _4._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE RESTED HER HAND ON MY HEART IN THE ANATOMICALLY CORRECT PLACE. (NOT THE INCORRECT LEFT PECTORAL WAY THAT PROBABLY GOT STARTED BACK WHEN THEY THOUGHT THE EARTH WAS FLAT.) AND, I SUPPOSE, IT HELPED THAT SHE SEEMED TO LIKE TO HEAR IT BEAT TOO. (THAT WAS HARD TO WRITE)._**

 ** _5._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE WAS SOMEHOW UNFAZED WHEN I WAS A JACKASS IN PUBLIC—SHE STILL CRAWLED OVER A BARTOP JUST TO KISS ME._**

 ** _6._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE MADE ME THINK ABOUT LOVE, WHEREAS BEFORE, IT WAS AN ILLUSION...AN UNTOUCHABLE IDEOLOGY THAT I BARELY GAVE TWO SHITS ABOUT._**

 ** _7._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE HURT ME, SO SHE WOULDN'T HURT ME. THAT'S SOMETHING THAT ONLY SHE AND I UNDERSTOOD._**

 ** _8._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE SHE CALLED ME OUT ON EVERY GLITCH, FAULT, DEFECT AND DEFICIENCY, YET STILL SEEMED TO LOVE ME IN SPITE OF ALL OF THEM._**

 ** _9._ _I LOVED HER BECAUSE WHEN SHE WOKE UP IN THE MORNING, SHE SMILED AT ME…AND THAT WAS ALL I NEEDED._**

 ** _SHE DESERVED MOVIES IN THE PARK, BASEBALL GAMES AND A FRIDGE FULL OF SPOTTED COW BEER. SHE DESERVED FRESH TIGER LILIES AND CHOCOLATE-COVERED STRAWBERRIES ON THE REGULAR, NOT JUST ON HER BIRTHDAY. SHE DESERVED A MAN WHO KNEW HOW TO USE A COFFEEMAKER AND WHO DIDN'T FORGET TO PUSH 'GO' ON THE SLOWCOOKER BEFORE HE LEFT FOR WORK RESULTING IN SLUSHED CHILI. SHE DESERVED A MAN WHO BROUGHT HER TOAST AND NUTELLA IN BED; NOT AS AN APOLOGY, BUT JUST BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE LOVED IT. SHE DESERVED A MAN WHO ENJOYED A NIGHTCAP OF EXPENSIVE WHISKEY BECAUSE IT WAS DELICIOUS AND HE LOVED HER COMPANY; NOT BECAUSE HE WAS DROWNING HIS SORROWS. SHE DESERVED A MAN WHO COULD TELL TIME, NOT LOSE TRACK OF IT. AND MAN WHO PUSHED HER, BUT NOT TO THE BRINK._**

 ** _AND ULTIMATELY…A HUSBAND. ONE WHO PUT A RING ON HER FINGER AND DIDN'T STUTTER AND PISS HIMSELF OUT OF FEAR WHEN HE DID IT. KIDS WHO WERE LOVED BY A FATHER—A FATHER WHO LOST HIS MIND OUT OF EXCITEMENT RATHER THAN DREAD WHEN SHE TOLD HIM SHE'S CARRYING...THEIR CHILD. I'M UNABLE TO WRITE ANYMORE ABOUT THAT._**

 ** _SHE DESERVED FRIENDS, FAMILY, HOLIDAYS, MEMORIES…A LIFE UNINTERRUPTED._**

 ** _WE ALL HAVE TO MAKE CHOICES, AND MUCH TO MY MISFORTUNE, MINE REMOVED ME FROM THE EQUATION THAT IS HER LIFE. HAD I STAYED, SHE WOULD HAVE FORFEITED THE ONE SHE TRULY DESERVED._**

 ** _THANK YOU FOR READING MY QUICK, SELF-SERVING, SELF-LOATHING, MELODRAMATIC RAMBLINGS. IF I CAN'T TELL HER HOW I FEEL, I MAY AS WELL PUT IT OUT THERE, SOMEHOW. MANY THANKS, AND MANY APOLOGIES._**

 ** _TJE_**

The paper slips to the ground, gliding in a leaf-like manner until it rests on the face down picture. I must have dropped it at some point. I don't quite remember.

* * *

The clenching of my jaw hurts my teeth to the point that it rivals a dental extraction. And the burning of my eyes I can only compare to what it feels like to have a staring contest with a California wildfire. Fuck, California, by the way. I try to breathe through my nose to calm myself but turns out I'm already quite congested, and I just end up coughing on my own phlegm.

The door to the apartment flies opens and in walks a very haggard looking Lynn. Good. She should be haggard. A haggard jerk.

"Way to ditch out on a funeral. That was fucking selfish," she snarks, heading to the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of some kind of liquor in the cabinet over the fridge.

"Tori wouldn't care," I mumble, looking at Lynn through slitted eyes, distracting me from the photographic image of Tobias's thesis.

"Funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the living."

"Oh, and you're going to tell me you were consoling people?" I ask, calling her out on her bullshit.

"I bought Bud a drink."

"No, you didn't."

"I gave Bud a drink."

"How supportive of you."

"He seemed grateful. And speaking of grateful…or _UN_ grateful, let's talk about you. You ran out on me like a petulant child—"

"I AM NOT PETULANT!" I shout sitting up straight as an arrow from my lounging position. _SEMI-_ _ **PETULANT**_ in Tobias's handwriting flashes before me.

"Um…number one, yikes. Number two, holy shit calm the fuck down. Number three, yes, you are. And number four, since when do you care so much about what I think of you?"

I want to tell her that she's more off-point than she's ever been in her miserable life—that it's Tobias's… _proclamation…_ that is causing nothing short of a collision course in my mind...that I haven't been this at odds with myself since the day after we broke up.

"I don't. Now leave me alone," I groan lying back and resting my arm over my face. The silence that pervades is unnerving because it means Lynn is being creepy. "Stop…staring."

"Just trying to understand you." She sighs as if whatever she's about to say is going to take a toll. "And…I will say, I have seen you take a ration of shit in stride… Soooo, I'll be generous and call you ' _semi_ -petulant.'"

"That's even _worse,"_ I whine to myself.

"How?! And I was trying to compliment you. Geez—Hey! Where did you get this?"

I lift my arm slightly to see her hold up my picture of the bridge—the one I should have donated to a flea market.

"Don't _ever_ tell me you can't afford to go to the doctor when, apparently, you have enough coin to buy good art!"

Pulling my arm away entirely, I watch her face to see if there is any sign of bullshit. Any detection that she knows I did it. But I see none. It is entirely different than the other pictures, I suppose.

 _Lynn_ , someone who loves art and has nothing to gain, _likes_ my picture? Someone who doesn't know I did it…

"Whoa. What happened?" she asks inspecting the tear. "Hope you got a discount."

"Ha," I deadpan, covering my eyes again. "I think it may have cost me more."

* * *

 **Chucho's Spanish:** " _¿Tequila favorita?¡La que hace mi abuelito! Pero, la quemará la cara…" ("Favorite tequila? The kind my grandpa makes. But it'll burn your face off...")  
_

 **Gertie's French: _"_** _Putain de BORDEL de merde!" ("Holy fucking shit!")_

 **Another thank you to all readers. Find me on facebook! Search the fanpage - (Kris Daniels or /nitewriter4) for photos and teasers. And then shoot me a message through that if you want to join the private page.**


	31. Pieces

**Spoiler alert for those who haven't read Wuthering Heights. (BTW, you should.)**

 **And if you haven't read the one-shot "At First Sight," you may want to.**

 **(And I didn't do a final-final grammar check.)**

* * *

 **Chapter 31 –** Pieces

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

"I just love this place. So many good finds!" remarks a customer as I run her credit card. "Where do you get your inventory?"

"All local artists," I answer, smiling my 'customer-smile'—Signaling appreciation, but that there's no need to talk any more than necessary.

"Do you know them all?"

"Uhhhh…yes…," I respond gazing at the hazy mess of random art—mostly mine, but some from wherever they came from.

"Well, I'll have to come back! My husband would just love this. He's a lion trainer and loves art. Especially when there are parakeets in South Uganda involved."

"Wow." I watch after her as she leaves, the door to the gallery flying open from the vacuum effect of the wind.

"Windy City, huh?"

"Yep," I answer, holding back my That's-not-why-they-call-it-that,-you-jackass comment until she leaves. I exhale a held in breath. "That's not why they call it that, you jackass," I whisper, feeling better to have gotten the words out.

I watch the people on the crowded street milling about, enjoying the sunshine. So, I figure, 'What the hell! May as well join 'em!' and make my way outside as well. Quick as I can conjure, I'm outside with my purse and sunglasses strolling past the shops trying to soak up as much D as I can. It's an odd mix of warm and cold today—feels warm…but feels cold. The wind starts whipping my hair all over the place, so I decide to meander back to my gallery, taking my time trying to avoid the cracks because you know what they saaaay—

"Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back!" a little girl squeals to me in passing.

"My mom's dead!" I return the comment, waving at the little one as I round the corner, ready to get back to work. I have a feeling I have a customer… That would only make sense.

I spot the assumed customer, her willowy figure passing by the front window, making brief eye contact with me. Sighing, I take a step forward only to be frozen on the spot because right outside the window…walking past her,…toward me, is…Tobias. He stops and scrutinizes whatever is in the window as I back up a few steps, nearly tripping over a stray cat.

Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… I slowly back into my gallery as to not draw attention, and move to a spot where I can watch him from inside. He slowly browses the window, looking at whatever is on display. His eyebrows are furrowed just like I remember them. He always did that when he was thinking hard about something. I take a moment just to admire him in his cashmere sweater, olive-toned skin, prominent features that just scream—masculine. I see the side of his mouth twitch as he smirks at something, I strain to see what it is. But, instead, I'm met with the most intense and penetrating eyes on the planet, and I feel like my legs are unraveling. He instantly averts his eyes, and I see his jaw clench. Part of me wants to jump through the window and throw myself at him, while the part that I don't know if is more sane or less sane wants to throw myself at oncoming traffic. I look at the traffic—a double-decker bus is coming my way. That'll do it! Yes. Traffic it is—

"Tris?" He suddenly appears right in front of me before I can even make it out the door.

"Hi," I answer, sounding like a baby learning its first words.

There is absolutely no follow-up response from him, just the look on his face that, for some reason, I can't put a description on even though I feel like my mind is trying really really hard!

"How…how are you?" I walk toward him for a hug, but he backs up a couple of paces as I awkwardly grab air.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks all around the shop—everywhere but at me. "I'm fine," he says softly.

"You are?" I inquire wondering if that's true, hoping it's not.

He huffs out a laugh and looks over his shoulder out the window while I realize how rude that sounded. I haven't seen him in years, and I'm questioning his happiness?

"I mean, you are. That's…good," I laugh, not knowing what else to say but having so much to say all at the same time—wishing I could make up for so time all at once. "So…you're back in town. That's…nice…"

"Well, I moved back not too long ago. Not downtown, or anything. I live in Oak Park."

I almost have to stifle a laugh at that. Tobias living in a suburb? "Seriously?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

"Seriously," he sighs, scratching the back of his head. "So…you work here now?" he asks starting to wander, looking over all the pieces as if they're not that interesting.

"Ha, yeah. It's my gallery."

"Are all these…yours?" he asks lightly, pulling one toward him to see what's behind it.

"Uh…" I look to see what he's looking at—my picture of Navy Pier, with just the popcorn vendor highlighted. "Yes, you were _there_ when I took that…picture… Do you not…recognize any of these?" I ask in disbelief.

"It's been a while, sorry."

My heart and my pride sink at the fact that he wouldn't remember _any_ of the pieces I had done. He turns and walks back my way, stopping a couple feet in front of me. I meet his eyes and walk another step toward him…and this time he lets me and doesn't step back. I look down at his hands that he suddenly has in fists.

"I have…so much I… I can't believe you're standing in front of me. I've wanted to…get a hold of you. I just…"

"You just…what?" he asks flatly as I finally find the courage to meet his eyes.

"I was…in therapy and…didn't want to fuck it up. But, I'm good now! Like, really good. Healthy as a horse, and happier than a pig in shit! Sorry, I don't know why I said that… Um…" I watch as he backs away a couple steps again and starts to wander in the direction of the door, laughing under his breath. "So, uh, hang on. What have you been up to? How did California treat you? No wrinkles? No flip-flops—"

"It was good," he says over his shoulder as he ducks and looks out the window again.

"Hey, do you have time to get a cup of coffee?" I blurt out, hopefully.

"No, I, uh…I really don't—"

"Please?"

"I'm _married_ ," he says almost angrily as if he threw the words at me on purpose. "So, no. No coffee."

All this time and it hadn't even crossed my mind that he could possibly be married. I can't…believe it… "Oh."

"And I have two kids."

All I can do is blink my eyes to try and hold back the tears. Kids. He has…children. "Guess you changed your mind on that one, huh?" I say sadly as his letter flashes before my eyes, the damned letter that has plagued me. "Well, glad someone, at least, got the life they… _deserved."_

He clears his throat and furrows his eyebrows at me as if he's confused on why I would say that. "Well, I should go—"

"I found the letter," I say so quickly it practically spills out of my mouth.

He halts in his tracks, turning to face me slowly. And when he does…all I see is an iconoclasm of emotions—it's like his face doesn't know what to do. It all ends with a look of almost…hatred.

"Why did you write it?" I ask, pushing past the fear that the expression on his face evokes in me. "If you were with someone else…and you moved and… Why would you do…that?"

"You're asking me this…" he begins slowly, flexing and unflexing his fists. "…years later? You didn't have _questions_ when you found it?"

"I had a million questions—more than I could put words to! But…" I trail off, not knowing how to explain myself without sounding like a chicken shit.

"Finish…that…thought, _please,"_ he growls.

"I was in a good place—or a better place—and I didn't want to ruin it!"

"Wow, that is…just…such an expectedly selfish response."

I try to open my mouth to explain myself better, but the fact is, he's right. It was selfish. "But, why didn't you—if you felt that way—why didn't you stay? Or…tell me—"

 _"Tell_ you? You…broke my fucking heart!" he yells sending me back a few steps. "You…said you were DONE with me! And the way you said it…" He rubs his hand over his face—never thought I could miss such an action. "You made me feel like I was…worth…" He laughs sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling. "…very, very little."

I bite my tongue, the petulant side of me wanting to argue for the sake of not admitting fault. But, he's right. And as much as I hate it, there's no point in being argumentative. What's done is done. He has a life. And I have a…gallery, apparently.

"I know no matter what I say, it won't make…things…better. But, you were, everything—"

"Don't you DARE…say that to me!" he shouts, taking a step toward me.

He must have expected me to back away, but instead, I slide my arms around his midsection, holding him tight, knowing I'll never get to do this again. I rest my forehead on his heart, not having the courage to turn my head to hear it beat.

"Not that it even matters, anymore," he grumbles, prying my arms away and storming out the door.

"Hey!" I run after him, knowing I, at least, need one more question answered. "Tobias, wait! I just have ONE MORE FUCKING QUESTION!" I scream as everyone on the sidewalk stops, along with traffic. I wave everyone on, giving them permission to continue with their ignorance, but, not before I grab the back of Tobias's sweater, stopping him in his tracks.

"This is… _cashmere!"_ he shouts, ripping my hand away.

"Since when do you know what cashmere is?!"

"Since I have a wife who teaches me things and doesn't just laugh at my expense!"

"Ha! Like coffee?! You can't possibly tell me—"

"Yep. I have a damned espresso machine, and I use it every day…all by myself!"

The hurt that hits me at the fact that someone else succeeded in teaching him to make coffee along with being familiar with imported fabrics is excruciating!

"What do you want, Tris?" he asks as if giving me one more minute is the most inconvenient thing he's ever done.

"What did you mean, 'you had to make a choice?' In your letter… What did that mean?! What choice?!" I demand.

"You mean the choice _you_ made for me? The choice you _pushed_ on me? That choice, Tris?! Well, ya know what? It ended up being a _chance_. So, I took it!"

I search his face for truth, but I find him…unreadable. And it's…killing me! But, I can't help what my gut is telling me, and I have learned not to ignore it, anymore. "No. There's more. There has to be. Tell me."

"No."

 _"Tell_ me!"

"I… _can't,"_ he responds with a clenched jaw. "I'm not going to revisit that…on the damned sidewalk…with my family right behind me."

The word family wraps itself and its slimy fingers right around my vertebrae, attempting to crush it. I look across the street at the playground to see two brown-haired cute-as-shit kids. But, I can't bring myself to look at the most-likely gorgeous woman sitting all prim and proper on a picnic table…probably knitting a sweater for their pet rabbit or writing a symphony for the woodwinds section.

"Yeah," I laugh, gesturing at the ridiculousness behind him. "Glad you're happy. Glad you found the person you were meant to be with—"

He grabs my arm and pulls me into the alley, holding me up against the brick while I recoil at the force of it. "What do you want me to say? That I married her because she was a suitable replacement? Do you want me to tell you that when I asked her, it was because I knew she'd leave me if I didn't, and having someone else leave me was unbearable even if she was only a semi-pleasing replacement? And that I got so drunk at my bachelor party that I almost slept with a stripper just to sabotage my marriage? Or, how about the day of the wedding…when Zeke had to all but push me down the isle? That when I found out she was pregnant, the only reason I was happy is because it, _officially,_ sealed the deal—I could never leave her now?" He grips my arms tighter and moves his body closer. "That I picture _you_ when we make love?" he whispers, ghosting his lips across my forehead. "That I dream about you? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I—"

"Well, keep dreaming, Tris…because I'm not going to tell you… _any_ …of that. Take care." He darts through traffic, dodging the oncoming cars, leaving me breathless and stumbling forward.

"I love you," I say aloud, walking after him until I reach the street.

I keep watching him as he takes his wife's hand, smiling shallowly which she doesn't seem to notice. Then, leading her by her back, the two dark-haired kids running ahead of them like trained monkeys. I'm not imagining it when he turns his head in my direction, but stops short, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, instead. I let one tear slide as I stare after them until they disappear into nothing. Then I walk straight into oncoming traffic—

* * *

"Hhhhhhhuuuuuuuuhhhhhh…." I wake, sucking air, feeling like all the breath has been robbed from my body and I can't get it back.

"Jesus, Prior. Try using your lungs. Word on the street is they're pretty useful," says the voice of Lynn.

I pat myself down, frantically, making sure all limbs are intact before I profusely rub my eyes, trying to rid them of the memory of that accursed nightmare. I find myself taking quick breaths that don't seem to be helpful. Looking at Lynn, I'm unconvinced that she's really leaning on my door frame because right now I feel like Inception is a very real thing. That dream was too vivid to be a dream. This is a dream within a dream. I just know it! Where's the little spinny top thing?! It's here somewhere!

"I'll make you some tea, you freak," she drones walking away, wearing a neon pink thong.

Okay, maybe this is real—if I were dreaming, she'd be wearing pants… Although, this is still may qualify as a nightmare—

"What the hell was that anyway?" she continues from the kitchen, the residual knife to my kidney still there, as if someone was using it to sharpen said knife, rather than to inflict pain.

Pain? Ha! That doesn't even describe it! _Tobias… Married… Kids…_ Now it's my liver—the staggering pain. It's migrating!

"I mean, you talk in your sleep, but…it's more like moaning, and then whining, and more moaning. This was a one-way ticket to Nutsville—you were yelling at a cashmere sweater."

"Yeah," I breathe out. "I had a…really bad dream. Like a really, really, bad one," I admit, needing to get out some kind of explanation.

"Wow…" She stops and looks over her shoulder. "You're admitting you had a nightmare? That's more information than you've given me, well, ever about your terrorizing mental excursions. You usually just pretend they didn't happen, and I pretend like I didn't notice your moaning, and then whining, and then moaning, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up already! I moan. I whine. I have nightmares." I swallow, feeling my burning cheeks with my knuckles. "This was different. This was…real."

"No. It was not."

"I know that, Lynn!"

"Just sayin'… Here." She puts a steaming mug on my five-gallon bucket nightstand. "Chamomile mint tea—"

"Yuck. Are you serious—"

"—minus the mint," she snickers strolling out of the room with her hips swaying more than necessary.

"Ya know, I can do without the constant ass cheek exposure—"

"So, why the cashmere disdain?" she interrupts, ignoring my protests. "I'm actually _asking_ you about something…so take advantage."

I do find it odd that Lynn would be interested, whereas she usually makes light of any emotional issue with a bite of sarcasm. "Why _are_ you asking?"

"I'm trying to get to the bottom of your moodiness. It's affecting me. I need to know if I should call an exterminator…or just get rid of my sweaters."

"An exterminator?"

"I had suspected a cockroach crawled up your rectum and made a nice cozy home there. Unless…there's another reason you've been more horrible than usual for the last three days. Don't blame it on Tori, either…or cashmere, for that matter."

I flop down on my back, sick of Lynn pretending not to give a shit while still giving a shit. I don't even know what I'd tell her anyway. I'd had dreams about Tobias what feels like hundreds of times varying from quick appearances to starring roles, from chaste to incredibly sexual, from happy to vitriolic anger. But, they'd never made true sense—they were more like nonsensical blurbs that just left me feeling anxious. And I'm not telling her about that… _stupid…_ letter. Ever since I found that… _fucking…_ letter, the dreams have become more and more vivid. And it doesn't help that I'm just…mad. Mad, mad, mad…furious, even. I'm just pissed, frustrated, world-on-end, hateful, spiteful, bitter—

"Were you being chased through the Serengeti by a rabid hyena? Cause that scream at the end was…loud and clear."

"No. I…" I pause thinking back to the end of the nightmare. "Oh, my God! I committed suicide…in my dream. Holy shit, I killed myself!"

"Ugh…cálmate. I kill myself all the time. Ahem!" She clears her throat dramatically. "Dreaming that you commit suicide represents your desperate desire to escape from your waking life," she explains, sounding like Ferris Bueller's econ teacher. "You may be harboring feelings of guilt that you cannot get over and thus turning the aggression on yourself."

"Guilt?! I'm not guilty. And I'm not harboring! And, I'm over it! I'm not escaping awaking…okay?!" I yell, throwing my pillow at the wall, not even knowing why I did it.

"Well, you have the aggression part down. Among other things…" she mumbles as I go over her stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid rationale in my head.

"What kind of internet meme bullshit was that? Unless you made it up…in which case, I would understand its ridiculous nature." Guilt? Ha.

"You really think that sounds like something I would concoct?" She pauses, waiting for my response of 'no, it doesn't' which she's not going to get. "Exactly. My rationale was that dreaming I committed suicide means I wanted to kill myself. But, the good doc informed me otherwise."

"Oh." Shit.

"Yep. So, blame her. Unlehhhhhhesssss…" she trails off in a sing-songy voice.

I roll my eyes, knowing she's waiting for me to respond. "Just say it. Enough with the dramatic flair! This is not a dramatic situation!" I say, dramatically.

"Whatever, weirdo. Anyway," she sighs. "There are… _other_ interpretations seeing as, _apparently,_ mine was so damned far off."

You're friggin' right it was far off! I don't feel the least amount of guilt for reading that… _fucking…_ letter and doing absolutely nothing about it despite my still incessant reading of the damned thing because I'm finally at a place in my life where I _don't_ feel like Mount St. Helens on May 17, 1980. I'm not being aggressive, either! Walking into traffic isn't particularly aggressive; now, if I would have _thrown_ myself into oncoming traffic that may qualify—but not a simple stroll in front of a Suburban.

"So, do you want to hear them or NOT?!"

"Not."

"Seeing as you're so emphatically not guilty or harbory," Lynn carries on as if I didn't respond, "the dream may be about saying goodbye to one aspect of yourself and hello to a _whole…new…you_ ," she states channeling Pat Sajak. "Think, like, personal transformation or a new chappy."

"New chapter…?" I whisper pulling at the thread on my blanket, watching the material bunch up where the string stubbornly holds its own. Why do I hate the sound of that? I should be ecstatic about that!

"Think about it, Prior. Tori died—RIP to the unth degree—so, you're officially managing the bar. Can anyone say _promotion?"_

"Yay."

"Aaaaaaand, you've—very relatively speaking—gotten your shit together. Sometimes it might appear that you're a little more happier-ish, like, occasionally speaking, right?"

"Mmm," I grunt. _No._

"Dr. Ramos can get anything out of people—she'll milk you dry. So, I assume she's got all the goods on you which means you've met your many, many, problems head on."

"Riiiiight…" I reply, the bitter lie leaving an even greater bitter aftertaste on account of the de minimis details I've shared concerning Tobias.

"And now you're dating again," Lynn chatters on while I wonder why she's chattering on. "Well, _starting._ Tre seems…really… _great."_

I groan at the word 'great,' having tried to _not_ connect Tre to its connotations. I really like him. I really do. He's more than great. He _has_ to be more than great—

"Hell, he could be your new chapter."

"No," I deadpan, automatically.

"Give the _great_ guy a chance!"

"Wrong. Some _guy_ isn't my new chapter—I'm my own new chapter," I respond like the feminist I am.

"Ladies aaaaand gentleman! The evolution of Tris Prior! Bravo! Brahhhhhhvo!" she yells clapping her hands incessantly while I sit there and let her finish.

"Are you off your meds? Why are you talking so much? Time's up. Now, shut up!"

I grab my sketchbook, closing my eyes, needing to reconvene on my own terms. Lynn will _not_ hinder my progress! I brace myself, fully ready to relive the feeling of having a broken heart—nope, more like a broken life. God, that sounds pathetic…

I try to concentrate on the specifics of my dream, as Dr. Ramos suggests—objects that stand out, colors, textures, people. There was the customer at the check-out—annoying, but I couldn't even tell you what she looked like. Then, Tobias, in all contemptible glory—the conversation embedded in my conscious mind as if he were still in front of me. Also, his hopefully heinous and ill-behaved little mini-me's. Of course, his bitch of a _wife—_ probably perfect in every way. Except she's definitely dull and lacking in personality, and he all but tolerates her; but only because she lets him gets away with shit I never would have. Like, throwing dishes, being rude, having too many pairs of argyle socks and control issues that rival that of Hitler. Apart from those participants, most things were hazy. It was a day that wasn't cold nor hot. It was windy. What did the gallery look like? From the outside, nothing special—I couldn't even tell you if the building was brick, or what it was called. I remember looking in from the outside and…

Oh…crap, not again…

I let out a flustered breath as I grab my charcoal pencil, ready to sketch, the best I can, the unknown woman who is a constant in my dreams—her vague presence almost an all-seeing eye. This time she appeared in the window. I've tried to put words to describe her—willowy, wispy, fluid. Funny how the mind works—I can't describe her face, or the color of her hair, or attach any physical description to her. In my dreams, she's muddled and lacking detail. But, I can draw her as if my hand is near independent of my body. It's probably some left-right brain thing. Like in traumatic brain injury patients, how speech is 100% lost, but the patient can still recall and sing the words of their favorite song. Truthfully, I fucking hate it because I don't understand it. I should talk to Dr. Ramos—

"Maybe a different analogy?" Lynn asks, suddenly returning to her post at my door frame.

"What? Leave! I'm busy!"

"No, you're not. Now I'm only suggesting an analogical switcheroony because you read the same book over, and over, again. So, maybe the whole 'new chapter' thing is tired. Side note—explain to me how you possibly think W-Heights gets better. Let's talk about Heathcliff. Sure, he's in love with Catherine, and you can't question his loyalty, but he has a legit mean streak. Frankly, dude acts like a sociopath. And don't even get me started on Catherine. Yeah, yeah, I get the whole unruly and adventurous rebel, who seems to—in her own shallowy way—love the protagonistic gypsy heathen; but, she's also a status-conscious social climber whose marriage rips good 'old Cliff to shreds. Aaaaand, they both still croak being miserable because they weren't together. How is this good for you?"

"Lynn?" I ask, ready to call her out. "How many times have… _you…_ read the book?" I look at her accusingly, because she's obviously read it…way more than once.

"I… Never mind me! We're talking about you. Time for a new book, love!" she says with a Londoner accent.

"I don't want a new book," I growl, defensively.

"Why?"

"Because…I, I _like_ my book! I like the characters the way they are! And…they do end up together. Ya know…later and…stuff…" I trail off, hoping Lynn doesn't look any further into that.

"What book are _you_ reading?" she asks, confused. "Wait… Don't tell me… You think they're…soulmates?" She waggles her eyebrows. "Like in the completely literal sense?!"

"Shut-up. It's a book. It's fiction. I can believe in souls mating fictionally!"

"Time for a new book."

"No."

"How about _Lolita_ —"

"Ew. No."

" _Never Let Me Go?"_

"Wh—No!"

" _The Bell Jar—"_

"Lynn!"

"Fine, fine, fine…" she sighs. " _American Psych—"_

I stand up, exasperated and in desperate need of escape. "There's nothing wrong with my book!" I say, tripping into my cross trainers and running all the amazing flaws of both Catherine and Heathcliff through my mind. "And...I don't want to change any aspect of myself! Or them, for that matter." I throw open my little plastic shelving system, rummaging through it for a sweatshirt, which I obviously don't have because I can only fit about two in there. "And where the HELL is my Hawks sweatshirt?! I know you stole it, Madelynn—"

"Told you, no, I _fucking_ didn't."

"And I like me!" I interrupt her stupid denial of guilt, throwing an under-armor long-sleeved shirt over my t-shirt. "And who the hell needs a whole new self?! Or a new book? Why reinvent the wheel? And he would probably put cashmere in the dryer! And, we should all stick to the regular coffee makers! People don't need espresso machines!"

"Okay, maybe _Sybil_ is the book for you—"

"I don't need your shit!"

"Just sayin'," she sing-songs as I throw a scarf around my neck and book it out the door, not even knowing where the hell I'm going.

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

"Damned if I do. Damned if I don't," I sigh, pulling the mini-blinds down. I peer between them watching Prior hoof like a retarded mule down the street. Does she even know she's wearing my Gay Pride Parade scarf?

Shrugging off my futile efforts of 'engaging' more—thanks for nothing, Dr. Ramos—I walk into Tris's closet, snagging her tea seeing as she showed no appreciation. I take a sip and snicker in a semi-devious way, thinking about how easy it is to goad Tris. I should probably stop, because she has the goods on me and I don't have quite the tolerance she does. Gotta give her credit!

I really do wonder what the hell has been up with her since Saturday. She's not an overly excitable person, but for the last few days, everything has set her off. Even when Rosa started selling spray cheese to go along with her crackers, Tris lost her mind and tried to shove the sprayer up Rosa's nose when Rosa charged her 50 cents for a hit. I mean, I get it, it's kind of steep, considering a bottle is like $2.00, and I'm pretty sure Rosa gets it from the Food Pantry. But a girl's gotta make a living!

This reminds me of the first few days after she broke Four's blood-pumper in two—squish, pull, splat! All over my linoleum! Not that he's a saint—more like an over-reaching, obsessive crackpot. Not saint material. Maybe I'm saint material? I live with Tris. Buuuut, he _…dated_ …Tris, so, maybe he _is_ a saint.

I sink down onto my bed and pull open my nightstand drawer, smiling—happy Tris isn't here to see it—at Tori's letter. I take it out gently and unfold it again, rolling my eyes at how wrinkled the paper is from bawling my eyes out over it. God, Tori would have hated that.

 ** _Lynn,_**

 ** _Tell Tris that you knew about the surgery. She'll be pissed, but she'll get over it. I told you because you can still function when shit gets real. You're the stronger one._**

 ** _If you care to take anything away from my existence—let people in. You're a good person and people should know you. And don't settle for 'great.' Spread the word because NO ONE… should settle for 'great.'_**

 ** _Sell your photography._**

 ** _Tori_**

I grin to myself remembering how I called Tre 'great.' I figure I'll keep the word 'great' as my and Tori's spiritual secret code. But still use it as often as possible and in an entirely ambiguous way with the perfect amount of sarcasm and condescension added to it. I'm pretty sure Tori's life ended up being 'great.' I can sense regret; and Tori spewed it everywhere. I don't think she was particularly unhappy, just that she wasn't...I dunno, fulfilled, maybe? I never asked her. That's my regret—I never asked.

And then Christina goes and rubs kosher salt in my wounds with a wire brush, blaming me for not knowing Prior's priors. Damn her! Damn her for making me think! Making me relive the conversation I had with Tris when I told her about my rape. Making me feel awful…because any normal person would have taken that information and turned it on themselves as some way to make a connection—a common ground. I had been raped and had no memory. Tris had been raped several times…remembering everything! She could have told me that! I had an… _abortion…_ and suffer from mentally disabling guilt. I was barely seven weeks along! Tris miscarried a baby at twenty weeks that she outwardly didn't want. She could have told me that! My own mother talked me into an abortion and begged me to keep my rape a secret. Tris's mom…and _dad_ …knew she was being pummeled and battered and did nothing. She could have told me that! But, she's Prior; so, of course, she wouldn't. And probably not even for the consciously noble reason of not wanting to take the attention away from me, but because she legitimately didn't even try to compare herself to me. Damn her!

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Pounding loudly on Dr. Ramos's backdoor, I feel a sudden bought of both embarrassment and guilt. Guilt because I'm doing the very thing I frowned upon, and embarrassment because I need to do the very thing I frowned upon.

"Tris? Hi," she answers peaking her head through the door looking at me with both amusement and curiosity.

"Do you have a patient, right now?"

"Would you care if I did?"

"Uhh…" I bounce on my toes, hands shoved in my pockets from the cold. "…I mean, are they suicidal? Or are we just talking run-of-the-mill chat session? Where are we at here? I killed myself in my dream! Does that count?"

She chuckles and backs up, holding the door open. "I _don't_ have a patient. Come on in."

"Oh. Thanks," I say warily as I pass by her.

"I just wanted to gauge your need," she remarks following behind me.

"I'm not really in need, so to speak. I just really need to talk to you."

"Ah," she answers in understanding. "I can see you brought your sketchbook?"

I look down at my arm where I have cradled protectively my book, not even remembering grabbing it. I straighten my arm, letting it relax at my side, but the release of my muscles is painful from clutching it so tightly. "I…did…bring it, yes."

"Maybe," she suggests looking over her shoulder as she passes me into her office, "you'll show it to me, today? No pressure, of course."

"Yeah, maybe," I mutter, twisting my fingers, that I notice are shaking.

"So—"

"I had a dream. I killed myself in the end. Walked right into a Suburban." I blurt out, gesturing my suicidal path with my hands like an airport landing strip guy who guides planes, whatever he's called…or she, I guess.

"Did that scare you?"

"The Suburban? Apparently not." I sink down in my seat, looking over my shoulder, feeling a draft.

"No," Dr. Ramos chuckles, bracing herself to push her chair across the floor. "After you woke up. Were you scared because you attempted suicide? It can be disconcerting, to say the least."

"I was, actually, shockingly unfazed, at first. Well, I guess It worried me after I thought about it. And then Lynn with her _blah, blah, blah_ and _'when you feel guilty or are harboring shit you turn aggressive and need new chapters and Lolita.'_ I mean, have you ever read that book?!" I ask, in disbelief that non-perceptive-Lynn would even suggest that pedophilia-infused novel as my new 'book.'

"I'm sorry?" she asks for clarification.

"Lolita," I respond wondering where I lost her. "Have you read it?"

"Yes."

"And what the _hell_ is wrong with Wuthering Heights?! Have you read _that_ book?"

"Yes."

"So, compare the two," I challenge, crossing my arms.

"Not…possible."

"Exactly! Because Wuthering Heights is superior in every way!" I exalt, throwing my hands in the air. "Take Heathcliff—he cares about people. Ya know, the average reader may not even catch that! He, definitely, does! Mr. Earnshaw, for sure. Nelly, Hareton… I mean, okay maybe he tolerates _them_. Or…maybe he loves _just_ Catherine; but...he _loves_ her through the whole entire book," I defend as if loving someone is some moral feat. "Uh, and as much as he's a douche to everyone else, he gives his entire _being_ to Catherine. He's an enigma! And how much was his Cathy really in control of her own destiny? She's equally enigmatic. And I like her that way! She puts on a show of independence and rebellion, but truth be told she's a product of her upbringing and ends up succumbing to societal pressures! And Heathcliff took away any chance of the two of them being together by running away! But then he came back and…" I stop my rant, looking at her sheepishly. "You've read the book."

Dr. Ramos stops to think for a moment, making my nerves sprout roots. "Your opinion of it revolves a lot around the characterization, rather than the inherent tragedy of it all."

"I know," I shrug, surprised that _that_ was her comment. I've reflected many times on my love for the protagonists—notes in the margin galore.

"Why?"

"I've read it so many times that I can see past stupid Nelly's interpretation and make my own. Their story is subject to _her_ opinion unfortunately; and, well, she wasn't there for every moment Heathcliff and Catherine had together. So, we're only getting like the corner crust of the pie." I pause for a moment, wondering if the whole 'corner crust' thing made sense. _Oh, well._ "And she had it out for Catherine. I just know it!"

"The narration is fascinating. Emily Brönte creates the illusion that the incident is happening just then; even though, Nelly is telling most of the tale—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know all this." I wave her analysis off, stopping her from going rogue on me.

"Why the fascination with the characters?" she asks, laughing lightly.

"I just… I love that they have weaknesses and defects, like, real ones—serious personality issues. But, they loved each other, and it just…it made sense to them even if not to the readers. They're, the two of them, people who loved each other even though they had minimal redeeming qualities to the naked eye. I don't know." I shrug, wondering if I'm going about this explanation the wrong way. "Books where the characters are just so perfectly loveable that, of course, they fall in love is just tired and boring. I don't understand _easy_ love. Maybe that's because I've never had it," I laugh, thinking about how easy it to was to _fall_ in love with Tobias, but how hard it was to _love_ him…? _No, that doesn't sound right. How hard it was to… What am I getting at here?_ I look up at Dr. Ramos, who is studying me patiently, as if waiting for me to come up with an answer on my own about my character attachment disorder. Then It connects… "No! No, no, no, no, no. I am not comparing _them_ to _us._ I know it sounds that way... But I'm not." _Lord, how do I explain this without sounding defensive—_

"Who?"

I seem to take a brief lapse of thought because all I can do is stare at Dr. Ramos.

"You said, _'I'm not comparing them to us.'_ Who is _'us?'_ "

I swallow, realizing where I went wrong—spewing aloud what was going on in my head. _What the hell is going on in my head?!_

"I have the sneaking suspicion…," she continues, sensing my inability to form words. "That you've been going on about a novel, but what's actually going on may have very little to do with the novel. Are you here to give me a synopsis of Wuthering Heights?"

"No," I whimper, holding back tears. "I'm…here… I'm here because I'm furious and I have no one to tell! I have no one to yell at! To babble on to about things that make no sense, and then have that person point out that I'm making no sense, and then I get to be mad at them for not understanding me, thus taking my mind off why I was mad in the first place and placing the blame on them! I don't have that person anymore!"

"But, you _did_?"

"You're damn right I did!" I shout, the calm face of Dr. Ramos making me realize my Jack Nicholson-Code Red impression wasn't necessary.

"Are you ready to talk about him now?"

"What the hell do you mean, 'now'?" I ask, immediately on the defense. "And how do you know it's a him? And as if I wouldn't have before?"

I rest my head in my hands wishing I could bury myself in them from pure humiliation. Why am I being such a fool about this? I rub the back of my neck and look over my shoulder again, the odd feeling of my neck being on fire, but cold at the same time. I turn back, deciding not to address my crazy pre-pre-pre-menopausalness, catching Dr. Ramos glancing behind me as well looking almost worried.

"Ya know what? No. I'm not ready to talk about him. I'll never be ready to talk about him. Talking about him… _hurts._ Thinking about him… _hurts._ And…when I recognize it…like I'm doing, right now…it hurts the worst! And I don't like that feeling!"

"I understand."

"No, you don't," I disagree, entirely. " _I_ don't even understand. And you're not up here. You're right here!" I gesture pointing from my head to her existence.

"I _empathize_ ," she amends.

"Great, thanks. But, I don't want your empathy. I don't want sympathy. I don't want compassion. I don't want understanding. I want…apathy. So, just…be apathetic. Don't smile. Don't nod your head. Don't agree. Don't coddle. Just…sit there. Okay?" I direct, needing this to be on my terms if I'm going to get this out.

"If that's what you need," she says with way too much understanding, in my opinion.

Pursing my lips, I push past her compassion. "I barely gave a shit that I killed myself in my dream. I was scared because _he_ got married to a _terrible_ woman and had…little demonic devil children. And…every bit of me thought it was real. It felt so real," I breathe out, feeling relieved that I'm using words. "My nightmares have always been vivid," I mumble, thinking about the expansive number of night terrors I've experienced, and the feelings they evoked. "But this was… _beyond._ I'd never been more relieved to wake up. But then, reality hit because even though it was a dream, it is also a very…real…possibility. Shit. One that could already be happening…" I wipe under my eyes, releasing the mass amount of sudden tears. "The thought of him carrying on without me, ya know, in the official capacity—marriage, children, etc. It's just nothing I had _visualized_ …until my subconscious punched me in the head post-nap."

I look up to see Dr. Ramos nodding her head slowly, scribbling on her notepad—something I've grown accustomed to and no longer mind. It hits me that I have given her no background whatsoever. Shit.

"I don't even know where to start. I mean… Throw me a bone here!" I request loudly, in need of her assistance.

"Well, you don't have to speak chronologically, if that's what you're struggling with."

"So, I don't have to start from the beginning?"

"You don't."

"Ha! Good. Because…well, just…how do you feel about violently demented fathers, modern day farming empires and sociopathic arms dealers?" I laugh, assuming she'll think I'm kidding.

Her intent stare and searching of my face is almost as unnerving as my commentary. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand on end—I can only attribute it to the way she's looking at me. _Say something, Beatrice!_

"He wrote a letter!" I spout off, knowing that came from somewhere deep seeing as I had no control over it. "And he hid it! He wrote the universe a letter—to put it out there how he really felt! God, forbid he fucking tells me! Nope, he hides it in the back of a painting like some over-romanticized screwball! What the actual fuck? Is this a novel?! This is the shit you read about and then think 'boyfriend goals!' Yuck! Boyfriend goals my ass," I say with the venom of a viper. "Well, he sure as shit got everything off his chest while I just get to sit here with everything _STILL_ on my chest like a 30-pound dumbbell. And I can't breathe." I stand abruptly, needing to move. "Other than, ya know, to survive. In fact, I breathe though my mouth because I literally don't want to stop and smell the roses. I just want life to go on as quickly as possible. Because if I stop to smell anything, it's just pro-longing…everything!" I wander toward the back of the room, running my fingers along an antique frame on the wall, an uneasy feeling coming over me again. Ignoring it, I glance back at Dr. Ramos feeling ashamed at the water works coming out of my face—all orifices. "I broke up with him in September" I mutter, walking back to the chaise where I feel somehow safer. "He was…all up in my shit, all the time!" I state, feeling the sudden shame of being overly defensive; even though, Dr. Ramos isn't accusing me of anything—it's the guilt talking. "Ha, ha… Just like an overly supportive boyfriend who is trying to help his psycho girlfriend through a trauma should be! Except way over the top… But, then again, I'm pretty sure I drove him over the top by shutting him out of my head. Ya know, God, forbid I show weakness, right?"

Dr. Ramos purses her lips and smiles slightly, acknowledging that I put on a good show of feigning toughness.

"He's pretty obsessive," I say softly. "Not in a sick way; he just can't deal with things he doesn't understand. I'm sure he did a web search on me. _How to deal with Tris Prior._ " I gesture with my fingers flitting over an imaginary keyboard. "No hits, though."

Dr. Ramos nods to the side table toward a box of tissues. I smile slightly and grab one, two, three—before blowing my nose like a baby elephant, thankful I'm not wearing make-up because it would be everywhere.

"I shut him out. I made him desperate," I continue, pushing through my congestion. "And then when he _acted_ in desperation…" I close my eyes, picturing the look on his face when I made him feel like he was nothing to me in my shitty apartment. "…I used it as ammo—the end all to end all."

"How?"

I sigh, the unresigned feelings I have about this subject, in particular, coming forth. "He went to the facility, to Masonic United, and confronted Eric... _without…my…consent."_ I search Dr. Ramos's face for reaction, but she gives me very little apart from an eyebrow quirk. "Pretty bad, right?"

"Yes," she answers, tapping her pencil on her temple in thought. "But, I've actually had family members of patients do far more desperate things—usually involving violence as a form of vendetta or revenge on behalf of the victim."

I open my mouth to argue with her about the heinous word 'victim,' but, instead, I get stuck on the fact that she called him 'family.' I had once assured Tobias that he was my family… _Oh, no, what have I done…?_

"But, I must say, part of me wants to know _logistically_ how he managed to get in that facility. They don't just let people walk in the doors of that place. As much of a _haven of solace_ as it is…," she says with an eye roll. "…they have very strict visitation rules."

I laugh sarcastically, thinking about how bewitching that man can be when he wants. "I can say with 100% confidence that, however he did it, it was a mix of incredible contrivance and equal charm." I smirk, thinking about how easy it is for him to get his way when he turns on his Wicken charisma…falsified as it may be. "Tobias is…very deceptive and can impregnate women with his smile, so…" I feel a quick sense of relief, having finally said his name aloud. Plus, the constant use of the personal pronoun 'he' was exhausting. "Tobias. That's his name." I decide to leave out the whole _Four_ thing because it's not my story to tell.

Dr. Ramos sits unnervingly stoic and I wonder if I should have kept his name out of this. "Wait, I can use names, right? I had before… Ya know, Lynn, Tori, Eric—"

"Of course, of course," she interrupts. "I was…just waiting for you to continue."

"Oh, okay…" I trail off, not knowing where to go from here because there's just…so much. "Ah…-"

"How about…" She looks over her notes. "Would you like to tell me the reason…Tobias… confronted your attacker?"

I take a deep breath. "During the incident at my apartment…I had blacked out for…a yet undetermined amount of time. I didn't know…what he did to me, only bits and pieces…" I furrow my eyebrows, looking down at my hands having held back, until now, this part of the attack from Dr. Ramos.

I disentangle my scarf to aid in my breathing and bring down my body temperature—thinking about the weight of Eric's body, the cool feeling of air between my legs and the dampened material of his boxers is bringing me to feverish temps. I stare at Dr. Ramos, wondering if I have to continue; but, she gives me no sign either way.

"Inconclusive," I whisper, hoping she'll get the gist that I was accosted by a rape kit; and based on her slight nod, she does. "I never would have done it—confronted Eric, I mean. I would have just lived with it because at that time even thinking about his face, coupled with what I _do_ remember would have sent me reeling. My brain was somehow functioning on a hamster wheel—like if I got off then I'd have to officially deal with my demons, and a monotonous existence was more appealing."

"So, I take it, Tobias…took the reins, so to speak."

I nod my head quickly, still not looking away from my hands. "He said I wasn't raped," I state with a finality that says don't ask me anymore questions about that. I don't know what Tobias did. I don't know what Eric said. And I have no interest.

"Do you believe him?"

"What? Of course, I did. Why would you ask me that?" I question, appalled.

"Because I don't know Tobias."

I take a calming breath, knowing that all I've really told her is that he's desperate, obsessive, and disgustingly attractive. I can see why she would think it a possibility that he would lie to ease my pain. But, I know he wasn't lying when he said it—he looked tortured.

"Did you feel better, after finding out what happened?"

I clench my jaw at her question because I don't _know_ what happened, only what _didn't_ happen. And I have no interest. I don't want any part of it.

"My nightmares about the attack…stopped," I say, ashamed at the relief I felt, the feeling of not being afraid to sleep—the relief Tobias provided for me. "I used to have them about Eric…all the time. I was scared all the time. But then…after that night, they just stopped. And I stopped being scared… Other feelings replaced it, other types of fears and anxieties, but that one…was gone."

"You trusted him," she states without missing a beat.

"Yes…" I drag out in a what's-your-point manner.

"Maybe he gave you the gift of security," she suggests.

I want to scream how suddenly not-at-all secure I felt when I found out he flew the coop and landed his chicken ass in California, but it would be for no other reason than to be… _petulant. Uuuuggghhh…_

"Sometimes, victims of abuse live in constant fear that their attacker will return—even in cases of incarceration or institutionalization…" She nods toward me, although I'm having trouble getting past the word 'victim' again. "Particularly when they haven't seen their attacker or abuser behind bars or detained, so to speak, with their own eyes. Occasionally, even after death, if the victim didn't actually see a body."

"Are you saying I was fulfilling the _victim mentality_? Clinging to my fears?! relying on them?!" I ask, that pitiful _word_ clouding…everything.

"No. The 'victim mentality' is a made-up phenomenon, invented by money-making self-help gurus who make their living putting an unnecessarily negative connotation on an otherwise harmless word."

"Oh." _So much for not being petulant, Tris._

"Care to stay on task?" she asks, putting me in my place.

I nod my head, as she shifts in her chair looking at me unapologetically—basically, _not_ treating me like a victim.

"Someone you trusted saw Eric locked away…maybe it gave you a sense of peace," she suggests with a softer tone.

"A sense that I should have been able to achieve myself," I mumble looking around the room at her crazy amount of wall décor.

"You did. It's your mind; not Tobias's."

"But, _his_ action was the vehicle."

"Nothing wrong with a designated driver every now and then."

"I didn't designate him to do shit," I snark, the old feeling of frustration and contradiction bubbling up.

"Are you conflicted?"

"Yes! I didn't give him permission to do that! But when he did I was so fucking relieved!" I spout, angrily. "I mean, it _was_ a violation, right?"

"Only if it made you feel violated."

I twist my fingers, reflecting on that. "It made me feel…inept. I hated that he didn't believe I could do it myself. Even though, turns out he was right," I chuckle. "But, no; I…I didn't feel violated."

"His opinion of you was important," she adds, observingly.

"His and only his," I mumble, watching Dr. Ramos's eyes working like a calculator as she adds up all the mumbo jumbo she has annotated on her notepad.

"You said something about a letter," she continues.

"Ah, yes. And we've come full circle," I laugh, tossing my hair up in a ratty ponytail. "That _damned_ letter." I clear my throat and look at her, as to distract my mind from the photographic image of Tobias's handwriting. "I was finally brave enough to go look at my art. I guess I can thank Tori for that one." Her note – _Sell your art—_ briefly makes me smile. "She persuaded me."

Dr. Ramos returns my smile, kindly. "I hadn't seen Tori for quite a few years. I'm so sorry for your loss."

I nod my head in gratitude. "So, yeah, in an unfortunate accident that I seem to be prone to, the backing ripped on one of my pieces, a rather meaningful one, and inside was…a letter, declaring everything he felt at that moment in time. But it wasn't even to me! It was ' _To whom this may or may not concern!'_ I mean, what the shit is that?" I ask, looking for some kind of reaction from Dr. Ramos; but, she seems to be doing nothing more than listening intently. I shake my head, not wanting to relive the letter. "Short version is that it listed every reason he loved me, and what I deserve out of life. But, here's the kicker—he met someone else and moved to California! Not even a month after we…or, um… _I_ …broke up with him. So, he obviously wrote it before he got together with her, right?" I ask, for reassurance.

"I couldn't say even if I wanted to," she responds, evenly.

"But, there's one quote I can't get out of my head." I swallow, closing my eyes, easily pulling the letter up from my very short term memory storage. " _We all have to make choices, and much to my misfortune, mine removed me from the equation that is her life. Had I stayed, she would have forfeited the one she truly deserved._ " I laugh, inappropriately. "Seriously! What choice? I broke up with him! I gave him no choice! I took his choice! So, what choice?!"

"Would you be interested in getting answers?"

I huff out a breath. "Last Saturday I would have told you 'absolutely not.' But now…I can't stop thinking about him. He tried so hard, and I broke him. Well, I was already breaking him… At least, that was how I rationalized it—that I was doing him a favor." I blow my noise, this time sounding more like an elephant giving birth. "And maybe I did. He's a good man and he should be happy. I wasn't making him happy." I bury my face in my hands and groan. "But, now I'm not happy. I haven't been happy in months. I'm fuckin' miserable. And he's getting married and having kids—"

"Get answers. It's that simple," she interrupts my hand mumbling. "He may be with the love of his life and getting married, moving on without you."

I flinch at the bluntness of her words.

"But, that information may be what you need. You've been holding onto this…holding onto _him_ …for months. By you not discussing him with me, you've been keeping him inside. I wonder if that's what you wanted…"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Here's the thing, Tris—if you talk about him, you may just find out that it feels better to talk about him." She stops with her token eyebrow furrow. "Do you want to feel better about him?"

"Well, yeah."

"Because that's the first step of moving on."

The way Dr. Ramos said it—with complete finality: _moving on._ Getting over him. Getting over myself. Starting fresh. No chance of a future because I would be, officially, moving on. Not the kind where I just shove Tobias out of my mind and go about my day. This would be intentional, not because I'm volatile and reactionary. My choice. I'd be responsible for that choice. My stomach roils at the idea along with the simultaneous chest-collapsing feeling, and suddenly, I'm grasping for the tissue box likes it's a lifeline. The tears don't seem to want to stop.

"I'm sorry." I shrug, embarrassed. "I cry, but, not usually like this—like the out loud kind."

"Successful visits often end in tears," she responds as if it's no bother.

I shake my head, clearing the fog and blink my eyes to get them back into focus, zeroing in on something new on the wall next to her bow window. It's obviously supposed to look like it was taken right out of the Oxford English Dictionary based on the font and added dialectical nuances.

 **vic·tim** /ˈviktəm/

noun: **victim** , plural noun: **victims**

 **(1.)** a person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action. **synonyms:** sufferer, injured party, casualty, fatality, loss **(2.)** a person who is tricked or duped: "the victim of a hoax." **synonyms:** loser, prey, stooge, dupe, sucker **(3.)** a living creature killed as a religious sacrifice. **synonyms:** sacrifice, offering, burnt offering, scapegoat

"What's with the definition?" I ask, sniffing loudly, nodding my head toward the frame.

"Oh. It's my newest piece. I just put that up this morning," she responds, looking over her shoulder at it. "It may not be art in the traditional sense, but it has equally, if not more, meaning. I want my patients to know that it's just a word. It defines itself. It doesn't define them. I take issue with the idea of the 'victim mentality,' if you couldn't already tell."

"I picked up on that."

She chuckles. "It goes against the current popular opinion, I realize. But I feel as if the word has taken on an unnecessary life of its own, now geared towards shame and a quit-feeling-so-sorry-for-yourself or pick-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps connotation. It's ridiculous and it's taken its toll on some of my patients. The whole victim versus survivor thing?" she scoffs. "Why is it even a thing?" Standing, she walks toward her desk. "This is actually what I was doing when you came to my door."

I watch as Dr. Ramos grabs a nail and hammer off her desk and pounds the nail into the wall right next to the victim definition frame. Then lifting a different frame off the floor, she hangs it on the nail.

 **sur·vi·vor** /sərˈvīvər/

noun: **survivor** , plural noun: **survivors**

(1.) a person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died: "the sole survivor of the massacre" (2.) the remainder of a group of people or things: "a survivor from last year's team" (3.) a person who copes well with difficulties in their life: "she is a born survivor" (4.) a joint tenant who has the right to the whole estate on the other's death.

"Again, it's just a word. I'm not sure exactly when these became mutually exclusive. It's like someone took the worst aspect of the victim definition and pitted it against the best aspect of the survivor definition." She gestures between the two pictures. "But, are we not a mix of thousand different nouns and adjectives? Why can't we be both victim and survivor?"

* * *

 _ **Flashback:**_

 _I smile to myself as I reach for the orange felt-tipped marker, finally making the decision which lily to accent. I decided on the smallest one—the one no one would ever have even noticed. Maybe I should add a ray of sunshine too? Nah, too much._

 _I hear the front door open, and my smile is instantly gone, an eye roll in its place. Eric is home. And I really wish he wasn't. He doesn't understand why I'm wasting my time with this stuff. Honestly, I don't really give a crap what he thinks anymore._

 _"Hey… I'm in here!" I yell, hearing the dirt crumble off his boots as he thumps his way across the living room floor because apparently taking your muddy boots off it just too much of a strain. "Sorry, I wasn't back earlier. I got this crazy weird shot of the bridge—"_

 _My hands land hard, really hard, against his chest—the sound of crinkling plastic wrap and squished sponge cake don't matter to me because… I can't take my eyes off…this…boy. Blink. I can't even blink. A totally weird feeling hits me—butterflies…the ones the older girls talk about. But it's more than that. I feel like everything just…opened up—_

 _The excruciating surge of shock burns its way from my knees up into my spine, snapping me back to reality along with a dumbfounding pain like none other shooting through my jaw. The taste of rusty liquid iron pools under my tongue as I pry my teeth from where they were impacted into my bottom lip—the sucking sound of teeth separating from skin is almost as equally painful to my ears._

 _"Gee… Sorry." Eric's voice leaves his mouth like a putrid snake. "You were in my chair…"_

 _I look down to see drops of blood falling onto the picture, dripping over my right knuckles from where my hands are braced on the floor, clenching the partially opened pack of sponges. My lip quirks up almost enthusiastically as the crinkling sound sends another shot of warmth through me, a reminder of that afternoon at Susan's parents' gas station—the day I knew there was more to my life than Kittridge._

 _"You must have forgotten that, along with dinner with my father…"_

 _I would laugh if the pain wasn't so bad. Instead, I smooth the blood along the river that is rushing under the bridge. The Wisconsin River is a tributary of the Mississippi River. Which then empties into the Gulf of Mexico. I move the tips of my fingers along the streamline thinking of all the possibilities—where each molecule of water could end up. This picture was taken in a millisecond of time, it isn't where the molecule started and it isn't where it's going to end up. I didn't start here and I'm sure as hell not going to end up here._

 _"Did you fucking hear me?"_

 _"Yeah," I say, dabbing my lip and adding a smudge here and there. "Make sure you thank him for me."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Well, if your dad wasn't such a piece of garbage, he may have actually raised you right. In which case, this wouldn't have happened." I gesture to the piece that I'm working to my liking. "So…" I stand. "…thank…him…for…me." I close my eyes, preparing myself for the worst—_

* * *

I brace myself on the lounger, the memory of the subsequent blow to the side of my head making a conscious reappearance. I bring my fingertips up to my lips and smile. I hadn't ever remembered the events of that evening quite like that, but…they're more accurate now than ever.

"Tris?" Dr. Ramos asks, taking my hand in hers as she seats herself next to me. "Are you okay?"

I make quick eye contact, for the sake of focusing my eyes on something other than what's in my head. I shake my hand free and stand, gingerly. "Just...jogged a memory, I guess." Walking over to the two framed definitions on the wall, I look over the black and white print, absentmindedly. "They're just words," I whisper to myself.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I sigh, moving to stare out the window. All the houses are old and charming in this neighborhood. I look down, admiring the ebony molding of the windows, noticing the iron crank leaning against the frame—they're original. "Eric hadn't started up since I'd been home from the hospital," I begin, pushing past my will to stay silent. "And a part of me thought he'd have stopped for good—thinking that the knowledge that he killed our kid may have just stunted his tendencies. I should have known better—he never took responsibility for throwing me down the stairs, anyway." I hear Dr. Ramos pull her legs up under her, making herself more comfortable on the chaise. "That night, he came home…pissed 'cause I missed dinner with his father." I press my finger on the glass, watching the ice briefly form from the condensation through the windowpane. "So, he pulled the chair out from under me. My chin hit the table—sunk my bottom teeth into my upper lip." I turn to look at Dr. Ramos, feeling guilty for putting unpleasant images in her head; but, she gazes back at me as if we're having an every-day conversation. "I landed on my knees, hands flush to the floor. I…I don't know how, but it must have evoked a…memory or a feeling because something flashed before me or came back to me…whatever...something I hadn't thought of in a long time." I sigh and make my way back toward my chaise, Dr. Ramos making room for me. "This is weird—telling you a memory about me having a memory that's probably irrelevant."

"Tell me."

Dr. Ramos doesn't usually command me to do anything, so she must think this is somehow important. "Okay, um…" I clear my throat. "Full-length version. True story. A bus full of boys pulled into Susan's parents' gas station. While the driver was getting gas, the boys bought snacks—an obscene amount of beef jerky," I laugh at the stupid shit I remember. "Anyway, the whole time, this one kid was being a bonehead, laughing at…basically nothing the whole time. As he was leaving he made a poor attempt to steal Twinkies." I roll my eyes, remembering Susan and I watch him in the mirror that was perfectly angled to catch thieves in the act. "Susan was scared because he was black. But then said we should let him take them because he must 'need them more than us,'" I say using air quotes to relay ignorance, ignorance that runs unfortunately deep around my home town. "I told her 'no way' because the kid was just trying to be a show-off—he was wearing Jordans, completely Niked out and had an iPod…like before kids had iPods—there was nothing poor about this kid. Along with the fact that the whole bus was egging him on from outside. So, I jumped down ready to just hand him a damned Twinkie off the shelf, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of successful theft; but, there was another boy with him…" I trail off trying to bring as much of the memory as I can to the surface. "He was just leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, letting his friend be dumb. The second he saw me he stood up straight as if I'd interrupted something." I pause not knowing how to explain this properly. "I know this doesn't make any sense, but something about him…well, basically, I could tell he wasn't going to let his friend…get away with it. I don't know why I felt that way." I shrug, pulling at the tissues in my hand. "Anyway, apparently, my twelve-year-old self wasn't going to stand for a random boy to save the day, so the pubescent erratic female in me decided to forgo the bonehead and shove Twinkies at the semi-innocent pre-teen bystander, instead. I still…have no idea why…" I bite my bottom lip to prevent myself from smiling. "I just…smashed them on his chest and stood there…staring at him. My hands felt like they were stuck. And, he didn't move either…" I mumble. "I couldn't tell you a thing about him except that he had big ears and maybe brownish hair. But, whatever it was…about his eyes or… I don't even know what color they were; so that makes even less sense!" I huff out a breath feeling like an idiot for recounting a meaningless memory.

"It's hard to use words to describe an innate feeling."

"Yes, it really fucking is!" I agree, sitting back and crossing my arms. "I just felt… _something._ And, maybe, at that moment, I realized I had never really…felt… _anything._ "

"Makes sense."

"I was twelve. Nothing made sense."

"Maybe not then, but it does now. The power of reflection. I'd be out of business without it," she points out. "So, then what happened?"

"I must have scared the hell out of him because he knocked over the entire Hostess display, made fun of my name, and ran." I clench my jaw remembering how he purposely butchered my name after he heard Susan yell it in warning of a mini-avalanche. _Immature dumb fuck._ "So, it was probably just the lightning strike of puberty that hit me at that exact moment; but…as I watched the bus pull away, it was the first time I thought about other people having other lives outside of my bubble. I mean, if all it took was one randomly awkward boy to change my perspective on life, think of the possibilities."

"That's a good memory," Dr. Ramos mutters, looking at the floor in thought.

"Yeah," I remark, softly, remembering how he smelled really good too. "A memory I had all but forgotten about until the moment I was on my hands and knees, drooling blood onto the floor."

Dr. Ramos furrows her eyebrows, having been reminded that this is a memory within a memory—one that doesn't end well.

"I suddenly felt defiant. Like, 'I don't need this shit! I have a life to live. There's more to me.' Even when Eric declared that I owe him an apology fuck session for my behavior; I marched up the stairs, stripped from the waist down and laid there like a dead fish, letting him…do whatever…he wanted…to…me."

A lone tear of shame escapes as I remember him purposefully coming all over my stomach, knowing the sight of semen had made me vomit in the past. And then him making me stay, lying there unmoving, naked, while he went down to watch baseball, telling me if I moved he'd take a picture of me and plaster it on every bible in the church, making sure the whole town saw 'how Pastor Prior's daughter _really_ liked it.'

"Didn't want him to have the satisfaction of overpowering me—my own form of silent protest. Doesn't sound like a protest, I know."

"Some argue that silence is a girl's loudest cry."

"Hmmph. Well, then I'm definitely a _woman_ now. Grew out of the whole silence thing."

"Tris," she begins in a tentative voice. "Did Tobias know the extent of your abuse?"

Instantly, I picture Tobias's pleading face, trying to explain…poorly…how he felt reading my journal: _"I read the first, I don't know, two entries and I just…things went fuzzy. I tried to calm down and keep reading…and that worked momentarily. But…then I… Just thinking about what you went through, what he forced you to… Tris, I…."_

"Uh…" I nod my head and then shake my head indecisively. "Yes and no. He doesn't handle…details well. He internalizes…everything."

"Detail can be a lot to handle for loved ones. I find myself torn on whether it's good for them to know, or whether it does more damage. It's hard for them to _understand,_ if they don't truly know what you've been through, but it can also leave behind devastating images—images that they weren't even present for, so their mind takes over and paints it as an indelible worst case scenario."

"Yes," I sigh, your accuracy is staggering. "He embodies the phrase 'worst-case scenario.' And he'd been through…stuff."

I bite my bottom lip, hard, battling whether, or not, to tell her about some of his hurtles. I know these sessions are about _me_ …not _him_. But, he affected me, in more ways than I can comprehend. He counts!

I take a deep breath. "He basically watched…or _heard_ …his mother being abused, all kinds of abuse, by his father. So he has some…preconceived worst case images of his own. She, his mom, um, well, it was never officially declared because God, forbid his father risk his name, but…she committed suicide. Drug and alcohol overdose."

From the point on the floor that I'm staring at, Dr. Ramos's pen intrudes. So, I lean over to pick it up, handing it to her, absentmindedly.

"So, he's angry. His temper can be… _explosive._ He's learned to curb it, but…I wasn't helping things."

I exhale a sigh of relief that I got all that out. Goosebumps run up my arms, probably from nerves, seeing that the feeling is pretty damned…well, unnerving. I finally take a moment to look at Dr. Ramos, a blank expression on her face. I stare back at her, ready to respond.

"No, he never hurt me; and he never would." I wonder if she believes me.

Frankly, I don't care either way. I have no need to defend something that has never and would never occur. I reach down to pick up the pieces of the tissue I had destroyed, mumbling my apologies with no response from Dr. Ramos. She's probably used to patients doing weird shit.

"You've never given me details like that before," she finally responds. "Thank you." The breathy tone in her voice, as if she's at a loss, makes me avert my eyes. _Great. Now I've even rendered my therapist practically speechless._

Somehow my eyes land right on the damned frames on the wall, again. One, in particular: _Victim_ —written in bold. At the speed of the shutter of a camera, Tobias's note appears: **PROOF THAT I NEVER REALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE A VICTIM.**

I laugh, self-deprecatingly as it all comes together. "Thank _him_!" I exalt in correction of Dr. Ramos's gratitude. I'm suddenly standing, the need to pace taking over. "Him and his stupid note! Him and that damned painting that he gave back! That stupid piece full of meaning!" I rip a tissue out of the box and wipe under my nose. "He called me a victim, and I hated him for that because I _wanted_ to hate him for that! But, ya know what? He didn't understand! But, apparently, I didn't see how he couldn't understand! Could I have given him 30 seconds to explain himself. No way!" I state, sarcastically, moving my way around the couch. "And then I see _this_ …" I point to her stupid frames wishing a bullet would come out of my fingertips. "…and, suddenly, I'm remembering strengths I didn't even know I had during one of the previously-thought-to-be weakest moments of my life! And _that_ …" I point at the framed definition again. "…was his whole point! Jesus, he's not even here for me to tell him because I BROKE HIM!"

Yanking on my hair hard enough that it falls freely—using 'freely' quite relatively—I see that Dr. Ramos has moved toward the window and is staring out of it. I run the back of my hand under my chin to catch whatever liquid has gathered there, taking her aloofness as my cue to leave.

"Yeah, so… Now that _that_ outburst is over; I'm gonna head out. Thank you for letting me barge in. I'm sorry if I ruined your…whatever you were doing today."

She turns, smiling warmly—the smile I'm used to. "That's why I practice out of my home."

"Okay, well, I'll see you…" I look over my shoulder, the strange feeling that someone tapped me on it, and turn in a ridiculous circle, my eye catching on the massive amount of artwork Dr. Ramos has on her wall. "…Friday," I whisper, completing my exit sentence while doing the opposite.

I've never taken the time to really look at what she has on her walls because I've always been so in-the-zone every time I've been here—getting in and getting out as if seeing a therapist were a secret shame. Thinking about it now, my comfort level in this room has always been high—the coziness of the dark trim, maroon flowered wallpaper circa 1980s along with her vast gallery wall. And when I say gallery wall I don't mean the currently in-style Pinteresty kind, but an actual gallery wall. As in, she may have invented the idea—full of art and knick-knacks…all original. I walk closer to make sure. I see no sign of fake brush strokes over a print, or fabricated lines to make ceramic look hand-made when it actually came off the line of a factory. There is no Target here. No Walmart, World Market, Crate and Barrel or Kohls. I can feel it—the art.

"What do you think?"

I jump out of my skin at Dr. Ramos's close proximity. "Geez! Sorry, um…I didn't know you were…so close. But, yeah… I love it," I mutter, looking back at the wall. "It's kind of how I always envisioned my house would be—well, maybe not to this extent."

"I'm kind of a hoarder," she chuckles.

"You definitely are." I run my fingers over a ceramic plate that was fired to be a turquoise green and red, then a wire piece that is twisted to look like the wind is whipping the metal across the wall. I look all the way up to the ceiling and see that she has everything from photography to sculpture to mixed medium to paintings."

"How do you choose your art? It's all so…different."

She sighs as if she doesn't want to answer me; but, I don't plan to let her off the hook. "It speaks to me," she finally responds as if she's telling me a secret.

I glance back at her. "Therapists aren't supposed to be spiritual," I say, quirking my eyebrow in in fake judgmental scrutiny.

"Well, I am," she responds, frankly. "Do you ever just see a piece of art and think 'I have to have this?" Because it draws you in…"

I shrug. "I can't afford good art. So, I don't really shop for it."

"Hmm. I actually only have one gallery piece. I rest are unique finds at thrift shops, small vendors, garage sales, antique stores…and other places." She smirks to herself, but then stands up straighter when she sees I've caught her.

I move down the wall, humming to myself, until I stop, my eyes catching—for no specific reason—on a fairly mundane charcoal sketch. I bend down and rest my hands on my thighs, trying to get a better look. It's a cone—darkened harshly at the edges, but eventually shading out into nothing. That's it.

"Is that one speaking to you?" Dr. Ramos asks, quietly.

"To me? Uh… I'm more…curious."

She smiles, obviously pleased with my response. "This was the first piece I ever hung."

I raise my eyebrows at her because, well, it's a really odd place to hang a picture, seeing as there would have been nothing else on the wall at the time. "Why…right here?" I gesture at the placement, it being even with my waistline.

Taking me by the shoulders, she turns me and walks me over to the chaise, sitting me on it. "Look at the drawing."

"Ewkay…" I do as I'm told, seeing the picture exactly as it was before—a cone on its side. Nothing more, nothing less. "It's still a cone."

Then, pulling me up, she drags me to her chair and pushes me down by my shoulders. "Look at the drawing."

My mouth drops open in awe. The picture is completely different—maybe not completely, but pretty damned close. Now, it's a tunnel. Like if you were to walk into it, you'd be going into an abyss or black hole. "Whoa."

"Have you ever wondered why I push my chair over to that exact spot every session?" she asks, seating herself in the chaise.

"Every time."

"My desk used to be right where you're sitting, before I had the wherewithal that patients respond better when there isn't a barrier between us. Anyway, that's the only angle where you can see into the tunnel. We hung it there right when I started my practice. I look at it before each session and sometimes even during, to remind myself that one's mind has depth; and although a patient may see things as black and white, it's my job to expose the depth."

I nod my head, appreciating her dedication, and thankful—albeit a little shocked—that she's telling me this. "So, why not just…leave the chair?"

"Ah…the room was balanced when the desk was here, but now that the chair is here, it looks out of place; so, I move it."

I look over my shoulder at the large amount of room behind us. The corner really would be the perfect spot for couch-time—opening up the rest of the room. "So, why not just move the furniture and put the picture on that wall? One and done. I'm sure you could get the angle right—"

"I've tried."

"Oh. Was it hard to find the right placement for it to function…properly?"

"No," she says, definitively.

I pause, waiting for her to explain further—

"Anna?!" a voice yells from somewhere toward the back of the house, the accented Hispanic pronunciation of her first name gives me pause. "¿Dónde está tu pinche hija? ¡Manuel solo tiene una hora antes de que se vaya y necesito echar un polvo!"

I raise my eyebrows and freeze, having no idea what to do.

"Que idiota…" Dr. Ramos mumbles. "Do you speak Spanish?" she asks hurriedly, bracing herself on the couch.

"Un poquito," I respond pinching my fingers together, hopefully telling her I know…very little. "So, basically, no."

"¡Tu nieto está en la cocina! ¡Tengo que irme!" the hi-pitched voice rings loud and clear again.

"Grandson?" I ask, in confusion, having picked up on the word 'nieto.'

"I thought you only knew un poquito?" she asks with wide eyes.

"That was my poquito. And you're not old enough to be a grandmother."

"I know," she mutters making a break for…wherever. "¿Cabrona, te olvidaste que él entiende español y tiene oídos!?" she shouts running down the hall, trailing off as she moves through the house until all I can hear is muffled Spanish scolding.

"Yeah, I'll just go…" I say to myself as I grab my sketchbook again.

I take one more look at the drawing on the wall and sigh, wishing I could have that kind of creativity. A sudden thud resounds as the ceramic piece hung right next to it falls to the floor. I rush at it just as it then lands face down and cracks right down the middle, shards sliding across the floor gathering at my knees.

"Fuck," I breathe out picking up the pieces helplessly. I squeeze my eyes shut as Dr. Ramos rushes through the door, sighing deeply. "I'm so sorry. It just..."

"Fell," she states, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I—" Another loud thump behind me makes my heart just about jump out of my chest, and I cringe at the follow-up smack as whatever it was falls facedown.

Dr. Ramos shakes her head as if that happens a lot. _Does she not use wall anchors?_ Then she walks over and picks up what looks to be a picture, appraising it. Then, seeming satisfied with its condition, she walks over to where the ceramic piece was and purposefully hangs the picture in its place, right next to the cone.

"Better?" she asks under her breath.

I crane my neck to look around her form, assuming she's talking to me. But, my voice is stolen as she moves to the side. I seem to only have the ability to stand slowly and walk, even more slowly, up to the painting. Watercolor used as the original background, then brown acrylic paint in select places. Blue oil paint over the top to add texture, making the background look as if it could be either waves from Lake Michigan or the dark blue of night. Scratch marks to bring forth the brown underlying color with tiny dots of white, making them look as if they could either be the mini break of waves or stars in the sky. Charcoal to abstractly sketch the face, which was particularly hard considering I was working on top of several mediums. But it makes it look as if the face is actually in the water or part of the sky. It's shaded at just the right angles to look almost haunted…unreadable eyes, chalk full of memories not yet broached-Tobias's eyes. I move my head to the right and to the left, seeing his eyes change almost as if the painting is moving. I smile and wipe away the tears of total ridiculous happiness. I know I had mentioned a 30-pound weight before, but right now it feels like a 50-pound barbell has been lifted off my shoulders. I didn't even know it was there.

"Did this one speak to you?" I ask shakily, not even trying to hide my tears anymore, and not even caring that she may not understand.

"Quite. And every day since…" she sighs, putting her fingers close enough as if she's going to touch the face, but doesn't which is good because I was prepared to smack her hand away.

I feel my bottom lip trembling. "How?"

"The eyes. They're searching for happiness."

I bury my face in my hands, seeing as my heart feels like it was just struck by lightning. "I've gotta go," I just about sob, walking over to the chaise to snag my scarf. _What the hell is this thing?_ I wrap it around my neck anyway and try to pull my hair free, but all it does is tangle in it.

"How…?" Dr. Ramos's voice comes out as if it's her breath talking.

I groan to see her slowly crouching down to where my sketchbook lies open from where I must have dropped it. She asks me to see it at almost every visit, but I've never been ready to show her. I bounce on my toes feeling claustrophobia set it, the desire to escape is suffocating my conscious. "Can we talk about that…next time. I'm a little—"

"How?" she asks again almost demandingly, as I look to see the picture of the randomly concocted woman open.

"How _what_? I don't how my mind works! That's your job," I point out, grabbing the box of tissues, knowing I'm going to need reinforcements on my way home.

"Do you… Have you ever… Did you…know her?" she stumbles.

"The figment of my imagination? No. She's just there. This whole sketching my dreams thing was your idea. I can't—"

"Hey, Ma?!"

Dr. Ramos smacks my sketchbook closed, quickly. Obviously, not wanting the incoming visitor to see my inner workings, which I appreciate. I bend down and take it from her, even though she seems to be...gripping… _it—_

"Sorry, I'm late! Apparently, Josefa's ovulation schedule is now a concern…of…mine…"

I do a double-take as the trailing off voice and form of Evey appears. She instantly stands up straighter, correcting her casualness.

"Evey?" I ask in disbelief, being thrown off balance as Dr. Ramos relinquished control of my sketchbook.

"Uh…Tris. Hi. I didn't…" she stutters, changing course and looking down at her… _mom,_ apparently. "Uh…you didn't have your DND sign up. And…you're on the floor…"

"Evey's your daughter?" I turn my attention to Dr. Ramos as she pushes herself up to standing.

"Yes," she responds tersely. "Good-bye, Tris."

I open my mouth to apologize, but…I don't know what I'm…apologizing…for… "Yeah… Bye. Thank you…for…everything," I mumble, smiling slightly at Evey as I walk past her and out the door.

* * *

 **Translation:**

 **"¿Dónde está tu pinche hija? ¡Manuel solo tiene una hora antes de que se vaya y necesito echar un polvo!"** ("Where's your fucking daughter? Manuel only has an hour before he has to leave and I need to get laid!")

 **"¡Tu nieto está en la cocina! ¡Tengo que irme!"** ("Your grandson is in the kitchen! I have to leave!")

 **"¡Ay, cabrona! ¿Te olvidaste que él entiende español y tiene oídos?"** ("Hey, bitch! Did you forget that he understands Spanish and has ears?")

* * *

 **¡Gracias por leer!** (Thanks for reading!)


	32. The Universe

**Chapter 32 - The Universe  
**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:  
**

I just about trip over the cobblestone sidewalk as I look over my shoulder to watch in the window. All I hear are muffled voices, and all I see are animated hand gestures. _Did I do something wrong? Uuuummmm, I barged in uninvited and unappointmented, made little to no sense for a who-the-fuck-knows-how-long time, sobbed at near seizure-level, broke her art, and then had an emotional outburst concerning a painting Dr. Ramos...bought. It's hers. Not mine. Yes, I definitely did ALL THAT wrong!_

I stop in my tracks, looking over my shoulder one last time, wondering if an apology is in order, like, right this minute. But, now I see a third party in there—some kid. Must be the grandkid slash Evey's son. Not the right time.

Cradling the box of tissues into my left side like a football, I wrap the scarf around my neck one more time with my right hand because it's colder than a polar bear's left nut sack out here. I take a breath to calm myself, even though it does nothing except make my teeth cold, and turn to head down the street, the corner in sight. I immediately think of what comes after that corner—the view of the downtown area, the square, Marion Street. I'm sure it's still lit up with Christmas lights seeing as the holiday season seems to last well into January in this happy little suburb with its bullshit red brick streets and cafes and boutiques. _What comes after Marion Street? The Blue Line to Kedzie. After that? Catch the 72. After that? Freeze my ass off and walk several blocks to an apartment where I will freeze my ass off._

I stop in my tracks. I don't want to go home because I don't feel like I have a home. Looking left, seeing as I'm at the corner, for once the usually charming, inviting area looks nothing but drab and dismal to me. I decide to take a right on Marion instead. It's fuckin' freezing, but I need to clear my head…and the CTA is no head-clearer. Clutching my tissues and my sketchbooks as if they're priceless items, I duck my head and walk. I figure I'll just go a couple of blocks until my toes burn from the cold. I'll take that as my sign.

 _Walking, walking, walking… Supposed to be clearing my head, supposed to be clearing my head, supposed to be clearing my head… Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking… Stop crying, stop crying—_

"Stop crying!" I grit out, wiping my tears on my scarf, the feeling that I just lost my therapist coming out of my eyes.

I start walking with more purpose, trying to think of this as a decent work-out. God, I haven't had a decent work-out in… Fuck, since I belonged to Dauntless…

* * *

 _ **Flashback:**_

 _The feeling that a wet dog came up behind me and rubbed its head all over the back of my neck makes me shriek in the girliest way possible, but then the strong arms that wrap themselves around my waist, pulling me in softly and protectively make it all worth it._

 _"Hi, beautiful. I totally stink," Tobias comments purposefully wiping his drenched t-shirt onto my back._

 _"Hi, to you…handsome." I smack his chest with the back of my hand, laughing. "And, yes, you do."_

 _He presses his lower half into me, whispering in my ear. "You don't seem to mind too much."_

 _"Stop it," I grunt, elbowing him gently in the side._

 _"That hurt so bad…" he jokes, feigning injury._

 _"Badly," I correct, looking over my shoulder as his mouth drops open at my correction. I stifle a laugh at his non-response while he roughly kisses the top of my head like a bird pecking the ground and then rests his chin there._

 _"Zeke said I'm a screamer in front of the whole gym! Fucking asshole!" Shauna says elbowing Zeke in the side, roughly, while I laugh at the horror I would endure if Tobias had done—_

 _"Uh, don't laugh so soon, sister! Both of these guys were yuckin' it up," she says pointing at me._

 _"Oh, my God!" I turn to face Tobias, enraged and embarrassed. "What did you tell him?!"_

 _"Nothing, nothing, nothing, I'm sorry," he breathes out quickly, pulling me to him._

 _"Then why are you sorry, jerk?" I ask, muffled into his chest._

 _"Come on…" He pulls me behind, walking toward the training rooms._

 _Does it really bother me, that he tells Zeke stuff? Depends on how much. I've mentioned some choice things to Christina. Only good things, though! What if Tobias said…not so good—_

 _"He's a dick," Tobias groans, turning me toward him. "I swear to God. I didn't tell him—"_

 _"It's fine," I cut in mid-sentence, wanting to wipe the worry off his adorable face. "I tell Christina…stuff." I shrug._

 _"Really?" He raises his eyebrows. "Like what?"_

 _I stand on my tip toes and cup my hand as if to tell him a secret. "Well, I may have let it slip that you have the most exquisite cock…ever," I quip, letting out a shaky breath of shame and slight awe that I said that. "Okay, bye." I back away quickly, not getting far as he grabs my yoga tank and tugs me back toward him._

 _"You cannot walk away after that! Storage closet…now," he orders, looking around for one. "I know how much you—"_

 _"Stop it," I say, knowing if he finds one, I'm there; but, we've already made a mockery of ourselves on that front. "Ow!" I exalt, feeling the burn from where he purposely snapped the taut fabric of my shirt back in place. "Jackass!"_

 _"Am I wrong?" he asks, maneuvering me so he can wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck. God, I love that…_

 _"I'm going to class—"_

 _"I'm gonna watch…the whole time," he says, his voice muffled._

 _"You will not watch," I giggle. Oh…I just giggled._

 _Turning me toward him, he leans down. "I can't help that when your ass is in the air, it makes me count down the minutes until I can take you from behind."_

 _The too-chaste-for-my-liking kiss is all he leaves me with as I stand there dumbfounded. I smile in a mix of shyness and want (Who knew that was possible?) at the openness of how he tells me what he wants. Sexual exploration of any kind never having been readily discussed in any of my early education and certainly not at home. I look over my shoulder, not able to help my damned self, and smile way more widely than should be allowed.  
_

* * *

"Uuuuuuugggghhhh… Stoooopppp crying!" I say to myself again, the happy memory of less dramatic times makes me ache. Yet, the tears keep coming, entirely fogging up my vision. I yank a tissue out of the box, but it just rips in half—the stuff of nightmares. "Well, that's just fuckin' great—"

"Hey, how's it goin'?" A guy nods to me in passing as he jogs by me on the sidewalk.

 _Why the hell do people do that? Did he expect me to answer him?! He's a quarter mile gone already. Asshole._ I laugh because that's something that would equally annoy Tobias. I stop in my tracks again and rub my eyes, trying to loosen up the mini-icicles that are forming on my lashes. My lashes… Tobias loved my lashes. I remember one time he asked me if it's weird that he thinks my eyelashes are sexy. I told him yes. Giggling inappropriately to myself, it soon turns into a cry… _again_ …as I start walking, turning a corner.

I don't know what the fuck to do. That therapy session did nothing for me! It gave me no answers! I cross my arms to the best of my ability, considering the box of tissues and sketchbook. _Why didn't I bring a coat?!_ I swallow and keep walking with my head down, knowing that I'm lying to myself—that session proved to be quite…revealing, in all actuality. For the first time, I really thought I had made a mistake—I'd suspected it, even minorly admitted it to myself; but, this was different—I now know that I full on fucked up. Part of it was that son-of-a-bitch Dr. DickFace who made me feel like Tobias was the enemy and then switched tunes, telling me that I'm taking Tobias down with me. How I didn't see through that guy, I will never know! Apparently, that's how out of touch I had been with myself.

I look to my right, eyeing a dark blue craftsman style house with a stone sidewalk, exposed cedar shake with natural wood corbels. "That's really pretty," I whimper.

No! I need to take FULL responsibility. If I had tried harder with Tobias, he might not have gotten all cray-cray. And then, eventually, I would have found Dr. Ramos, and she would have helped me become a functioning human again and then I'd still have him! Right? I slump my shoulders kicking a rock, knowing that isn't how the universe works—If Tobias hadn't gone apeshit and tried to kill Mark, then I may not have ended up crying in Tori's office…where she handed me Dr. Ramos's card—the third time I'd seen that card. But, no, just…no! I already had her card from Evey and Lynn! I would have found it again! I would have been brave enough to…to… _Don't kid yourself. You wouldn't have made the call._

A house to my left catches my eye. It's a small cottage style house, something you'd find in the English countryside. It has a small turret right in the middle of it. "That's adorable," I whisper.

And now I'm left with nothing but regret and paintings and letters and misery. I purse my lips in sudden defiance of my feel-sorry-for-me-session. No! I'm doing… _great!_ _Great? Fuck that word! What I mean is, I'm doing…doing… Damn it!_ Turns out I am doing _great—_ that word that signifies nothing but mediocrity, blasé, vague, nothingness. I'm great, just great. I may as well just say—I function. And that's pretty much what I do! I take no delight in anything. I have no friends. I have to force myself to want to possibly start a relationship with someone else. In fact, right now, that sounds horrific.! Even giving an ounce of myself to another person, a _different_ person, makes me want to throw this box of tissues through a window…not that it would do any damage. Therefore, it would do no good!

I inhale roughly just to hide my sobs as a dog-walker passes me. But, then I end up choking on it as the build-up of whatever comes out of your eyes, nose, and mouth when you cry, threatens to asphyxiate me. I grab as a tissue, but only a small piece comes out. And that's it. I stop, again, and all out lose it. Nothing but tears because Tobias had enough of my shit and moved across the country. He did that to get away from me, I'm sure. Probably thought I'd keep sucking him back in. He made the right choice.

The house I'm approaching at the end of the block is all brick and squares and angles with a harsh protruding roof. "Holy Frank Lloyd Wright. It's really ugly," I cough out, not caring that it's probably an actual FLW.

 _No, no, no. That was the wrong choice! Tobias made the wrong choice!_ I need to tell him. I slump my shoulders. He's with someone else, having late night conversations, drinking wine, arguing, making…love. _Puke…_ Opening up to someone else because he really couldn't with me. And, turns out, I couldn't with him. I just couldn't. I blamed him for not confiding in me when I was holding so much back from him because I _…didn't…think…he…could…handle…it…_

"Oh, my God," I moan, as it just clears the hurtle that is my cerebral cortex that I was doing to him exactly what I accused him of doing to me.

It's at that moment that I realize I need to be happy for him. He found someone that brought him joy, right? So, I should be happy for him. He found someone so damned full of blissful joy that he moved across the country...and _BROUGHT HER WITH HIM._

I need to welcome his existence into my mind again. I need to tell Zeke to try harder with Tobias—to find out why he left without a word to him. They deserve to have each other in their lives. I need to remember… _us._ I need to put that letter someplace special and not get hung up on the timeline of when he wrote it—just know that he did it, know that he loved me and wanted the best for me—the life I deserved. I didn't imagine it. He did. He wanted me. I need to be happy for him. I… _hate_ …it. But, sometimes it's not about how we feel, but about what we can do. Can I do this? Not push his existence aside, but recognize it? Face it head on? _Yes, I can. It won't ruin me. I'm in control._

"I'm ready," I say, standing up straight, shoulders back. I would be staring defiantly ahead, but my eyes are just about frozen shut. Suddenly, my mouth runs dry, and that stabbing feeling in my kidney comes back, mixed with my chest collapsing.

 _I can be happy for him. I can be happy for him. But, what about ME?! Can I be happy? Tori was! She loved Bud and was content. She was…satisfied? She grieved Renato and ended up living a life. Can I live a life? A contented life? Yes… Yes, I can—_

"No…I can't!" I yell, interrupting my own thoughts.

"Ummm… I didn't say anything…" trails off a younger twenty-something girl standing just feet away from me.

"Oh, shit," I sigh, immediately noticing her professional fitted jacket coupled with her long legs and very short skirt—it's like a business luncheon on the top floor and a bachelorette party on the bottom. She's bonkers. "Sorry, I was…talking to…no one."

"Mmmokay," she responds with raised eyebrows, hanging an 'Open House' banner on a Berkshire-Hathaway sign.

I open my mouth either to give her an explanation for my behavior or to say something really rude in response to her judgment, but she turns quickly and trips, her heel getting stuck in the white cobblestone pathway.

"Owwwwwwww!" she screeches as I slump my shoulders and walk over to help her. _Or…can I just leave her…?_

I roll my eyes as she moans on her hands and knees on the stones. "Ya okay?"

"No! I've had a terrible day!" she cries. "My heel broke on my faux Manolos, my iPhone charger cord busted, so I had to call my provider to switch plans back to my iPhone 4, the barista didn't use almond milk in my latte nor did they have unrefined cane sugar—"

"Oh, my God stop," I say rushing at her because her knees are dripping blood all over the place.

"Oh…nooo…" she whines as if she has just noticed how hurt she is. Unless it's the repercussions of her first world problems. In which case, this chick would really suck.

I have my shoulder under hers before she can land on the pavement again, her draping her arm over me.

"I…hate…the sight of blood," she slurs.

"Let's get you inside—"

"It's my first day on the job, and my boss…is in there. I hate…real estate almost as much as I…hate her," she whines.

"That's a predicament that you really need to suck up, right now. Now, what's your name?" I ask, looking at the houses around me, finally getting my bearings as to where I am…sort of—I'm in Oak Park still.

"Myrtle."

"Beautiful name," I say curtly, unable to judge her name considering mine. I take in the dark blue siding of the house, needing to memorize some aspect of it—it's new. Then I groan at the length of the worn cobblestone driveway seeing as this girl is moving as if she just got her leg blown off in a Warren Buffet-inspired IED. _Wait, stone driveway? As in field stone… This place can't be new…_

"Is this a new build—"

"It's horrible. It's my grandma's name… Or it…wassss…her name," she trails off, crying.

 _Geez… Of course, I get stuck with the grieving, knee-bleeding, drama queens._ "Sorry," I say awkwardly. "Was it recent?"

"Just last week. It was awful. Grammy made it official. Just, jumped in…head first."

"Ah, got it." I take in the gorgeous stone work, trying to crane my neck to where the driveway curves off to the right. "Wait… _what?"_

"I was so sad," she whispers.

"I'm… _so_ rry," I say, more sincerely this time, remembering when my grandma died and how it took me months to be okay with it. _And mine didn't commit suicide! Yikes._

"Yep. She just marched right up to the courthouse! Birth certificate in hand! Changed it! Didn't consult with me and how it would affect… _my_ life. I was called Myrtle the Turtle...in fifth grade…once. Now I'm left being twenty-two with an ugly, pointless, meaningless name! I have to stare at it on my coffee cups, for God's sake! And the misspellings—my organic produce delivery service thinks it's spelled Murtle! It's so embarrassing. My life…is…just… I don't even know…"

I exhale a bullshit breath and stare at this dumb idiot, shaking my head…more at myself for even taking a moment to pity her.

"Incredible. I know." She shakes her head along with me, as I all but push her up the front porch steps.

A warmth come from the left side of me as I see an outdoor fireplace, logs crackling invitingly. Even though I can barely feel my face, it suddenly heats up to what feels like 1000 degrees as I back up down the steps, taking in the entirely exposed chimney.

"Mahayana Lotus Flower—"

"What…?" I whisper aloud to myself as my mouth officially drops open. I look down at my feet for any signs of a foundation.

"Oh, you heard right! That's what she changed it to. Then she up and moved to a nudist commune—"

"Did they tear down part of this house?" I ask, still in disbelief at what I'm seeing.

"Oh, yeah. Word on the street is that the architect was, like, totally bonkers."

I stifle a laugh at that under-representation of Matthew's quirky personality. _I really miss him._ They took the whole front room off. So, this fireplace used to be indoors…now it's outdoors." She points to the fireplace as if I wasn't aware of its presence. "Half the house was falling, anyways. Shoulda been a teardown," she says conspiratorially, walking down the stairs awkwardly on her toes. "But, the architect had…in _sane_ ideas—insanely _expensive_ ideas that is. They're never gonna get their money back on this place. Anyway, I should—ohhhh! Ahhhhh…"

"What the…" I say through clenched teeth, seeing Myrtle on the ground again, this time in the newly laid mulch.

"I'm such a kluuuutz," she bawls.

I'm speechless on so many levels right now, as I reach in to help her up. Her hand slides out of mine, but I catch her before she face plants, holding her like a ragdoll between my legs. I try to get my footing while hauling her seemingly lifeless body up—"Mmgh!" But, landing right on my shoulder in the muck, having tripped over something was, apparently, God's plan. Pushing myself up, while screaming expletives in my head, I then lift my foot to see that I had stumbled over a rather large stone corner.

"Shoulda warned you about the old foundation," Myrtle says sheepishly, pushing herself up to standing and not even bothering to help me. "The architect wanted the corner pieces left to…to… How did he say it?" she snaps her fingers as I try to play catch-up. "Something kind of lame, like 'to maintain the historical properties' or for landscaping or something."

No words come out of my mouth as I hear my own coming directly out of hers. My awful handwriting with an asterisk in front of it comes to the forefront of my mind: _Leave the stone corners of the foundation to maintain historical integrity and aid in landscaping._ Along with Matthew's judgmental eyebrow raise at my insistence when I was going over the plans with him.

"You seem mad," Myrtle comments as if the fact that I may be a bit testy would be a huge bummer to her.

I finally get my footing and stand, looking at her incredulously and then down at myself seeing that I'm filthy. I brush my legs off and then wipe my forehead of the clammy sweat that has appeared.

"Oh no," Myrtle comments as if she's in a bind. "I would invite you in to get cleaned up, but we're doing showings and… Well, I can at least get you a paper towel," she offers, shrugging.

"I'm fine," I state flatly, shoving past her, needing one final piece of evidence to secure my very, very, very strong suspicions. I jog around the right side of the house, following the stone driveway and stop. A small squeak comes out of me as I cover my mouth and back up, taking in the side of the house—It looks entirely different than the rest of the house. Same color, but this wood is more rustic. It's the—

"This house was a barn! Well, at least, at one time it was. They found out all kinds of stuff during the renovation that they didn't know about. I guess it was like a house within a house with a barn, and the basement has like a sunken silo…and I was told it was a total disaster and—"

"Shhhh!" I order fiercely, as she is interrupting my shock and awe.

I'm completely stuck in my tracks. This is the house. The house I spent so much time on. The one I had deemed worthless and a total piece of shit. It's perfectly intact—more than just intact—it's stunning. I smile at Matthew's talent because I was at a total loss on the outside, having no idea how to make the already ridiculous amount of additions look like it was an original house while still doing justice to the original. _I have a feeling that would make no sense to anyone except me—_

"You see where the barn was?"

I turn my head slowly to find Myrtle shoulder-to-shoulder with me, nodding her head excitedly.

"A lot, like, a lot a lot of that is reclaimed wood because the original was rotted out! Half of that façade was covered by—"

"Vinyl siding up to the window, then jimmy-rigged shingles in place of siding up to the roof," I deadpan. "Blackened from rain and overflowing gutters—probably full of mold too," I whisper, having researched the effects of mold and asbestos on 1800s houses.

"Wow. If I didn't know better, I would say you've seen the old pictures!"

"Well, Myrtle. You _don't_ know better," I say, walking closer to the house, leaving her behind to do the math of what I just said.

I rest my hand on the reclaimed wood, biting my lower lip seeing as it was sticking out in preparation for tears. I look up at the door of what would have been the lookout from the hayloft at one time. In my plans, I had kept the exterior of the barn as is, but I had added a dormer window in place of that door. But, Matthew has left the door original, the shadow from a person doing a walk-through passing by the door.

"Well, I'm like, really cold, so… Bye—"

"Wait! I'm coming in!" I follow, running into her back as Myrtle stops in her tracks.

"Not like that, you're not. This house has been staged to perfection, and I've been given specific instructions to not let anyone in who doesn't have at least a 90% approval rating, and a 92% interest in buying the house _as is,_ _no…changes."_

"Myrtle, there is no such thing as a 90% mortgage approval. And if there were, the bank won't give you one without and appraisal!"

"I'm sorry. You lost me at mortgage—"

"This is _not_ the job for you," I tell her straight up, doing her a huge life favor. "And how do you know if someone is 92% interested. Is there a questionnaire?" I ask in jest.

"At _least_ 92% interested," she corrects.

"Fine! At _least!_ "

"There's a questionnaire," she affirms.

"Seriously? You won't let people in without filling out a questionnaire?!" I exalt.

"Why? Is that not normal?" she whispers looking over her shoulder.

"No, that's _not_ normal."

"Well, it's the only way you're getting in," she says blocking the door. "Everyone must be 'thoroughly vetted,'" she responds using air quotes.

"Then vet me thoroughly! Get me a stupid questionnaire!" I grit out, peering over her shoulder through the glass storm door.

"So…you're interested?"

"Very."

"And you can afford 1.8 million?" she asks, looking at me as if that's not even possible.

"Wh…" I choke, my throat going suddenly dry. "Pssh! Um… Ahem. That is…yeah… I can, um—well, I assume that's negotiable," I respond holding my head high when I'm dying a little on the inside seeing as I know ALG bought this place for $220,000.

"Not…negotiable."

"You're kidding."

"Not…negotiable," she says loudly as someone behind her walks through the kitchen area. "Look," she growls. "I'm only doing what my boss says. I think that's why they gave me this as my first job. No one's gonna buy this place for 1.8 non-negotiable," she whispers. "So, all I have to do is smile, hand out packets—"

"Packets?"

"The questionnaire is a packet. It even has an essay section. And then I tell people the price and watch them walk-out. Plus, the open house is only for an hour."

"An hour? How the hell do you—"

"Myrtle, would you care to bring the buyer through the _front_ door?" booms a stern-sounding woman from the kitchen.

"No, I wanted to enter from the side, thank you!" I yell back earning me a glare from Myrtle. I grab the collar of her jacket, pleading roughly in her ear. "Just show me around! I'll make you look really good to your boss!"

"Let…go! Fine!" she grunts as I release her. She looks me up and down. "What are you wearing—"

"Never mind. Go, go, go!" I push her, as we both just about trip into the house.

"Myrtle?" A very tall, elegant, professional looking woman appears—her brown taut hair pulled back in a bun looks painful. "What…happened—"

"I was here. She got hurt. She fell. I helped. I'm her helper person," I stutter, unnecessarily defending myself.

"Were you here to…" She tilts her head looking me up and down. "Why were you here?" she asks, not seeming to care that Myrtle is bleeding from the knees nor believing that I may just be here to buy this house. _The nerve!_

"I want to see the house," I state.

"You want to see this house. This 1.2 million-dollar house," she drones appraising me.

"I…yes, I—" My arm is yanked to the side as Myrtle goes down for the count next to me.

"It's…the…blooood…" she cries, obviously, seeing her knees again.

Shaking my arm free, I gesture to her boss to fucking take care of the dramatic bleeder and step over Myrtle's long legs.

"Fill out a questionnaire! They're on the counter!" the lady yells over her shoulder as I all but run past her.

Ignoring her, I just about lose my jaw at the sight. My design. My layout! Open to highlight to expanse of the room. The kitchen to the right is exactly as I designed it with onyx manufactured quartz countertops and light blue farm wood distressed cabinets. The focal point being the concrete island countertop with metal stools and industrial pendants overhead. I keep walking into the middle of the room noticing the character grade wood floors sanded down and finished. I look up to see all the original rafters still there, along with exposed stairs that go straight up the side of the room, leading to what I had assumed used to be a hayloft, but has now been opened up leading into various rooms. The railing is PVC pipe with dark wood balusters…just like I designed it. I look left to see a cozy corner wood burning fireplace. I remember it serving no purpose that I could have seen at the time. It didn't even have ventilation to the outside anymore. But this one has been restored and gives the room life. It looks really cute and quaint just sitting in the corner with two restored and reupholstered wingback chairs that I recognize from the Old Victorian house. The new upholstery is a light blue that matches the cabinets. _I loved those chairs._ Looking straight and to the left, I see what would most likely be one of the additions, old brick stairs walk toward the front door and then down into a den-like area. Nothing on that side of the house looks at all like something I did, and I don't remember those stairs. But, then again, I had no clue what I was doing.

I spin in a slow circle in total disbelief. The idea of old mixed with new… I'm in love. The house I worked on for more hours than any other, the one I was the most frustrated with, this…is the one… This is the house…the house I didn't even know I wanted, not that it was ever mine, to begin with. _If only I had 1.2 million dollars…_

I wipe under my chin with the back of my hand, catching my inexplicable tears. I think they may just be from happiness. This place could have been turned to dust, a new build in its place. But, Amar must have seen something in it. I can't believe I played a part in something so beautiful. I'm in awe…of myself, for once.

"Miss?" the boss realtor lady asks, her heels clicking on the floor as she walks into the kitchen. "Did you fill out a questionnaire?"

I shake my head no, as she rewards me with an eye roll, stalking over to me. "Here." She shoves a several page packet at me, sighing. "It'll take you an hour to fill out, and we're done in forty-five minutes." She huffs as if she's extremely unhappy with this situation.

"Why…do you make people fill out a questionnaire?"

" _I_ …why do _I…_?! _I…_ do not," she says with disdain turning and pulling something out of her pocket—a flask which she takes a generous swig out of.

I look down at the first question, not wanting to take this lady on.

 **1.** **Do you plan to rent out any portion of this house? If so, immediately return the questionnaire to the realtor.**

 **2.** **State your intention for this house using, at least, 200 words. (Space provided for all essay questions on the fourth page)  
**

 **3.** **Name.**

 **4.** **Last four addresses.**

 **5.** **Social security number, work visa, or green card number. Please include an attached copy.**

 **6.** **Please list the relationship status of the individuals whose name will be listed on the deed along with a brief description of your first encounter and rate your relationship on the provided scale.**

I take in the list of ten yellow cartoonish faces ranging from angry to utterly happy and just about lose it at the ridiculousness. I glance at the realtor and reign it in as I see her hanging her head in defeat over the sink.

 _Is this shit for real?_

 **7.** **From age ten and up, have you or any other resident been convicted of a crime including but not limited to: Petty misdemeanor, misdemeanor, gross misdemeanor, or felony? If so, immediately return the questionnaire to the realtor.**

….

….

 **12\. Do you, or any other resident have any illnesses (viral or bacterial), diseases or psychoses of any kind? If so, please list them, along with any medications and possible side effects.**

 **13\. Do you, or any other resident have allergies? If so, please list all known allergens.**

 **14\. Are you, or any other resident prone to general yearly illnesses, including but not limited to: cold, cough, influenza (Type A. Refer to viral illnesses for Type B).**

 **Upon acceptance of this questionnaire, special attention will be given to those buyers that provide a full physical examination by a primary care physician.**

I knit my eyebrows browsing the questions, skipping from here to there just taking in the oddity of it.

...

 **22\. Do you have exotic animals? If so, immediately return the questionnaire to the realtor.**

 **23\. Do you have domesticated animals? If so, list the species, breed (rescue animals are an exception), age, and sex. Have they had surgical procedures? If so, list all known procedures. Do they have illnesses? If so, list all subsequent medications they take along with a complete description of possible side effects. Special attention will be given to those buyers who provide a full physical examination by a veterinarian.**

 _This…is…some neurotic shit._

….

….

…..

 **36\. Do you have children? If so, please list their age, gender and a general description of any and all personality defects.**

 **37\. Are they involved in any extra-curricular activities? If so, please list all activities along with a brief description of their actual interest and ability level. Please include the facility they attend said activities. If possible, the name and number of their instructors would be appreciated.**

 **38\. If you have children at the university level, please specify their path of chosen study or apprenticeship, along with the university, college or program of their training. Please be specific.**

 **39\. Do your children have significant others? If so, do they have nightly co-habitation sessions? If so, how often?**

My shoulders shake as I cover my mouth, the realtor glaring at me. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe you guys make your possible clients do this."

"Trust me. You have no idea the disbelief I experience."

...

 **42\. Are you involved in a cult or any religious affiliation that would do harm or cause sacrificial harm to any animal species? (Statute 431.a of the Cook County Residential Legalities and Regulations permits this question and doesn't consider it falling under the umbrella of religious discrimination).**

 **...**

 **44\. Do you have any special dietary restrictions? If so, please describe.**

 **45\. Do you participate in Cross Fit? If so, please return the questionnaire to the realtor. If not, please list your specific regimen in detail.**

….

...

...

 **55\. Do you have any of the following: Twitter account, Tinder account, Snap Chat account. If so, please return this questionnaire immediately to the realtor. And if not, please provide proof.**

I put the packet down because I can't take it anymore. "Where's the background check?" I ask, joking.

She laughs even more sarcastically and with slight venom. "Last page. Right next to Notary request. Ugh…I can't do this shit anymore…" she groans, not even trying to hide the flask from me anymore.

"Do I really have to fill this out?" I ask.

"Honestly, I'm not going to make a dime off this place. Do whatever the hell you want," she says thoroughly dejected as I notice the vomit on the front of her pencil skirt along with the groans of Myrtle from the bathroom.

"Okay…" I start the slow walk up the stairs looking out over the great room the whole way. The ceilings are gargantuan, but they don't seem that way from downstairs because of the added beams. Leaning on the PVC banister, I take in the scene. You can see out to the front yard from here on account of a strategically placed large octagonal window. The industrial fans and lighting fixtures add the perfect amount of modernization to offset the rustic charm. _I'm in love._ Crouching down, I wipe under my eyes as more tears have formed. I run my fingers over the sanded down and varnished balusters. "Where did this wood come from?"

"Go up to the studio and find out for yourself. See if the horse's mouth will grace you with his presence!"

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to smile too widely at Matthew's presence along with stifling a laugh at her surprisingly accurate play on words about him. I almost skip down the hall, not wanting to wait one more second to hear his take on all this seeing as how he made me feel like a fool before and then he used ALL my ideas! We had coffee a couple of weeks ago, but he was acting weird, and I haven't seen him since. I slow down, wanting to sneak up on him as I see a room off to the right at the end of the hall. I look up at the ceiling to see the hallway runs right down the middle of the barn and the running peak at the top has been left exposed…or the perception of being exposed.

"I fuckin' love it…" I say, suddenly biting my bottom lip as to keep from crying again. I don't know why I'm reacting this way about something that was never mine, to begin with—

"I knew you would," a deep voice groans as I freeze, looking into the room. I stare—because it's all I'm capable of—at a man sitting on the floor in the doorway used as a look-out in its former life. He has his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Lifting his head, he thuds it on the wall behind him, laughing lightly as he looks out the window.

"Tobias," I exhale, the relieving feeling of his name on my vocal chords goes straight to my chest.

He looks my way and furrows his eyebrows before scrambling up, hopping twice on his right leg to keep from tipping over. "Hi, hey, hi," he says wiping his palms on his jeans.

I've wanted to throw my arms around this man soap opera style more times than I can count, but the urge at this moment almost debilitates me as I lean forward, ready to pounce on him. But I flex my fists, instead, and stay rooted, not wanting him to debilitate me even more with his rejection.

"What are you doing here?" we ask at the same time, opening our mouths to answer but nothing seems to be coming out.

I don't even register what he looks like—just that he's here, right in front of me. I can feel heat…just heat. I tap my toe not knowing what else to say. "Um…" I clear my throat, now looking at the ceiling. "Well, I guess you're here to check on Matthew's handiwork," I chuckle awkwardly.

He doesn't answer, which unnerves me even more.

"I'm…I was...just, um, passing by. Literally. I mean that in the actual literal sense. Not in the light meaningless way— _like_ _literally_ ," I mimic in the most millennial way possible, cringing at my babbling. "Then I saw this place and…just… Wow, I mean it's… He did a great job. I…it just feels like…" I turn to the side to look out the floor to ceiling window across the room, not wanting him to see me head on. I have to bite my bottom lip until pain shoots through it to stop the rampant trembling. But, my teeth just seem to feel the need to take over as they start chattering.

"It feels like…home," I mumble, shaking my hands out. "Or, _a_ home, ya know. Not like _my_ home," I say, talking to the window as if it's a person, gestures and all.

I wipe under my eyes, not knowing why I'm crying and yank on the sleeves of my shirt, releasing my thumbs from the fabric confines so I can properly twiddle them. I decide the window conversation is awkward so I should just look everywhere but at him. Because I can feel nothing, nothing but his stare that is puncturing my soul.

"Um…" I wander to a counter behind me and mess with whatever is on it that my mind isn't even processing. "…ya know," I sigh, trying not weep. "This is weird. I'll just head out—"

Fiercely strong arms clamp my biceps and turn me, leaving nothing but inches between us. I whimper out of shock and slight fear, but then I rethink things at the blatant look of pent-up emotion in his suddenly red eyes. I breathe in shakily as he turns his head on a diagonal, running his hands up my arms to rest on both of my shoulders as if he's holding me in place. His deep nose-breathing and searching eyes almost make me break down right there and tell him everything—how much I feel like I'm missing a part of myself, how _sorry_ I am… And…that's all I've got right now because I'm melting as his right hand creeps up my neck, tangling in my hair. _Is this really happening? This better not be a VIVID, VIVID, VIVID dream!_ He leans in closer as if he's going to kiss me and I try to meet him half-way, but he backs up and switches angles, my breath hitching in disappointment. Then where his left hand was still gripping my shoulder, unrelenting, he runs it down my back clamping my arm at my side and pulling me in. One complete lock of our eyes, our breathing intermixed, and a pleading, yet, determined look in his eyes…and his mouth is on mine, more demandingly than ever. And I give into him entirely, sliding my left arm under his and pulling him to me with as much strength as I have not having a single intention to let him go. He grips the roots of my hair, painfully, forcing his mouth on mine—which I'm matching with equal attention. I don't think we could hold each other any tighter even if we tried—the vice-like grip from both of us making it impossible. Only taking quick breaths out of necessity we continue to kiss as if it were the last thing on our bucket list before we die. I fist his shirt, and twist it, mimicking the feeling in my lower abdomen—the one that makes me squeeze my legs together. And I shift doing just that, trying to hold back my intense urges. But, instead, my flexing thighs just enhances the feeling him hard and aroused. He grunts pulling away for only a moment. Our eyes meet beyond briefly, and suddenly the mood turns frantic—the pace of my breathing quickening as both of our hands fumble with each other's lower half, dueling as if it's a race. My hands move to the button of his jeans, unfastening and unzipping them as quickly as his hands move almost coercively under both my yoga pants and underwear, pushing them down so fast I may have rug burn. I'm only mildly successful at getting his jeans low enough to do the trick before his strong hands grip under my legs, leaving definite bruises as he roughly sets me on the counter, whatever was on it crashing onto the floor. I grasp the back of his neck fiercely with both my hands yanking him toward me needing his mouth on mine again. The sweet taste of him overpowers me over as we quickly switch angles, him tilting me back and pulling the apex of my thighs to him without a second of thought. He grabs my hips so hard that I'd be incapable of further movement as he draws back just a little—

"Mr. Eaton?"

We both pull away looking at each other in a panic as I squeak in embarrassment.

"How shall I proceed—"

"I'm not FUCKING selling!" he roars. "Get OUT!" I scream hearing the clicking of her shoes stop on the stairs.

We both look at each other in quick confusion, him smirking at me briefly, his chest heaving. " _You're_ the…owner?" I whisper.

"Do you have any idea how much… _WORK—"_

"Get OUT!" he roars. "He's not FUCKING selling!" I scream in equal desperation.

The angry stomping of her heels down the stairs are drowned out by our incredulous looks and stifled laughing at our role switching. Suddenly he looks down and shakes his head at how I'm sitting—knees spread awkwardly seeing as my pants are still at my ankles. _Hey, I can make it work!_ He hangs his head as I squirm uncomfortably, feeling ridiculously exposed.

"Tobias?" I ask meekly as he lifts his head, looking at me sternly. I sit there like an idiot as he tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls up his jeans.

"I'm _sick_ …and tired…of doing what I _need_ to do…rather than what I _want_ to do," he grits out angrily. "Stay there!" he orders, exiting the room leaving me dumbfounded.

 _He just left me…vagina-out…on a counter. I'm sitting, naked, knees spread…on a counter...and he left me here._

His words replay in my head as I hear water running from down the hall—doing what he _needs_ rather than what he _wants._ I hop off the counter, not wiping away the burning tears because it will just waste time. Apparently, he _needed_ a quick fuck, but _I_ wasn't really what he _wanted._ I pull up my pants and underwear swallowing a sob that desperately wants to get out—it was so powerful that I feel like I may vomit from the exertion of stifling it. A couple of small whimpers of humiliation leave my lips before I book it like a vampire bat out of hell down the stairs. You are so _fucking stupid, BEATRICE PRIOR!_ I'm down the front stoops, paying a silent homage to my outdoor fireplace before Jackie Joyner-Kerseeing it down the sidewalk.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I splash cold water on my face in the master bath and look at myself in the mirror, the droplets trailing down my face still. _She's here. I can't fucking believe she's here. WHY is she here?!_ I couldn't give any less of a shit, to be honest. All that matters is that she's here.

"Oh, God," I groan into a plush new towel that smells like lemon grass, thinking about the intensity of our mouths moving against each other. My dick twitches at the taste and smell of her. "Calm the fuck down, Tobias," I mutter.

When I first heard her voice, I was certain my mind was having its own little fuck-me-up session, as it does so often when I think of her. I hear her voice more than my own sometimes. But, holy shit, I don't even know what the hell she was babbling on about, but I was on her like white on rice and not giving her a choice in the matter. The virile male reared its head, and I wanted to devour her. Shit, I couldn't even tell you what she was wearing I just wanted her so badly. I almost lost control—not total control, I know; but, close enough. Stopping myself would have been a feat of epic proportion.

I can't let my needs get in the way of my wants…anymore. And right now, I _need_ release—the satisfying kind, not the substituting kind. Having done what I feel needs to be done for so long, I've lost sight of what I want. And holy shit do I want her. But, I want _all_ of her. And I'm afraid that a quick fuck, no matter how much physical relief it will bring me, won't do anything beyond that.

I smirk remembering the look on her face when it became known that this is _my_ house. I push the thought aside of a future and just focus on how she urgently screamed, "He's not selling!" That gave me hope. It also gave me resolve. I was standing there, dick hanging out of my boxers that I hadn't even bothered to push down, and her knees in an incredibly awkward position because I hadn't even bothered to take her pants off. _There's no way she could have made that work—_

Hearing the stomping of small feet down the stairs, I rush out of the bathroom to be met with the sound of the front door slamming.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, no, no, no, no, no!" I sputter, pounding down the stairs after her. I whip open the front closet door and trip into my cross trainers, then bolt out the front door with no regard for appearances or general intelligence seeing as I'm in a white t-shirt, my jeans are yet entirely open, and my shoes are untied. The stupidity is coming off me in droves!

I look left to see the flash of a blond rainbow round the corner like an Olympian. _What the hell is she wearing?_ I take off after her. She's fast. But, I'm faster.

"Ow!" I briefly put myself in check as my cock rub against my open zipper. "Damn." So, bouncing up and down to make this process move faster I tuck myself into my pants, putting all extremities into their rightful places before taking off again, trying my hardest to ignore the laces slapping against my jeans along with the wind hitting my face like daggers.

I approach a break between houses and catch sight of her running down the street perpendicular to me. Knowing that the quickest way to get from Point A to Point B is a straight line—or straightish in my case—I sprint across the back yards ready to catch her right as she passes. I see her pick up speed after she looks behind her, so I do the same. _Damn, she's fast._ I feel like I'm going to pass out. _But she's worth it, right? Please, tell me this will work out. Please, please, please, please, please._ I see the sidewalk in sight, so I slow my pace minimally, not wanting to lose momentum.

"Huh!" It barely connects that Tris is standing on the sidewalk before I smack into her wrapping my arms around her to soften the blow and ride out the jog. "Agh—" We're wrenched back slightly as my foot gets caught on something. "Woah, woah, woah—" The thud that resounds from both of us landing right in the neighbors landscaping, both on our sides with my arms still around her waist, rings in my ears making me lose all equilibrium, putting me in a vertigo-like state. But, the blow to my chest from Tris's elbow puts me right back into balance.

"Fuck! What was… _that_ …for?" I choke, having the wind double knocked out of me.

"You body-slammed me…like a…WWE wrestler, you… _ass_ ," she coughs, getting up to keep running.

I quickly get to my feet to not let her escape, but all I manage is an unintentional ankle grab as I trip out of my shoe, leaving it behind. I look up from where I'm now face down on the grass superman style to see her face down…in the mulch. "Oh, fuck," I gasp. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I get out hurriedly, painfully crawling over to her. "I just… It was an accident. My fucking shoe…" I pull on her hip, urging her to roll on her back and I stifle a laugh as the pieces of earth fall off her face.

Suddenly my neck is in a choke-hold as she wraps her thighs around my head, crosses her ankles and squeezes, rolling us onto our sides. In any other situation, this would be heaven. But my lack of breath is a…problem _. This is a tough one to get out of. I'm pretty impressed. But...is she…literally…trying to…kill me?_ I feel the fog take over… … …

…. …. ….

"Tobias, Tobias, Tobias, Tobias, Tobias, Tobias, Tobias, Tobias…"

Somehow, I'm on my back, being awoken by the sound of Tris repeating my name over and over in rapid succession while shaking me. I keep my eyes closed, pushing aside all feelings of retaliation as she continues to try to rouse me. _I could sweep her legs? Twist her ankle? A swift yet deliberate kick to the hamstring, only to cause minor yet satisfying injury? But, where would that get me?_

I decide to open my eyes when she starts whimpering. The look of pure panic subsides, and she stands, defiantly in a you-fuckin'-deserved-that manner.

So, I chop the back of her hyper-extended legs, making her knees buckle…which only lands her knees…right on my chest. I groan flopping my hands to my sides and praying I don't have any broken ribs.

"Uhhhh… So, I've been watching this all play out…" starts a middle-aged-sounding man's voice. "I felt like I should step in…"

I open my left eye to see a guy standing over us, his dog sniffing my crotch, but I don't have the gusto to do a damned thing about it.

"But, I think she was…participating…so…"

"I'm…fine," Tris moans as I feel her shins twitch that are resting over my stomach.

I switch eyes and open my right to look over at her, as she rolls onto her side from a face plant position. _That's #2. I'm in trouble._ She keeps rolling until she can push herself up, the bystander walking off with his over-zealous crotch-sniffer, muttering something about 'strangest thing I've ever seen.'

We sit there a moment while I take measured breaths to calm my raging temper. It's more like a cross between a don't-lose-your-shit and please-don't-let-her-injure-me-further mental chat session. _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…five…four_ … I hear her sniff, and I open my eyes again, flitting them to her shaking lip. I sigh, feeling suddenly terrible. I ran after her as if I were a bull and she was the red cape, and then I plowed her over and continued my assault.

"Don't," she whispers pulling her legs off where they were draped over my stomach. It subconsciously clicks that I was rubbing her calves.

"Sorry," I mutter, disheartened. I push myself up on my elbows ignoring the ache where I know two large purple knee prints are forming.

"I need to say something," she begins, looking at me intently.

I nod my head, bracing myself for the worst. I'm still not breathing quite right for many reasons both physical and emotional.

"Was that retribution? Back at…your _…_ house?"

I scroll through what she could possibly be talking about. I'm pretty sure all I showed her was that I wanted to make her scream loud enough for the windows to shatter. No more…no less. In fact, I barely spoke to her…which makes me want to punch myself.

"You left me… _exposed_ …on a countertop…telling me that I'm _not what you wanted."_

I just about lose my mind from shame at the word _exposed…_ But, confusion takes over at how she could possibly concoct that I didn't want her. Seriously, I'm not sure I've heard anything dumber yet today.

"I felt cheap… _easy_ …and expendable. Did you do that because you felt I deserved it?"

Being at a loss doesn't even cover what I'm feeling. The adjectives cheap, easy and expendable doing their own happy dance of damage to my brain, but the idea of her… _deserving_ those feelings, let alone… _me_ …inflicting them on her…

"It's fine." She jumps up…even though, I don't know how she did it. "I'm going to put a positive spin on a really fucked up situation," she continues, dusting off her face while I, at least, get myself on my hands and knees. "You did the right thing, Tobias—putting your wants before your needs, for once. Because I remember you not doing that all that often. Ya know, before..." She looks down at me, sincerely—as if, she is honestly happy that I've achieved a pretend evolutionary step that she has invented. "I guess California was a good thing," she chuckles. "Store up that vocab for a rainy day, okay?" Smiling, she backs away and turns on her heel with a lilt in her step. "Bye."

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _Her grip tightening on the back of my shirt is akin to how my balls feel. I swear they may just explode. Trying to hold her tight, while not scaring her with my huge boner is proving soooo difficult. The primal part of me just wants to show her how much I want her and judge the outcome based on complaint calls from the neighbors. And based on the way our tongues have barely been millimeters away from each other since my lips landed on hers, I'm pretty sure she'd let me. Suddenly, I freeze, an unintentionally predative grunt having come out of me as I held her leg in place where it had all but grazed my erection. My sudden lack of control surprises me as I all but thrust my hands down her sides to get her out of her pants with the least amount of obstacles, holding back the 'mine' that would have come out as a feral growl. With the bare minimum achieved, I haul her up onto the counter. Her hands on the back of my neck, reconnecting our mouths bring me back to a more emotional side, and I'm grateful. I take a deep breath of her as I lean into her kiss at a more measured pace. Her tongue circling mine makes my cock ache for her in a way I can't describe. I grasp her hips and pull her to me, not sure how I'm ever going to pry my hands off of her. I pull back knowing right where I need to be—_

 _"Mr. Eaton?"_

 _I hear a quiet squeal out of Tris, that for a moment I thought may have just come from me as I freeze, unsure of what to do._

 _"How shall I proceed—"_

 _"I'm not FUCKING selling!" I shout, knowing that came from somewhere deep in my subconscious._

 _I look at Tris knowing she had yelled something at the same time. I can't help but almost smile at the two of us, wondering how we always get ourselves into these situations. One of these days, we won't stop, and someone will rue the day they ever walked in on our exhibitionism—_

 _"You're the…owner?" Tris asks in confusion. Geez, we have a lot to talk about…_

 _"Do you have any idea how much…WORK—"_

 _"Get OUT!" I roar. "He's not FUCKING selling!" Tris shrieks at the same time._

 _I'm slightly dumbfounded at the sincerity of her words. Why would she care if I sold this house? She doesn't know anything about this place except that she designed it-ish. It was probably just repetition for the sake of driving a point home. Because even though I hope for nothing more than a future with her, regardless of current…circumstances, it still may be just some made up hope in my head._

 _The pissed off loud clicking of annoying heels down the stairs makes me feel minutely guilty as I try to catch my breath. I glance down, my eyes catching on Tris's ankles caught in her pants. The guilt of shouting at an innocent woman is immediately drowned out because nothing…compares to…this._

 _I bite my lips angrily seeing as I hadn't even had the courtesy to remove her shoes and I'm now suffering from the embarrassment of not even pulling my jeans down over my ass—my dick is using the peak hole to its full extent. I close my eyes, the temptation of dragging them over where I don't deserve to would be too great. I don't even allow myself to inhale because her scent would be equally as detrimental._

 _Do I need to relieve myself of pent-up sexual frustration because of unfulfilling exertions? Yes. Because I'm male and a total piece of shit. But is that what I want? Is this even what she wants?_

 _"Tobias?" she asks nervously, trying to get my attention._

 _What the FUCK?! She shouldn't be nervous. After all that she's been through, I was going to take her…hard…on a counter top and give her minimal choice in the matter—to fulfill my physical needs. I'm a son-of-a-bitch._

 _Damn it! I'm sick…and tired…of doing what I need to do…rather than what I want to do. Story of my life…_

 _"Stay there," I say, feigning calmness as I leave the room in need of a reset…for both of us._

* * *

 _I left her naked…on a countertop. I left her naked…on a countertop making her feel cheap…easy…and expendable. Then my words…my entirely misconstrued words… Shit, I said those out loud?! It sounded so much better in my head_ — _Oh, fuck she's leaving!_

"Triiiiiissss," I groan crawling forward on my hands and knees, before pushing myself up to standing. "That isn't what I meant," I choke out, my chest contracting painfully. I know she didn't hear me because I barely heard myself. I attempt a jog, but it fuckin' hurts. I take a deep breath. "BEATRICE NATALIE PRIOR! GOD, DAMN IT! LISTEN TO ME!"

She stops but doesn't turn around. So, I walk toward her…slowly…until I'm standing behind her. I look down, and my heart just about breaks as I see the wetness on her cheeks reflect off a streetlamp. For a moment, I can't believe I can evoke such emotion in her still. If ever given the chance, or if I ever actually took the chance, I thought I would have had to work a lot harder to bring to the surface what we _had_ …what we _have._ I know it's there.

I just want to be in the moment…with her. I'm fuckin' tired of overthinking…everything. I suddenly experience the overwhelming feeling that there is more to the universe than I ever gave credit. And I don't care about anyone else—how this affects _anyone_ else. I'm going to live in the damned moment…for once in my life.

I smirk, formulating a plan. Words… _productive_ words…have always been difficult for us. But something that has never been difficult—connection.

I rest my hand on her shoulders and bend down to whisper in her ear. "You thought the worst." I run the tips of my fingers down her arms enclosing her fisted hands in mine, not letting her reciprocate, nor pull away. I lean my forehead on the back of her head, keeping my voice in an even tone. "Now, please, don't say anything, and just come back to the house with me. Do you trust me?" I ask running my thumbs over her knuckles.

"No," she states, emphatically.

I slump my shoulders and exhale, waiting for her moment of attitude to pass.

"But, I'm really fucking cold. So, let's just go," she says snarkily, turning on a dime.

"After you," I gesture, leading her by her lower back which she dodges.

 _Fuck, this is going to be rough. This could take hours. Jack pot!_

We've been walking in silence for the whole way home which was fine with me because I got to just enjoy being close to her without the pressure of explanation. I'm hoping—God, I'm hoping—we'll have plenty of time for that. Explanation. I have so many questions, questions that I may not want the answer to. Honestly, I'm prepared to live with or without those answers.

"What the actual hell, Tobias?! You're just…not going to talk to me—"

"Mmmmgh." I just about push her up the stairs from where she suddenly stands resolute, holding myself back from saying 'Just get in the damned house.'

I glance down at her while she trudges up the stairs, seeing her try to hide her smirk in passing the exterior fireplace. It's one of the more awesome things about this house…and entirely her idea. I loved it when I first saw it drawn in her notes during one of my snoop sessions. I couldn't share my excitement and awe with her because my whole idea was bat shit, embarrassing, and beyond premature. Yet still, I studied her notes every chance I got when she was at work—committing it all to memory…and auto-cad.

I reach for the door handle, but she smacks my hand out of the way and plows through it all on her own. "Jesus," I whisper in aggravation, following after her stubborn ass.

She stops right in the small foyer of the now-dark house and crosses her arms defiantly. "Well? Say what you've gotta say."

" _I…_ said don't say a word."

"Well, that's not happening."

"Oh, it's happening. Now take your shoes off," I say, part ordering-part strongly suggesting in a nice haven't-seen-you-in-awhile-I-love-you way. I look down at the floor of the foyer where we have both tracked mulch, grass, and January salt-sludge onto the distressed wood floors that I worked VERY HARD ON! "Please."

"Tobias…what am I…doing?" she asks more to herself than to me.

I sigh and crouch down, pulling at the laces of her muddied shoes. I shrug. "Taking your shoes off." I gently lift her ankle—never having thought touching a girl's ankle would bring me any sort of pleasure—and disengage her foot from its confines, then move to the other side. "Have you seen these things?" I ask in jest at the caked-on mud and…everything disgusting.

"I'm serious," she mutters, pulling at her thumbs—the slight popping sound she makes as she pushes the pad of one thumb down the nailbed of the other is very telling of her nerves.

"You're trusting me," I mumble, pulling off one of her socks from the toe, slowly stretching it until it pops off spraying crusted dirt all over me. _She better have found that funny because I took one for the team there!_

She stifles a laugh through her nose as I grin, dusting the dirt off my face. "Did you not see that one coming?"

I laugh lightly and move on to her other sock. Not having any intention of going through that again, I slowly peel it off starting at the ankle. "No, I did." I stand and toe off my own shoes, not breaking eye contact with her. "I figured if I took some foot fungus to the face, you'd know I mean business." I lean over to pull my socks off, grunting from the pain.

"Are you okay? I landed on you pretty hard," she asks kindly.

"Uh…" I stop myself from resting my hand on my left ribcage of pain. "Yeah. I can take it," I cough to cover up the wince as I stand.

"Well, good, because it was completely your fault, ya know—"

"Shh." I clamp her lips together with my right hand, surprising both her and myself before she jerks her head free.

"Don't shh me! No more shhshing me!"

I take a calming breath and put my hands in prayer position getting dangerously close to her. "What do I need to do to make you shut up?"

"I don't know, let's start with—don't try to fuck me on a counter-top, and then leave me with my legs spread because you decided I no longer met your standards. And then tell me why you wanted me to come back here so… _bad_."

I clear my throat and back up slightly. For a blessed moment, I had forgotten how her sharp tongue can slice someone faster than a samurai sword and how she knows incorrect adverbial usage makes my skin crawl. I grind my teeth to keep from reciprocating 'If you hadn't made yourself so damned available, I wouldn't have been tempted as… _badly_.' That particular assholic, non-truthful rebuttal that would only be meant to take her down a few notches. Then, I see her face. Her very red face with the slight glaze of tears. _That's really what she thinks I did… Why wouldn't she?_ I run my hands through my hair and decide to give her the most sincere, least aggressive response.

"I won't."

She frowns, knowing her comment backfired and again and I'm tempted to remark, 'Take _that_!'

"But, I do need you to promise me something," I request, tucking her hair behind her ear. _And she lets me! Wooooo hooooo—_

"Oh, _now_ I'm allowed to speak?" _Good God, woman!_

"Yes," I grit out, composing myself before I continue. "If you want to leave, just…tell me first," I murmur crossing and un-crossing my toes. "Don't just bolt." I bite the inside of my cheek ready for her to unnerve me with her questioning stare.

After a pause of uncertainty, she nods her head.

"I'm taking you on a tour. You're going to tell me if it's too much." I shrug, watching her face momentarily ignite out of excitement— _I knew she'd love this place!—_ But, then it's doused just as quickly being replaced by a quirked eyebrow. I sigh. " _May_ I take you on a tour?"

"I guess," she instantly shrugs, noncommittally. _Does she have any idea how transparent she is?_

"Will you tell me…to stop…if you need me to?" I ask more slowly this time.

"Yes," she responds with her hands out in a why-wouldn't-I fashion. "Why would I need you to stop—"

"Perfect," I smile. "Ladies…first." I push her toward the stairs with a little more strength than necessary, her eyes taking in everything and her head moving just as quickly. A bought of nervous energy hits me at the epic fail this could be—

"Can we start in the basement?" She moves post haste toward the open staircase leading to what used to be a root cellar, but I grab her forearm, yanking her toward the upstairs, instead. "Hey—"

"This is why I'm implementing the _no…talking_ …rule. Do you understand me?" I ask pulling her close, but not close enough in my opinion.

She stands solid as a rock, looking at me sternly.

"Will you please not talk?" I ask, sheepishly as she shrugs, walking past me up the stairs. _God, help me._

I keep my eyes on my feet the whole way up, trying so hard not to check out her ass. Those damned tight running pants she wears leave very little to the imagination considering the curvature of her ass, the crease right below where her butt cheeks meet the top of her hamstrings, and how they spill over the perfect amount for me to grab and—I suddenly stumble back, catching myself like an idiot on the banister, clinging to it like a lifeline. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what happened. I ran face first into Tris's butt. I finally have the balls to look up at her—her shoulders are shaking as she keeps walking. She's laughing at me. _This is not funny time! No funny moments allowed!_

"Sorry… I…wasn't…I was…thinking." _I'm just gonna stop right there…_

I sigh, running my hands down my face, pulling them away just as she turns toward me at the top of the stairs. I search her face, allowing myself one quick moment, making up for lost time. I have to bite my lips at her appearance, which I truly hadn't noticed until now. It's actually an amazing feeling to know you just _love_ someone, even when they look like they take up permanent residence in a garbage dump and shop at a homeless shelter.

I take Tris's hand, not believing I'm holding it again, and pull her along. My non-preparedness for her presence is almost maddening seeing as I had all but decided I was going to head back to California…only to face the hellfire of Maya. _Would I really have gone back? Gone back without seeing Tris? I was ready to…but, would I have done it? I don't even know myself anymore…_

I glance at Tris over my shoulder as she looks down the hall we just passed—a couple of things that were out of her design expertise were space utilization. She had none. So, I had to make some changes.

I stop, having passed the loft area where I already royally fucked up—pun sort of intended—and walk into the master bedroom. She shakes her hand away and stands up straighter as if she's trying to put on a sudden show of strength, looking anywhere except the bed—the bed that's barely even been sat on. It makes me wonder as she strolls past me with her head held unnecessarily high if she's picturing me in that bed with another woman. And if she were, does that bother her? If it does…that's amazing…and would suit me just fine.

"I haven't spent much time in here," I comment, as she furrows her eyebrows.

She nods her head once, and I think I detect a hint of a smirk as her posture goes back to normal. I watch her closely, too closely, as she moves around the room with her hands behind her back. Her eyes, taking everything in. In my opinion, this room isn't much because Tris didn't give me much to work with on the plans. But, from previous knowledge, she always told me she didn't understand why people have huge master bedrooms when all they do is sleep in them. So, I concentrated on… _other_ things.

I watch her wander to the sliding door. _I did add a pretty sweet deck, though._ I see her smile, actually smile, as she looks out. It's not that big, just enough for a bistro table, a couple of chairs, and some planters. _Ya know, if she would ever want to…plant…_ I shake my head, knowing I'm getting ahead of myself…as in, _years,_ ahead of my _possible_ self. There could be severe obstacles. But, I made a choice, the second I saw her standing in the door—I'm not thinking about any other person or intrusion. Just…us.

I look up, having felt her stare. But, only hold her questioning look for a moment. She's trying to read my mind; I know it. And I'll be having none of that. I move toward her, swallowing as she looks around nervously, most likely for an escape route. Nodding my head toward the bathroom, I brace myself for possible imminent doom.

She pauses, not taking the lead, her jaw moving as she grinds her teeth—she wants to say something. And it's at that moment, that I realize I'm not being fair to her.

"I'm…sorry," I sigh, scratching the back of my neck. "This isn't fair. You can talk. I'm just, honestly, afraid of what you might say. I mean, this house is…" I bite the inside of my cheek, not able to say, _"This house is for you,"_ because I don't know if it is anymore. The whole thing was dumb, to begin with. This is the kind of gesture that should make a woman run for the hills _. I mean, who does this shit?! Idiots. Overeager, obsessive idiots._

She flits her eyes relentlessly between mine, obviously trying to unravel my conscious mind. And I look away, waiting for the rejection. But, I suppose there's really nothing to reject on her end. It's just a house, and we haven't even gotten to the—

The flip of a switch snaps me out of my reverie of negativity, and I see Tris standing in the doorway of the bathroom. A glimmer of hope sends a mini-shock through me because I swear I hear her gasp. I walk up behind her and push on her lower back to keep walking, the small contact—albeit through several layers of clothes—feels intimate…to me. She turns in a 360 looking up from the ceiling to the floor. I can imagine the millions of questions she's filing away in her head because…she didn't design this bathroom. In fact, I changed the whole damned thing apart from the décor.

"Who knew I was so good at bathrooms?" I ask, anxiously.

She raises her eyebrows, pointing at me questioningly as if she's making sure she heard me correctly. I remember her incorrect guess when she first got here of me being here to check on 'Matthew's handiwork.' I had to control myself from delivering an incredibly immature reaction as one of the first things I said to her—I opted for passive-aggressive silence, soon to be replaced by a very different type of aggression _. I still can't believe I—_

The sputtering of water shakes me out of my shame as Tris looks curiously at the waterfall faucet of the two-person Japanese-style copper soaker tub. She had always said she doesn't like taking baths, having never been able to get comfortable in a tub—apparently, she floats to the surface, a hilarious image in my mind. So, this was my solution, also a total space saver. She nods her head approvingly tapping the wooden stairs that creep up the sides. A large window looks out over the sizeable lawn which she frowns at.

"No one can see in here," I respond understanding her concern. "The house is built into a hill. We're the equivalent of three stories up."

She furrows her eyebrows at that, most likely having no idea of that aspect of the house…because I sure as hell didn't either. Then she grins nodding her head and moving on to the large trough concrete sink and farmhouse style faucets. I'm slightly surprised that she didn't notice the small corner fireplace, mini wine cooler and built in custom shelving, but she was never one for frivolity. _Or maybe she's just not that interested_ … Her eyes move up the stone wall to the barn wood crown molding that I used to match the exposed shelving under the sinks along with the stairs. She chuckles, incredulously and if I didn't know better, I would say I'm wearing the smile of a lifetime because she likes what _I_ did. It's not a large space, but I used every spare inch…for a good reason.

Passing by me to exit, I link our fingers instinctually. She stops, looking down at them, and then back up at me.

"Can I show you something?" I whisper, even though I think it comes out as a murmur because this could tip the scales…and not in my favor.

Nodding her head slightly, I back up, pulling her with me until I arrive at the shower door. She looks all over, except, of course, at me. Then it dawns on me that she was possibly avoiding looking in the shower at all. In fact, she tried to leave without even taking a look, and this thing is hard to miss—it's bigger than the whole bathroom. That should make me sad, but it ends up adding onto my minimally-there pile of hope because if showers mean as much to her as they do to me, it _should_ be hard for her—especially this one.

 _This is it, Tobias._

I open the amber color frosted glass door and walk in, pulling her with me. I've seen looks of shock on her face before, but nothing like this. The shower has penny tile in copper hues moving in waves from the floor up the wall and onto the ceiling, standing out in faux relief from the large flat gray ceramic tile. There are two large oil-rubbed bronze rain showers, regular shower heads that double as hand-held showers, and an opposite wall full of jets. But what she can't seem to take her eye off of is the large—unnecessarily large—bench at the end of the sizeable shower, the specifications are the equivalent of an extra-long twin-size bed.

I walk up behind her and rest my hands lightly on her arms. "This was designed… Um… Well, in the planning stages…you were… It's for you. It was is." _Was is?_ "Wanna see how it works?" I add on quickly, my child-like attempt at recovery. _Really? That's your question? Because she needs a lesson on shower usage?!_

Nothing but silence follows and nothing but her breathing registers. I pull my hands away from my face at the clearing her throat, seeing that she's nodding 'yes' and backing away from the wall of jets and rain showers. Just about launching myself at the handles, I turn one of them to the first notch; the hand held shower head starting. Then the second notch, the water being diverted to the rain shower. Then the third notch and both turn on, before I move to the other system, doing the same.

"These are the temperature controls," I explain. "Red for warmer and blue…for…um, cooler." Her no-shit stare, making me feel 100% moronic, I step back for a second. Biting her lips she flits her delicate fingers under the water letting the spray dance off her fingers. I smirk, walking to the handle and turning it, so it goes back to just the rain shower, making the pressure of that flow all the more stronger. "The rain shower is my favorite. Well, that and..." I walk toward the bench, ready to show her one of my favorite things about the shower, bracing my right hand on the wall—

The loud sputtering and banging noise scare the shit out of me, let alone Tris's scream as I slip and land on my ass right on the wet floor. I groan out of embarrassment as I feel the water seep into my jeans. Prepping myself to be the laughing stock, I sheepishly look up at Tris—"Oh, shit!"—to see her soaked, looking like she got shot with a water cannon. I clamber up having no words to give her as the wall jets keep spitting and gurgling. "Uh, uh, uh… It's the methane! These haven't been…used and… Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" I grab her scarf— _What the hell is this thing, anyway?—_ and wipe at her horrified face. But…of course, there's dirt and mulch on the scarf and it just ends up…all over her face as if I just painted it with mud. I close my eyes and exhale, praying for a magical transportation device to get me the hell out of here when I'm hit in the back with what feels like a baseball bat, an unrelenting…cold…baseball bat. I lurch forward, grabbing Tris for balance in the process, which only makes her slip banana-peel style, landing us both on the floor.

Between the two rain showers, the colder-than-balls fire hydrant jet stream coming out of the wall and our moaning, to an outsider, this probably sounds so much better than it actually is. Feeling Tris move from under me, I realize I'm perpendicularly draped over her. So, I push myself up, refusing to look her in the eyes.

"Are you okay?" I grumble. "Please answer me with words because I can't look at you right now."

She clears her throat, choking on water that has probably infiltrated her lungs, and pushes herself up onto her elbows. "Seriously bruised tailbone," she mumbles, wincing.

"Did you hit your head?" I ask, pushing myself up to hands and knees, staring down at her abdomen, the water soaking into the material of however many layers she's wearing.

"No."

I nod my head at that good news and then laugh to myself, crawling over to turn off the wall jets.

"What's so funny?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I spit, not trying to take my frustration out on her. "What's _not_ funny about this?! Seriously, what isn't ridiculous about this? I see you. I immediately try to bang you on a countertop. Then, I leave you there. Then, I tackle you like a linebacker, throw you in the dirt, face plant my face into your ass, and try to drown you in a shower!" I sigh, sitting back against the wall, still not looking at Tris. "Jesus, you know you've fucked up a moment when the best part is that no one ended up with a concussion," I mutter.

"What moment?" she asks, having no clue what I'm talking about. "I thought I was just going on a tour."

"Yeah, well, I was…" I trail off. _What the hell was I expecting? Me to show off this house and her just fall in love with me all over again?_ I sigh and look over at her, seeing her now resting on her right hip, legs curled up by her side. The rain showers are still on to the right and left of her, and the mud has been mostly rinsed off her face. "Jesus, why did you even come back here?! And how have you _not_ run out of this house screaming?!" I suddenly exalt.

She opens her mouth as if ready to throw a verbal bitch fest right in my face. "Because you asked me to! And then…because you…asked me not to!" she points out…not delivering me the nastiness I was expecting.

"Well, since when do you ever listen to me?" I ask jokingly, running my hands down my face.

She shakes her head and looks down. I must have struck a nerve.

"Tris, seriously. Why _did_ you come back with me? I wouldn't have." I pull my knees up, resting my forearms on them, being reminded of leaving her on the counter after being accosted and then…accosting her again.

She shrugs. "I just…chose you, instead."

My eyes shoot up to hers upon hearing the response I had not been anticipating but loved more than I can even explain. "You…" I trail off, speech unavailable, just hanging on the words 'chose… _you_.' I don't even care how she meant them. It's just the knowledge that on some level she chose me. It garners more bravery than I've had in a long time.

I swallow thickly and crawl over to her, searching her face for nerves of any sort—I detect none. Kissing her, immediately, is at the top of my list, but considering our height difference right now, and the fact that hauling her up on my lap may not be the best option, I forgo it and rest my right hand on the curve between her shoulder and her neck, grazing my thumb along her jaw-line. Really, my thumb is the only body part that is making contact because of her incredible scarf. So, slowly, carefully, I take the end of it and twirl it around her neck once, twice, three times until the frayed end drags off her shoulder. I toss it in the corner where it lands with a loud slopping sound. It leaves in its wake a decent amount of residual dirt trailing down her wet neck, so I trace it lightly with the tips of my fingers catching on the indentations of her throat as she swallows. My fingers just about light on fire from that small movement alone.

"Tris?" I begin, looking her all over—her hair, arms, pants, shirt and back up to her face. "You're…really dirty."

Her shoulders slump in disappointment as if she were expecting me to say something else.

"No, no, no," I soothe, urging her up on her knees. "Look at me." I lift her chin, making her concentrate on my face while moving my hands discreetly to the hem of her black shirt. _Is this Under Armour? As in the kind you only wear 'under' clothing?_ My eyes trained on hers, I incrementally lift the shirt one inch, two inches, three inches. "Can I keep going?" I ask quietly, her almost undetectable head nod being all I need.

I look down at what I'm doing seeing as she has a few layers on and I'm not sure how far she's willing to let me go. I'd be happy just to get her out of the top one. Continuing to lift her tight Under Armour is only dragging up the very large t-shirt she has on under it. I try to separate the two soaking wet garments, but my failure is making me anxious seeing as they will…not…cooperate—Her hands on my wrists, stilling them, cause a rush of disappointment. Until they deftly retreat, crossing at the hemline and pulling them all up over her head—all three layers—apparently, there were three. She sucks in a breath, stopping and staring at me with wide eyes, her elbows parallel with her chin. I can only take that as she didn't mean for all three to come off, and now she's stuck.

"Can I help?" I offer quietly.

"Yeah. I just…didn't want—"

"It's okay," I say so quietly that it's almost just a random noise.

"Thanks," she responds in the same way, making me smirk.

I pull the third layer down, seeing another something even under that, but I try not to speculate knowing where that will take my mind. The sucking sound the second layer large T-shirt makes from the tight tank top third layer thing is mildly amusing. I wait patiently, holding down the third layer, as she gets herself stuck in the first two, arms and all. Stifling a laugh is impossible as she squirms and squirms, finally letting out a dejected _hmmph_.

"Is that my cue?" I ask.

"Yes!" she fumes impatiently, her voice being almost drowned out by the water and the shirts that seem to be choking her.

My shoulders shaking from amusement and held back laughter, I move my hands to hold the two shirts over her head while she pulls her arms out of the sleeves, freeing the shirts to make their way over her face…but still getting stuck on her head.

"I'm fairly certain that's not how a hijab is supposed to be worn," I remark, chuckling.

"Is that a dig at Muslim women? Because it's not about oppression, you know," she states, still struggling and obviously trying to deflect attention by turning my comment into something it wasn't.

"Quite the contrary," I say, grasping the sides of her head and making her look at me, although she closes her eyes instead. "I think they're kind of…beautiful," I explain, inserting my thumbs between her temples and the shirts. "Being brave enough to have the sole focus be on their face, without the distraction of the newest hair bullshit or jewelry." I cringe pushing the material back as her neck is pulled with it, giving me sooooo much access if I weren't so much of chicken. "I know that's not why they wear them, but…it's just how I…" The shirts finally fall free of her head, landing behind her onto her feet. "…feel."

The rush of color flooding back to her face, as she rights her head and rubs at her eyes, along with her hair that is entirely unkempt—I swear I fall in love with her all over again. I run my hands down her head to rest on her shoulders, kissing her chastely on the forehead, letting my lips rest there for a moment. "Kind of like women who wear minimal make-up. Although, I prefer none at all." I don't give her even a moment to react before I stand, pulling her up with me, my eyes catching on her tight light blue tank top clinging to her. The textured material of whatever she has on underneath coming through, making me reach out to run my fingers along her sides. "Why all the layers?"

She crosses her arms, rubbing her biceps as if she's trying to cover herself. "My apartment's really cold, so…"

"Hmm." As I have so many times while I was sitting on my patio, being warmed by the California setting sun with the knowledge that I would be indulging in a luxury king-sized bed, guilt washes over me knowing that Tris was sleeping in an unpermitted shack that may as well have been made from sticks. People literally die from hypothermia living in those houses, or fires from space heaters, or toxic fumes from running their gas ovens for warmth.

"You don't have to…stay in here. I'm…capable," she says as she frustratingly tugs at her hair tie.

"Do you…want me to—"

"Ow," a shaky whimper comes out of her as she turns away from me and keeps pulling.

I still her hands even when she tries to jerk them away from me. "May I help you?" I ask patiently, and with an edge of disappointment at her wish for me to exit.

She drops her hands at her side in defeat as I inspect the damage. Her hair is tied up in knots around a…rubber band. "Tris? What did you do here?" I ask, breathing her in, knowing I made a mistake because her scent went right to my penis. I've been trying to hold back the stirrings in my groin just from having her this close to me; then I just had to go and sniff her like a dog.

"I ran out of hair bands," she chokes out.

I frown. "Are you…crying—"

"Could you just…put my clothes in the dryer? Or…shit…do you even know how to work the dryer?"

"No."

"Well, do you know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Just…" she sighs, picking up her clothes behind her, attempting to wring them out. "Okay, there's going to be some kind of dial…or…something that says 'normal…'" She stops, looking down at her pants. "But then I won't…have pants…or… Okay, scratch that. I'll just…do it. But, do you have towels here?"

"Yes," I reply warily, trying to figure out her 180.

"Okay, you go get those. I'll rinse off. Ya know, the best I can…'cause I don't see…stuff." She looks around for what I can only assume is shampoo and conditioner. "Then, well, I'll toss everything in the dryer and…wait…somewhere. Or, shit, you probably have places…or a place…another place to go and…that's fine. I'll just wait till my clothes are dry and then I'll go. I can lock up. And I won't…wander and be creepy."

I stand there and stare at her, watching her not knowing what to do with her hands, goosebumps forming on her arms, a pleading look on her face. "What?" I ask for clarification.

"And…you may want to…rinse off too. You've got…stuff…" She points to my head, and I feel a little self-conscious, having not thought about my own appearance. "In fact, I can use a different bathroom. Is there another bathroom? Or, I'm sure there is. So, you can have this one. And I'll…" she trails off her chest heaving in a ridiculous way.

"You…want to switch…bathrooms?"

"No, I just… This is weird. I'm fine now. You've helped. I can take over…now. And…"

"And…what?"

"And I'll meet you…out there!" She points toward what I assume is the bedroom. "Or wherever. It doesn't have to be out there. But, I'll do just that once…my…clothes are dry. Unless you have to leave—"

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?!" I interrupt, pulling her shirts out of her hands.

"This has been…embarrassing enough, okay?!" She backs away landing herself right under the rain shower, startling herself.

I can't help but smile as the shower does no favors for the state of her hair. Now it's just a mop down her face.

"I was dirty!" she exalts wiping the hair away from her face and staring at the shower head accusingly. "And I was wearing a _horrible_ outfit—"

"That wasn't an outfit—"

"I know! And that lesbian _scarf!_ And now my _hair_ and… Fuck, you don't have to _stay_ in here. I'll clean myself up and meet you…downstairs. Or—"

"Wait, wait, wait—"

"Tobias, please—"

"Wait!" I yell, silencing her as her oversimplification registers in my head. "Do you think…I wanted you to clean yourself up? That's why you're in here?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "It's your…new house. You're a dirt freak, so—"

"So, you think I lured you up here…to have you take a shower…so you don't get…the house dirty?" I ask, incredulously, and, to be honest, insulted. _I would never be that much of a freak!_

"Tobias," she covers her face with her hands. "I don't understand anything that's going on right now," she weeps.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to stave off my frustration while also not making the heinous mistake of laughing at her expense. I walk toward her, taking her hips in my hands and pushing her backward, surprising the hell out of her. I stop her right before her knees hit the back of the bench.

"Tobias—"

"Then let me show you," I state plainly, not mincing any more words. "Tell me when to stop."

"Wh—"

"Tell me…when…to stop," I insist, trying not to sound demanding as I slide my thumbs a centimeter under her perfect fitting pants. "Will you?" I ask, my lips ghosting her forehead.

Her soft skin sliding quickly over my lips as she nods goes straight to my dick and there's no holding back anymore, especially since I plan to concentrate 100% on her rather than calming my urges. I continue, this time being more of gentleman and concentrating on one barrier of clothing at a time—not being sure even how many barriers she'll let me cross anyway. I run my thumbs along the waistline of her pants from her sides all the way to the small of her back, dragging the material over the curve of her ass, trying, trying, trying, trying, trying, trying, to use only my thumbs knowing my fingers would send the message right to my palms giving them permission to fill them with her enticingly plump butt. After my thumbs have traipsed their way entirely, I slide them back towards the front, stopping at her hip bones and shifting course to push them down her legs, crouching to join in their journey. And as much as I love feeling her thighs flex under my thumbs as she tries to keep herself upright, the pain of wet jeans against my seriously swollen groin just about makes me pass out. I think I make some sort of ridiculous whimper as I move awkwardly to get on my knees, still trying to pull off being smooth to get Tris out of these God-forsaken pants. I push to the side the distinct feeling that Tris is laughing at me as I take her calf in my hand lifting it to pull one leg out, then moving to the other side to do the same. Tossing the pants behind me, I come face to face with her abdomen. Fighting the urge to go right to her panties is making my head spin, along with the reminder of what it feels like to switch levels wearing wet denim. Running my fingers up her soft, supple thighs, I stop them at the hem of her fitted tank top, lifting it slightly and being momentarily hypnotized by the swath of pale skin. But I tear my eyes away, looking up at her, meeting her eyes—for the first time, she looks confident.

"Do you need me to stop?" I mutter hoping she can read lips because I know I said that with a lack of gusto.

"No," she answers breathily…with words this time, as I slide my palms up under her tank with more confidence and eagerness, stopping at the amount of creamy skin right in front of my face.

I can't help but ghost my bottom lip over the softness, holding her rib cage and nudging the shirt up with my nose. I don't allow myself to kiss her skin which goes against everything instinctive in me. But, I've had to exercise serious control over the last three months, finally giving in to second-rate experiences which only made me appreciate mine and Tris's even more, doing me absolutely no good. Taking a sudden breath of preparedness, I stand, the feeling of my palms raking over her undergarments distracting me from the pain of a twisted nut sack. But, I think I still made a weird face. _Tell me I didn't make a weird face!_ I glance at Tris, who is biting her cheek to hide her laughter— _I did._ Ignoring her and my near-injured cock, I move on, pulling at the shirt, making her raise her arms over her head. I don't really know what happened to the shirt because I'm suddenly distracted as Tris leans her forehead on my chest—the first time she's initiated even an ounce of contact with me. She rests her palms on my stomach, and I'm unable to move. I flex my fists because if take her in my arms, I'm afraid I'lI lose control, so I just rest my chin on her head and exhale a stupidly shaky breath. She pulls away and shakes her head unsatisfied, putting me instantly in check.

"I—" I suck in a surprised breath as she unabashedly takes the hem of my T-shirt and lifts signaling to take it off.

 _That's what she wants, right? Am I assuming too much? Maybe she's checking for new tattoos?_ Her pushing her palms up my stomach and my chest seal the deal. _Okay, yeah. This is happening_. I pull it over my head and can't move again as she returns to her previous position—hands resting on my abdomen, forehead to my chest.

Just her hands on me, preferring me with my shirt off, her taking initiative is enough to satisfy my lame ass emotional needs for a lifetime because I am a self-proclaimed total pussy when it comes to her. I swallow running the backs of my knuckles up and down her arms, loving the goosebumps forming in spite of the intense steam of the shower. She lifts her head to look up at me, her doe eyes questioning. Wanting her to watch me, I slowly lower my eyes taking in her beyond arousing upper half. I don't let my eyes travel lower, because that may just be my undoing. I have no idea what this pale tight lacy thing is, definitely not a bra, but I'm loving it. It accentuates… _her_. There's no distractions—underwire, padding, unnecessary frills and bows and crazy colors. I rest my fingertips right in the dip between her clavicle and move them South, my pointer and pinkie finger each grazing the slight swell on either side as I run my fingers right down the center of her chest. The way she shudders, makes me do it again, starting at her shoulders and tracing down around the outside of each breast. Still staring, flitting my eyes from one to the other I find myself reaching both hands around… But her firm hands stop me.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked. I didn't—"

"No clasps in the back." She grins taking my hands and placing them at her sides, encouragingly…if I'm reading that correctly.

Suddenly, I don't know what to do. This is brand new territory. _A bra-thing with no claspy-things? Do I just…pull?_ I fumble with the hem feeling for claspies at the sides. I didn't feel any in front. _Damn! They could be anywhere! How awkward would it be if I tried to lift it over her head and then she got stuck, and her boobs got stuck—_

She clears her throat and pushes my hands away crossing her arms in front of her as I quirk my head, committing this action to memory. It's surprisingly more stretchy than I thought. She pulls it out and over her breasts and I pretty much swallow my tongue as her perfect tits bounce free, the fabric functioning as almost a sling shot. I groan, my hands on her shoulders pushing her to sit on the bench with absolutely no care about the repercussions of a forceful action…I just have to have my hands on her—

I suck in an embarrassing breath, physically unable to lower myself to my knees. "Tris," I admit through clenched teeth and a needy voice. "I have to get out of these things. I'm in pain. I can't go on like this. But, wait, just so you know," I explain in sudden panic. "That's not an ultimatum! I promise. It's more like an admittance…a very shameful one. It's not like an I'm-gonna-stop-unless-you-take-my-jeans-off. But, can you pretty please take my jeans off?" I beg. "But, if you do want to…stop…" I internally groan at the thought. "…we can—"

"Did you say… _pretty please?_ "

"No." _No way… There is no way I… Shit, I totally said that._

"I'm _pretty_ sure you did," she responds accenting the word 'pretty.'

"Well, I'm…the one who's _not_ pretty sure and…" I look down, now feeling like a child—a large man-child with a straining erection and the woman he wants is sitting there topless…and his hands aren't on her.

My eyes begin to wander again, seeing the uprise of her nipples—embarrassment now meaningless. My fingers twitch, and my eyes gloss over from not blinking. I notice her biceps flexing, and I frown realizing she's trying to be strong but is incredibly uncomfortable at being ogled. So, I walk closer and look down into her eyes, reaching out and brushing the pads of my thumbs over her nipples, they harden immediately, and she jumps slightly at the sensation. Hoping to garner the same reaction I swirl my thumb around each one, her closing her eyes and squirming a little.

"Is this okay?"

The soft sigh of approval that comes out of her sounding so familiar, remembrances of pushing and pulling, her writhing beneath me and telling me without telling me how it feels.

I run the pad of my fingers on the undersides of her breasts and drag my fingers up, teasing her nipples from underneath. And because I can't take it anymore, I hold my breath and lower myself to be at eye level, swallowing the pain. I rest my head on her shoulder briefly and look up at her, smiling weakly because…I made it.

"I didn't say you had to keep your jeans on," she says softly as I flit my eyes to her lips. I haven't kissed her yet because I really want to concentrate on other parts, knowing I'll get lost in her seductive lips and skip integral steps.

"I know." I scratch the back of my neck ready to admit something that's really…dumb and unnecessary. "I...just…prefer you to do it."

"Why?" she asks looking at me almost amused.

I grin at the sweet look of jest on her face, feeling more comfortable with her by the minute. I lean into her shoulder and rest my lips on it, just like the night in the back of Will's jeep. "Think back. Have I ever taken my pants off on my own?" I whisper. "Or did you become the expert?" I run my lips up her ear lobe, resting both hands on each side of her hips.

"Uh…" She swallows, leaning into me. "I guess… I did?"

"Mmm hmmm," I hum. "For me, I think it's a cross between…wanting your permission and…knowing you want it—me that is, that you want _me."_ I pause, resting my seriously reddened forehead in the crook of her neck. "Say something."

All I feel are her fingers unbuttoning my jeans quickly, and lowering the zipper even quicker. I wince as she pushes them down, but then groan…loudly….at the freedom, burying my face in her neck. Instantly I have my resolve back, and I palm both of her amazing tits, unable to believe they're in my hands again. I squeeze, trying not to do it too hard and twist each nipple simultaneously. She rests back on her hands, breathing heavily and giving me complete access as I bring my mouth down, taking as much of her as possible –the sensation of her hardened bud dragging across my tongue makes me crave so much more. I switch sides, not ready to stop because I'm loving her noises way too much. But concentrating is starting to take its toll in that it's taking everything in me to keep my hands from other incredibly soft, tight places. I suck hard and take her nipple between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue, but she suddenly sits up, looking frazzled and running her hands down her head.

"Are you…okay—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," she breathes out shallowly, closing her eyes. The flexion in her legs as she tries to close them—unsuccessfully, seeing as I'm between them—not going at all unnoticed, and my cock aches at the sight.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to hide the smugness knowing I almost made her come. It may or may not be on my bucket list to get her off by my seemingly expert mouth on her oversensitive nipples. I furrow my eyebrows at how suddenly cavalier I'm being. I should be cherishing her, not high-fiving myself for almost making her climax in a far-less-intimate way.

"Open your eyes," I murmur. "Please."

She complies, and I train my eyes on hers again, slowly parting her thighs even wider.

"Do you want me to stop?" I just about cough out, the ease with which her knees move outward making me wonder just how far I could spread her legs—pushing her flexibility to the limits.

 _"_ No," she replies breathily, her quivering lip being quite the distraction.

I nod my head, searching her face just to be sure. I see nothing but dilated pupils, a heaving chest, and reddened cheeks. "You're so beautiful," I suddenly tell her, not knowing where that came from, that fact making it all the more accurate.

Her lips part and she searches my eyes for truth while I run my thumb along the outside of her panties, making her twitch as I graze the sensitive protrusion at the top. I repeat the action watching her eyebrows knit together. She sits up straighter and leans forward grabbing my shoulder as I do it again and again not changing pace or pressure—just enough to drive her crazy. _And myself, for that matter_ … She looks up at me with near helpless eyes, our faces so close. Claiming her lips as mine would only send me into a frenzy, and I would lose all track of time and space, entirely forgetting my care for her needs. "Lean back," I request softly, closing my eyes. Sensing her hesitation, I add firm pressure to her clit along with a desperate. "Please."

She moans, that noise alone making my dick lurch—the tip hitting the fabric of my boxers teasingly…too teasingly. _Oh, God, Tobias… Just, no. Not an option._

I clear my throat and lightly push on her shoulder to make her recline back slightly. "Just lean onto your hands," I mumble, kissing the inside of her right knee as she surprisingly does what I tell her. I move over to do the same with her left, still speaking softly almost to her body rather than her, hoping she doesn't take that as less intimate because to me, it's more so. I flit my eyes up to hers to see her face soft and curious as I state my purpose with clear intention—"I want you to watch. So, you can tell me if it's too much."

I almost snicker aloud, the self-satisfying jerk in me just about making an appearance upon watching her mouth drop open and her eyes turn into a dirty ice color. But I keep my smugness at bay _. For now…_

I run my knuckle over her panties up and down once, before finally landing my eyes on them. They're plain white with a little bow at the top—so Tris; so perfect. As I observe the fabric covering the very most intimate place in her body, the freakishly pathetic part of me wants to know exactly how much of the wetness I feel as I run my fingers over the fabric is from the shower, and how much is from me. _I just need a ratio._ Moving her panties to the side, I make quick eye contact before running my fingers up her folds. I clench my jaw, my lower abdomen tightening as I realize it's a good 92.6:8.4 plus or minus .01 in my favor. I clear my throat relaxing my lower extremities and insert my index finger slowly and minimally, pausing and letting out a not-at-all controlled breath feeling her tight around my finger. I pull it out and enter again slowly, this time looking at her as I push in a little deeper. Her eyes don't meet mine, her concentration being on where I'm starting to work her. Pulling out a final time, I then slip my finger in all the way and stop, hanging my head for a second.

"Is this too much?" I ask, finally bringing my eyes up to hers, not forgetting for a second that my finger is buried in her. Her walls flutter at my words making my toes curl, and I find myself hanging my head again. _"Fuck…"_

"Mmm mmm," she whimpers weakly as I smile even more weakerly. _Weakerly? This is even affecting my grammar?!_

I dip my head nuzzling the outside of her panties, right next to where my finger is moving inside her, mapping out missed territory. _Fuck, she feels phenomenal…_ I continue to look between her face and my ministrations, watching her lips tremble and feeling her inner walls having an equal reaction. I know I could make her come like this—slowly in and out, soft words, paying extra attention to her clit. But, my mouth is selfish, and I find myself dragging her panties down her legs. Situating myself between them, I look up at her. "Yeah?" _Yeah? That's it?! Real fucking smooth!_

She nods her head, looking at me as if she may pass out and not seeming bothered with words. I have to blink my eyes several times to focus them entirely between her thighs, her scent alone causing a painful ache for release. My thumb glides easily over her, relishing her texture, the slight smattering of hair proving she's a woman not a porn star—my personal opinion. She's mesmerizing. My cock is just about bouncing up and down in undeserved eagerness, not having gotten the memo that the world doesn't revolve around its constant stimulation.

I kiss her softly, leaving nothing but the sweet taste of her desire on my mouth as I run my tongue over my bottom lip. I hear her whimper, and I smirk knowing she saw me. She always found it fascinating, knowing how much I love the taste of her. I slowly, and more goal-orientedly— _Grammar, Tobias! Grammar!—_ return to my previous venture and savor her fully, filling her with my tongue and slowly building her up with my upturned middle finger, my free digits adding exterior nerve pressure for the slow build. I pull back and rest my head on her lower belly needing to give my resolve a break because my senses are on overdrive. But, the tightness of her abdomen rivaling my own does nothing but remind me of it, along with her quick breathing and sighs. I continue with my middle finger, adding hard pressure with my palm in a circular motion causing her to suddenly sit upright and grip the hairs on the back of my head. In here lies my predicament because, in this position, I can't hold her hips down…which is a must. So, I wrap my arms under her thighs and turn her, pushing her to lie on the bench, me climbing up with her. She exhales a breath of relief as I rest my left forearm over her hips, her right leg draped over my arm. I have to push her thighs up toward her chest, to grant me perfect access and because lying on my stomach with a rock hard dick is just…unfathomable. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'd hump anything it came in contact with. _Tris is going to have to neuter me some day. Someday…_

I shake my head at the thought, feeling so fucking stupid for even looking that far ahead. So, I concentrate on my hand, seeking her out again as I'm unable to look at her, my possible disappointment at a probable lack of future, taking hold. However, the heat of her draws me right in again, and I'm shocked and so turned on by how wet she still is. I get a sudden surge of determination. Sinking my middle finger in, I feel for the one place…that one guaranteed spot that I can't always find with my hands. Then, her near spastic inhale of a breath makes it known that I may have done just that. I try to find it again and this time she groans and I have to squeeze my eyes shut feeling sweat pooling on my forehead. One more time and she has me by the roots of my hair grinding her hips into my hand as I provide hard constant circular pressure with my palm. Burying my face in her belly, I feel her slowly contract around my fingers, suddenly silent and tense while I try my best to hold on. Not being able to watch her come is both a blessing and a letdown, but by the way she's still undulating her hips and pulling my hair out, I really don't need to see it. _Declawing kittens, Cross Fit, kicking babies, the pigeon apocalypse, killing puppies, ISIS, poor usage of adverbs, Jack Daniels going out of business, chemical warfare, gluten-free pasta—_

Feeling her relax, I moan without abandon, reluctantly removing my hand from her. "I made it," I sigh…to myself. _Please tell me I said that to myself!_ I lift my head and look up at her as she flops her arm at her side from where it was covering her mouth leaving behind a trail of several bite marks. She pushes herself up to sitting and looks at me. Sadly? Angrily? Desperately? Crazily?

"Sorry?" I say like a dumbass who doesn't know what else to say—"Mmgggghhh," I grunt at the force with which she lifts her body up, using the fact that her leg is literally over my shoulder as some type of freakish leverage pushing me backward, smoothly landing herself on my suddenly very caged-in legs. I feel the ghosting of her breath inches away from my lips, her arousal still in the air between us…and the best part—the way she's looking at me. _She loves me._

Her hands gently on each side of my face, our lips meet softly, as if they're doing reintroductions—the slight push and pull and angles changing. This time…I taste her, enjoying her luscious lips—smiling at how swollen they are from her biting them. I inhale her, and we both deepen the kiss, allowing equal entrance of our tongues. I sigh at the way her deft hands splay out across the back of my head, as she wraps her other arm around me, rising up on her knees. My swooping arm around her back, pulling her closer to me just so I can feel the slick slide of her breasts. My hands move down, and I grasp two generous handfuls of her ass, pulling her to me even closer feeling her, wet and swollen, pushed up against my cock. _Oh…God_ … I groan as she runs her fingers through my scalp and slides up a little higher, grazing me and sending a signal to my groin. Our sweat, coupled with the steam and how she's running her hands all over me while holding me tight is…killing me. Plus, she's naked. _Totally…naked._ I wrap my arms around her fully, feeling how perfectly she fits. The way her tongue sweeps all over and around mine is…fucking _phenomenal._ The warmth of her mouth makes me ache for her, instantly reminding me of her perfect pussy and how it's plush and ready. I suck in a breath as the tip of my hard-on grazes her. So, I squeeze her hips trying to get her to take it easy because I'm getting a little worked up here, but she does not get the message and instead kisses me deeper reminding me…again…of all the fucking mind-blowing things she can do with her tongue. She moans as I run my hands up into her hair, wanting to feel it full and thick in my hands. Without an ounce of forethought, I pull hard and fast on the band snapping it swiftly, her hair cascading down her back. The intoxicating scent of her shampoo, the way she's dominating our kiss and the sudden friction of her warm flesh against my ready-to-explode cock—

"Tris, Tris, Tris," I plead. "Oh, fuck!" _Beef jerky, Bashar al-Assad, Kim Kardashian, Icelandic whaling, possible Trump presidency, Chernobyl, Fire Ball whiskey—_ "No, no, no, no, no, no… Nooooo…" I freeze, the swift surge of a shameful, adolescent, wet-dream-of-an-orgasm rips right through me, I try to avoid the humiliating physical shudder…but it was futile.

Right then I realize I'm crushing Tris into my chest. So, I grip her biceps and wrench her away, holding her at arm's length ready to be really mad at how she made me come without even touching my penis. But the sweet look on her face along with the way she's covering her mouth with both her hands to avoid laughing just makes me huff and hang my head.

"That is…so…not the way this was supposed to go," I whine, sitting her down on my legs, forcefully. I run my hands down my face and cross my arms. "It's your fault."

"My fault?"

"You, and your hair, and your sounds…and your…parts." I sigh, lightly pushing her off me and stand, the sticky feeling of shame is everywhere in my boxers. _Gross._ "Here, the towels are—"

"So, you had a plan?" she interrupts.

Keeping my eyes trained on my pruned toes, I shrug. "Nothing about this night was any plan I would have ever concocted. And if I had, I should be more ashamed than I already am because it was…a fail." I glance up at her and see nothing but amusement. "What."

"Not for me," she says cheekily, making me grin in slight pride. Then she stands looking at me with pity, which immediately makes me wipe the grin off my face.

"I'll call an Uber," I deadpan, sarcastically, backing away. "Get you far far away from any further future tragedies."

"You're going to make _me_ do the Uber…of Shame?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest looking down at the penny tile.

I furrow my eyebrows. _Is that a real thing? Did I just make her feel cheap? Twice in one night?!_

"No," I say soothingly. "It was a joke. Hey…" I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear bending down to her level. "I didn't mean to make you feel…how you're feeling. Look at me, please." I tilt her chin up to see her…smiling like an asshole. "Seriously?!"

"You bought that?!" she laughs. "The Uber of Shame?!"

"Sounds real." I shrug, trying not to smirk. "Come here," I pull her to me roughly, bending down to her ear. "You're…not…nice."

"I know," she sighs, looking up at me, then pulling me backward toward the rain showers.

"Further regret and degradation?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow, being suddenly reminded of her nakedness.

She stands me under the shower, and I look down to see mulch, dirt, mud…and whatever else is leftover after a snowfall in January, slide down my chest. "Tobias. You're…really dirty," she comments, appraising me as my mouth drops open in disbelief that…this…whole…time…I was full of…shmutz!

Then I realize she's mimicking my words. _Shit._ "Point taken," I murmur, grazing her sides with my fingertips, stopping right where her hips curve out from her waist.

Then an idea hits me. _Oh, no. Not another one… Ah, fuck it! If she hasn't already thrown herself into oncoming traffic, then maybe I'm in the clear._ I run my hands over my head to squeeze some of the water off, ignoring the small pieces of mulch, and walk toward the bench, pulling on a small door hidden in the tile work. Reaching in, I grab three bottles—shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Bringing them back over to Tris, I set them on the shelf, her nakedness coming to the forefront of my thoughts…again. I turn toward her and shrug, knowing she's going to immediately notice they are her particular brands.

"Those are..."

"Yeah, well. I knew they were good, 'cause, uh, you buy them, so…I figured…" I scratch the back of my head like a mutt, knowing the full extent of my obsession with this house. "I know it was…dumb, but—"

"Shh," she interrupts, grabbing the shampoo and taking my hand.

"Don't…shh me—"

"Be…quiet," she quips pouring a small amount into her hands and walking back to the bench. I swallow watching her butt cheeks move up and down as she walks. "Please, sit." She gestures to the bench and I follow her instructions because…that ass. Rubbing the shampoo in her hand, she gives me a closed-mouth genuine smile before running her fingers through my scalp, rubbing circles with her nails.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…." I moan, dropping my chin to my chest.

"Wow. That's a new noise," she chides as I laugh lightly in agreement. "Uh…to me. Ya know, new to…me—"

"And me," I interrupt, knowing where she's going with that. I'm not even slightly tempted to open that Pandora's box right now. Never will be.

"Hmm."

I feel her thumbs dig circles into my shoulder blades, eliciting another overbold moan from me. The continuous feeling of her running her hands through my scalp and over my back causes me to exhale so intensely through my nose that I'm surprised my nostrils don't end up on the floor of the shower. _Awkward._ Her soft humming as she rakes her nails through my roots back and forth is beyond comforting and for a moment, I don't want to open my eyes just in case I'm dreaming like I have on so many other occasions. She's here…with me…in this shower. This has to be a dream. I'm never this lucky. _Luck. Is this luck? There has to be more going on than just a Leprechaun's influence here!_

I reaching out toward her, the tips of my fingers walk their way around her hips to her butt and pull her to me, so the top of my head is touching her belly. I notice that it's softer again—like when we first started dating. She's not quite so angular anymore either which means she's gained her weight back. She's doing better. It makes me both sad and happy—happy because she must be happier, but sad that I wasn't here—even just to watch her from afar. Ya know, like from the sex chair, or a ways down the street, or—

"This tattoo is so fuckin' hot," she mumbles tracing the flames with her fingertips before humming again.

I have to seriously try to relax my face to avoid smiling because I don't think she intended me to hear that. Tris has never commented much on it and I always appreciated it to some extent—that she accepted it was a part of me because of the meaning and not the physical aspect. But, I'll take any compliment I can get out of this girl, because her remarks about me, physically, are few and far between. Honestly, I've had to second guess if she's even attracted to me at times. Apart from her sexual responsiveness to me and her passion-filled kisses, I wouldn't even know it. And I love that. I've gotten exhaustive comments about what I look like since I graduated puberty. To some, it would garner confidence and arrogance, but for me it just bred insecurity, and for years I wanted to blend in. Particularly in college when I knew no girl really wanted to know me. But hell, the feeling was mutual, right? Until this ridiculous woman came into my life…

I lift my head up before shampoo gets in my eyes and she laughs lightly, running her hands from my face toward my scalp to avoid it. She furrows her light brown eyebrows and leans in to give me a small light kiss. The small gesture warms me to the core and brings forth something deep-seated within me. The urge to tell her I love her…is overwhelming.

"What's wrong?"

I purse my lips. "Nothing." I see instantly that she doesn't believe me, but she doesn't make a move to understand which, actually…kind of bothers _me,_ apparently having misread my past feelings about her incessant need to probe for information.

She walks over to the rain shower, me completely checking her out the whole way. No harm in letting her do a couple of laps. She turns the diverter to the hand-held shower stands on her tip toes to grab it, allowing my eyes to drag up and down the profile of her stretched body—no need to tell her it's adjustable to her height. Once she has it, she walks it over to me. "Head back, please."

"Oh, there's one right here," I quip, pulling a hand held shower out of its home in the wall next to the bench.

She huffs. "I guess Matthew thought of everything." She shrugs walking over to replace the nozzle.

I have no words. _How did she not…? Matthew?! That walking piece of idiocy?!_ I reflect back to earlier, swearing I told her… I shake my head smacking her hand away as she tries to grab the shower head.

"What?!" she asks as if she were appalled.

"I did this! Me. Not him," I state, my eyes drawn right to her breasts that are in my face, her hand gently pulling the shower head away from me. _She's much more confident than before. The sick part of me wonders why… Or because of…whom—_

"I know," she shrugs. "Matthew wouldn't have put a wine cooler in a shower. Head back, please."

I roll my eyes and lean my head back, pursing my lips, being the brunt of her jest…again. "You noticed that?" I mumble, thinking about the custom designed fridge behind her. Clearing my throat as her nipple grazes my shoulder.

"Mmm hmm. Among other things…" she says quietly, pushing her fingers through my hair again. She nudges my legs further apart and stands even closer to me, letting me run my palms up and down her sides.

"Like what?" I mutter, hearing her put the shower head back in its place. I don't know why I need sudden reassurance about a damned bathroom! I twitch as her knee grazes my shaft, the stirrings having become more and more apparent watching her, touching her…

Pulling me up to standing, she slings her arms around my neck, me immediately reciprocating, pulling her closer by her lower back. I'm still in disbelief that I'm holding her in my arms…nude none-the-less.

"It may have registered briefly that you installed a bed in this shower."

"You saw that, huh?" I ask, swaying the two of us back and forth, feeling myself hardening more and more by the minute, shocking even myself at my superb refractory period.

"When did you do all this, anyway?" she asks, suddenly quieter.

"Uh…" I think back to when she was in the hospital, and I was fuckin' around on Zillow, being miserable—where it all started. Then, all the way up until…November, when I officially made my final visit to Chicago. Lynn, being the last person I spoke to. Her words. Those damned words—" _Haven't seen her…like this…ever."_

I let go of Tris, my scalp feeling like it's being attacked by fleas as the photo of her wrapped in the embrace of another guy plasters itself across my irises. "Does it matter?"

She looks at me seriously, holding onto my hips and flitting her eyes between mine. "Yes."

"Well, my end of things…ya know, just being the architect…ended mid-build. So…" I bite my lips and look away thinking of how she was moving on while I was stuck working on a house for her that was no longer going to be for her but ended up being just as if I had done it for her!

"So, before you left," she states, almost looking at me as if I'm a blank slate.

I purse my lips, not wanting to discuss the interim of _us…_ if there is an _us._

"You're wearing…boxers...again." She snaps the elastic, and I grin, happy to move on to lighter subjects. "I kinda…stopped wearing briefs."

She nods her head in understanding of my implied insane rationale. Boxer briefs were always her preference, so literally every time I'd put them on, I'd think about her. Switching to boxers seemed the logical—

"Because someone else prefers you in boxers," she whispers, making it sound more like a reminder.

I clear my throat at the thought of future conversations if I respond to her inaccurate assessment, and knowing that the future could be sooner than I thought. I may just have this one night with her. This one time. Tris and I have always been like magnets—with the kinetic purpose of both attracting and repelling. This could just be the law of attraction at work, nothing more nothing less. The universe taunting me in its incredibly demented way.

"There's my answer," she chokes out pushing me away from her and bolting out of the shower.

"What?! What answer?!" I yell, looking around frantically before shutting off both showers and running after her. "That was… _NOT…_ an answer!" I almost lose my footing in the newly varnished flooring in the hall, slipping on the water droplets she left behind…which end up being a blessing because they're now my breadcrumbs.

I hear teeth chattering as I follow the drops into the loft. "Tris?" I look to the right and left until I detect a slight movement by the door. Turning, I see Tris, covering herself up and looking horrified…because let's face it—she didn't think this one through.

"You're with someone else, and I shouldn't care. I keep telling myself I don't care. That I don't care about Kashmir! And espresso! Right now, I don't want to care. 'Cause this has been…amazing. Confusing and amazing. Seeing you. It just feels…normal. Not like the everyday normal. But, ya know, our normal…which is…from the outside…not normal. But I don't like normal! But, I know tomorrow's gonna come…or whenever…could be five minutes from now…and then I'm going to feel like I died…again. Fourth death. Part of me thinks…it would be worth it, ya know? But the other part—"

"Tris, stop!" I order, putting my hands up.

"WHAT?!" she part cries, part shrieks.

I open my mouth to respond, but I don't know where to start. She may have been speaking in Mandarin—I heard syllables. I was listening, but…not processing. "I didn't follow half of that!"

"Well," she says, helplessly. "Where the fuck did I lose you?!"

"Kashmir?" I respond, knowing that can't be right.

"You don't know what Kashmir is?!" she asks in an insanely hopeful way.

"Don't you mean where?!"

"Huh?" she asks starting to hop up and down on one foot, covering herself with her forearm across her boobs and her hand at the apex of her crossed thighs. I frustratingly go in and rub her arms. We look like two idiots.

"Kashmir. The northernmost geographical region of the Indian subcontinent? Why am I explaining this to you?! You brought it up!"

She stops and looks at me as if I'm the dumbest person she's ever seen. But then she breaks out into a giggle that sounds almost maniacal. So, I just let her laugh and keep warming her damned arms, trying to decode what espresso and normal and not normal and dying four times and someone else… Wait…someone else?!

I grab her arms and get down to her level. "I'm…not…with…anyone," I state seriously.

"You're not—"

"No! Do you really think I'd try to seduce you into wanting _me_ if I was?! What the hell, Tris?! And why should that bother you if you're so _'haven't-seen-her-like-this-ever'_?!" I say in my best Lynn drone.

"Uh…you lost me on that last part," she says warily.

"Are _YOU_ not the one… _with…as in REALLY WITH…_ someone who's not me?!"

She makes the most disgusted face I think I've ever seen on her…face. "Egh! I am with NO…ONE…WHO'S…NOT…YOU!" She pokes me in the shoulder, angrily with each syllable before stopping and taking a quick step back.

I swallow at her words, my heart beating out of my chest. "So…like, deductive reasoning," I state. "If you're with…ah…no one who's not me…" I bounce on my toes and shake my fingers out. "Then that would mean…just…mathematically or grammerically—Shit! Grammatically speaking—"

"Jesus Christ, Tobias! I want to be with you don't ever leave me," she grits out in one breath, running her hands through her hair and leaving me…shocked…fucking shocked. "Is that…okay?" she asks meekly.

"Is that… Is that… _okay?_ I..." I take the one step between us and lift her under her ass with one arm, gripping her neck with the other—her reciprocating by wrapping her legs around me.

We kiss deeply and urgently me walking us backward, landing hard on the mattress I sleep on in the corner. Tris rises up, thankfully catching herself on her knees, and grips my face with both of her hands kissing me over and over with me pulling her close wanting to squeeze the hell out of her, the feeling of her frozen nipples sending shockwaves all through me. She grinds herself down on me as my hands travel down to guide her hips back and forth.

"Jesus, Tris," I breathe out, running my hands up her back and pulling her down to keep the friction going. "Get me out of these things."

Just as urgently she pushes my torso back and lifts my boxers up over my erection. Kicking out of the damned things, I recline back onto my elbows. The air seems to stop for a moment as she stops, sitting on her knees between my outstretched legs, staring at me…all of me. My cock twitches as if it's trying to ask her 'What's up?' _Why does it do that? It's embarrassing._

I notice her press her thighs together, and I'm reminded of the heaven that resides between those thighs and all the things that come along with it—pleasure, connection, love. So, I urge her up. "You okay—"

She crawls up onto my lap, suddenly wrapping herself around me like a monkey. I chuckle, running my thumb over her bottom lip, her smiling back and leaning in to kiss me, running her fingers up into my hair as I run mine down her back, holding her close to feel her bare against my cock. I groan, her core flexing, moving herself up and down in miniscule fits over my cock, and my stomach ignites.

Grabbing her ass with one hand, I flip us, me hovering over her. Stopping for just a moment, I gaze at her perfect form from her center all the way up to her pert nipples. I take one into my mouth, sucking lightly and then biting it, eliciting my favorite stutter of her breath and twitch from her lower half. I smile and move to the other one, teasing it with my tongue and then my teeth again.

"Fuck," she says under her breath.

I smile, moving up to her beautiful face. She looks more awake than before, smiling back at me. If my mind didn't logically know that it's dark out, I would swear that the sun just rose. Between her indescribable eyes, her reddened cold cheeks, her sloped nose, the way her lips part just enough and her sigh as she pulls me closer parting her legs, I'm overwhelmed. I kiss her softly, all of the bullshit of the past three months, meaningless. I watch her lips as they start to quiver, so I rise up and grab the down comforter blanketing us both with it and draping myself over her. I kiss her nose and her cheeks, making my way to her neck inhaling her. Another wave hits me—this is real. I don't know how the universe works, but it sure as hell is working in my favor, right now.

Moving back up to her mouth I drag the palm of my hand down between her thighs, searching her out—my fingers are met with nothing but warmth and wetness that I take an extra moment to spread making her hips snap up.

"What are you thinking?" I whisper as I slowly press a finger into her softness, hanging my head in the crook of her neck.

"How much…I missed you…" she whimpers as I lift my head to look at her. She's biting her lip and trying to hold back tears.

The need to be inside her for nothing more than an emotional connection hits me like a firestorm. I remove my finger, bringing my hand up to cradle her face tightly, my tip resting right on her entrance, I move down her body slightly, looking up into her eyes. I shake my head at what I see—sadness, time lost, memories not made. Everything I'm thinking.

"I love you," I choke out, as I rest my forehead on hers, a tear slipping out of my damned eye. I lift my head in embarrassment, looking down to see that it joined a trail made by hers running down the side of her head. "I'm…" I shake my head and wipe it off her face harshly.

"Stop," she grabs my hand, kissing my palm and putting it back to hold her face. "I love you too. So much," she responds, my hips suddenly shaking from holding back.

"Okay," I exhale in relief, pure relief, pulling back slightly and rocking into her just an inch, the most sensitive part of me tingling almost to the point of pain.

I move in and out, further immersed each time, having forgotten how tight she was. My hips stutter once I'm fully sheathed because my dreams and imagination hadn't been doing justice to how it feels to be inside her. Pulling out, I groan, sliding back in immediately with her gripping my ass. Pulling out of her feels like complete madness to me.

"Oh, my God," she moans as I slide my hand under her lower back holding her close to me not wanting to be disconnected from her even though the drag of her slick walls gives me more pleasure than I can fit words to. But my body seems to be moving over her on its own accord, as I suddenly thrust into her over and over…trying desperately to control my speed—our speed because she's rocking with me.

I prop myself up on one arm and press on her sensitive nerves, circling it slowly with the rhythm of my hips. She arches her back, holding my hand in place and I press harder. The dropping open of her mouth makes my groin tighten, and I'm unsure of how much of her expressions and noises my stamina can take. Because each time I'm fully immersed, the slight flexion of her core is like a mini-explosion.

I lay myself out closer to her, cheek to cheek, holding onto her hip for balance as I start to lose my resolve. Her wrapping her left leg around me and digging her heel into my ass doesn't help. I rest my head in her shoulder making my movements tighter with her doing the same. I feel burning in the back of my throat from whatever noises I'm making—the incredible feeling of being buried in her robs me of all words.

"Huuuuuuhhhh…" the serious inhale and how she pulls me toward her, at least, alerts me that she's close.

"Right there?" I ask, snapping my hips up praying I can get that reaction out of her again. "Fuck, please answer me."

"Yeah yeah yeah," she gets out shakily, gripping my shoulders each time I hit my mark. "Oh, my God. Don't stop."

"Can't…anyway," I grunt knowing this is the final stretch for me. I put all my weight on my elbows and rock my hips hard and fast. I close my eyes finally feeling her pulse and then snap, taking me as her own. Her body's reaction to me, a physical and emotional reminder sent right to my gut as I seem unable to move, a draining wash of pure desire and purpose hits me hard as I just about choke from a long, drawn-out, excruciating, orgasm. I hang my head, feeling her still moving against me as one last shock wave of relief and pleasure making my hips jerk into her. I feel her relax around me and Ipause for a moment before looking her in the eyes…and then my arms give out, my body melting into a puddle of Tris.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…." I moan right into the pillow next to her ear.

"Can I claim…that noise…as my…own now?" Tris asks with bated breath and a racing heart I can feel against my shoulder.

"You can pretty much claim…whatever the fuck…you want right now." I roll off of her, relishing in the freaky feeling of sliding out of her, knowing I left a part of myself. I turn my head to look at her with what I'm sure is the sappiest grin…ever—and she's crying… "What's wrong?" I ask, cradling her into me. I brush the hair's away from her face and look down at her.

"I think…it's because it was just a really, really, really, good orgasm. And I'm really, really happy," she laughs through tears. _Well, that's new! I like new!_

Hugging her tight, I laugh along with her. "Life goals. One down."

She looks up at me and smiles as I brush the tears away with pride. I pull the covers tight around us burrito-style, basking in everything _us._ She rests her hand on my heart _properly,_ the familiar stutter resonates in all its briefness. I bite my lip, blinking my eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She looks up at me, knowing she caught me in a moment and I don't even try to hide it.

"I love you," she whispers as I watch another tear get stuck on her lashes before they can't take the weight and it trails down her temple. But I let that one be. That one's for me.

"Two down," I whisper back kissing her forehead, feeling eternally grateful for this moment.

I don't know how it happened, and I'm pretty sure I don't deserve it, but it did nonetheless. The universe has gained itself a fan. _Big fan. Number one fan._

* * *

 ** _¡_ Gracias a todos por el apoyo y su paciencia!  
**


	33. Wrong

**AN:** There are movie quotes from Breaking Dawn Pt. 1 (the post sex scene). If you haven't seen it, I don't blame you, but you may want to youtube (or whatev) that particular scene.

* * *

 **Chapter 33 – Wrong  
**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I squirm and crack my toes, ready for them to hit the plaster wall at the end of my cot before I cradle myself into a ball to keep warm until the temperature in my apartment hits a decent 50. But I freeze as they're met by another's perfectly temperatured, strong legs curled up perfectly behind mine. If we were upright, I'd be using them as a chair. I smile so wide that my jaw actually hurts. But then I frown, wondering if I'm dreaming. _It's happened before, right?_ I decide to open my eyes and focus on detail. I blink several times and push through the physical shock of morning light—bright, bright morning light. In fact, way too bright for mornings. I clean the sleep out of my right eye and focus on the wall, the exposed interior wood of a barn plain as day. My eyes move to the lookout door, and the memory of Tobias's slumped form sitting in it last night.

"Mmm." The soft sigh comes out of Tobias's mouth as he aligns his body more flush against mine, pulling me closer but with his breath still even, the feel of his morning wood as he unintentionally presses it up against my back— _Yep, it's him._

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _A tickling feeling on my knuckles rouses me. Opening my blurry eyes, they're met with Tobias's. I smile, knowing my day is now inherently off to rock star status. Glancing onto the wall of pillows he built between us last night, I see him run his thumb over my knuckles._

 _"Morning, beautiful," he mumbles in the handsomest scratchy morning voice the Good Lord ever invented._

 _"Morning, handsome," I squawk back in the worst most unattractive way possible, feeling instantly self-conscious about morning breath._

 _"We haven't moved…all night," he says groggily. "That…is a first, for me."_

 _"Me too," I add, shocked again at my lack of nightmares. "You know, this wall was almost as unnecessary as a Mexican border wall…and definitely as ineffective." I untangle our fingers and reach under the comforter, sneaking my fingers under the waistband of his briefs, bringing my palm to rest on his right butt cheek—proof of how easily I could have invaded his territory. His sharp intake of breath brings a devilish smile to my lips._

 _"Oh, no. It was one of the more necessary things I've had to do in my life. Maybe next time you'll be reasonable, and we can discuss an effective way to citizenship."_

 _I can't help but laugh at his analogy, and then at myself for how badly I wanted him in my mouth. It's so odd. Never would I have thought THAT would be something I would…want…to do._

 _"Well, I look forward to the naturalization process," remark lightly, snapping the elastic band of his briefs and sitting up. I feel my cheeks warm at the comment I just made. Who am I?!_

 _"You can be an unknowingly wily temptress," he begins draping his arm over his Mexican border wall and pulling the pillows close to him as if they were his teddy bears. He is soooo damned cute! "Except last night. I'm pretty sure you were acutely aware of your wilyness."_

 _Having yet to even understand how this man finds me at all attractive, I can't even begin to understand how I could be at all tempting. As far as I'm concerned, all he did was turn down in a very noble way what would have been a substandard blowjob._

 _"No need to respond. I already know what you're thinking. And you're wrong."_

 _"You don't know what I'm thinking."_

 _"It's written all over your very sleepy, albeit beautiful, morning face."_

 _I roll my eyes and roll out of bed way less smoothly, hearing him chuckle behind me as I right myself and head to the bathroom. I shake my head and make a mental note to become much less readable in the facial area. I mean how else am I to keep anything about me…mysterious? Mysterious? Tris, you, my friend, are not a mystery._

 _"Huhhhh…." I suck in a dragging breath as I catch what my hair looks like in the mirror—like a barn swallow started a brood in the back of my head. "Crap." I rummage through the small vanity drawer, but even I know it's useless because I only have one precious hair band left…on my bedside table, where my brush resides._

 _Exhaling in defeat, I smooth my hair down the best I can, taking note of the lack of dark circles under my eyes. I actually smirk a bit at that. Hmmm… Maybe morning Tris isn't so bad? I shrug my shoulders and head back in to face the Tobias music, fully prepared for an I-think-your-bird's-nest-is-sexy nonsense. But my mouth runs dry because all I see is Tobias, his back to me, walking toward the window scratching the top of his mussed up hair. He stretches his arms over his head gracefully—his deltoid muscles bunching up like softballs. I drag my eyes down his back—so fucking hot—landing right on his cute butt, resting tautly in the cotton fabric of dark gray boxer briefs. I try to think of something flirty and sexy to say as he turns toward me. But…nothing…comes…out…because…..I can't take my eyes off his very firm, very upright…ummmmm…member—_

 _"Ahem, mgh—sorry—"_

 _"Sorry," I agree, nodding my head furiously while watching him dive onto the floor for…whatever. "Ah… Just wanted a ponytail…holder. Oh, look! Found one! So, I'll just sit here…" I seat myself on the bed, facing away from him and pretending to be distracted. "…and put my hair up because… Whoa! I mean, that was 'whoa' because of my hair! Not a 'whoa' because of you. No offense. Wait, I mean, 'Yes! Whoa, you.' Or maybe 'Wow?' Seriously. But, I just…um—"_

 _"Tris," he grits out._

 _"Mmm hmm," I hum quickly, disentangling my fingers from my hair. I grab my brush and nervously begin to attack my scalp. Why am I being weird? I saw his penis the other night. Yeah, but that was like, dim lighting and endorphins and I was nervous that I wasn't doing it right. But this was like…yeesh. Side profile and all—_

 _"It's normal, ya know?!" he comments defensively. Adorably defensively._

 _I glance over my shoulder to see him sitting on the floor, leaning up against the other side of the bed._

 _"It's, like, first thing in the morning and…during REM sleep…and I just sleep really, really, well with you and... Girls get it too! You just don't know it because you have…an inny. And…some say it even prevents bedwetting and..." He drops his chin to his chest dramatically Passion of the Christ-style and exhales as if it were his last breath while I cover my mouth to swallow my laughter. "Please, erase that."_

 _"Which part?" I snort, the foolish extent of his rationale making my stomach cramp up from stifled hilarity._

 _"ALL…of…it."_

 _"What if I don't want to?" I grin and crawl over to him, resting my cheek next to his burning hot one. "I liked it," I whisper, kissing the small slope between his shoulder and his neck softly. He turns his head raising his eyebrows in a 'Really?' manner. "Mmm hmm. If anything, it just sealed the deal for me. Actually…" I bite my bottom lip. "You're kind of impressive."_

 _His eyes slightly widened, I detect a slight twitch from his groin region._

 _"Especially since I know you won't be wetting the bed with your outy—"_

* * *

I bite my lips at the memory of the follow-up noogie and playful headlock I received, along with his painful howl as he pulled me onto his lap without thinking of the consequences. I close my eyes, unmoving and momentarily dying in the comfort of feeling his nose-breathing on my head, my back pressed up against his chest, the tip of my toes touching his, his arm holding me to him tucked almost all the way around me.

 _Should I suck in my stomach? My belly hangs out when I sleep. No. Don't be that girl._ _I'm a human, not a Barbie._

I swallow the moment of self-doubt and focus on…other things. _Good things. Good things to come. Happy times._ I can conjure no such images. In fact, a debilitating sense of dread hits me as the reality of my situation clicks—the temporary nature of this, the impending heartbreak when we part ways, mostly likely in anger. My heart rate accelerates along with a sudden bout of definite claustrophobia. I pull on Tobias's forearm, even though he groans pulling me tighter.

"I have to pee," I whisper—an embarrassing lie, but his non-response tells me he's still out like a light.

Closing my eyes, I slowly pry his grip from my waist and slide my way out, happy we are on nothing but a mattress, or else I would be face first on the floor rather than haphazardly on my belly. I scramble back onto my haunches and scamper out of the room like an upright opossum before finding myself in the hallway leaning on the varnished wood walls, exhaling shakily. I rest my hand on my pounding heart, the small beads of sweat on my brow evaporating.

"What…is… _happening?!"_ I whisper to myself, as I make a break for the bathroom feeling suddenly cold and realizing I'm naked.

I bypass the master bed, not being able to look at it. Although Tobias said he doesn't spend much time in _here_ , it doesn't mean he hasn't spent much time in the _bed_ with someone else seeing as he didn't exactly know— _No. He ENTIRELY DIDN'T KNOW that I was coming._

 _How did I end up here?! In this beautiful house?! A shower inspired by…me?! Why?! Why?! Why did he DO THAT?! It's kind of perverse if you think about it…_

Gaining a sense of balance, I look at myself in the mirror expecting a reddened face, but all I see is paleness. Even my lips look shockingly dry. Suddenly the urge to throw up overcomes me, and I lurch to the toilet, lifting the seat, and bracing myself on the porcelain. I take deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth, repeating the action several times until, shockingly, the invading feeling subsides.

"Okay, okay, okay." I rest my hand on my heart and fan my face looking down at my naked self again in silent pointless humiliation. "Clothes. Find your… _clooooothes,"_ I groan in agony realizing where they are—soaking wet…in the shower.

I sigh and tip-toe my way into the gloriousness of the larger than life space, fighting the temptation to look at that damned bench. I can't explain the feeling of dread I have right now—dread that I misinterpreted things. _Maybe it was just physical?_ _It didn't feel just physical!_ _It felt like an expression of devotion!_ But, from an outsider, it probably just looked like a guy that was trying to get a girl naked, so he could get lucky—a very insecure girl who would offer herself up to him with just about no qualms.

I guarantee by the very transparent looks on my face that he could sense my entire giving-in mentality—I just wanted to live in the moment, even if that moment would end. Big mistake because I now I'm feeling…LIKE THIS—an impending sense of disaster that I can't live through again.

 _DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF, BEATRICE?!_

I stand up straighter, not letting my self-doubt take over. _You are in CON-FUCKING-TROL!_ Grabbing all the wet clothes with unnecessary attitude, I march out of the shower ready to scrounge for a towel. Balancing the clothes in my left hand, I open the closet on my right—no such towels reside there. Then, I spot them on the exposed shelves under the sink. Eyeing the wood, I make it the few extra steps before leaning down and quickly running my fingers along them. _Gorgeous…_

From what I noticed last night, he has kept all the wood species character grade and I…LOVE…IT— _Focus, Prior!_ _This is not bathroom exploration time. No matter how tempted you are to make that fireplace blazing hot, pop open a bottle of red and plop yourself in that tub and not float to the top!_

Snagging a towel, I huff seeing as it's a hand towel. So, I go for another, and another, and another—all hand towels. "Come…on…"

Awkwardly, I wrap one around my back, holding it tightly under my armpits, and then, like a T-rex, I do the same to the front. Then, balancing all the clothes in my hands, I make my way to the laundry room—wherever the hell that is. _It has to be on the first level!_

So, again, tip-toeing my way down the hall as to not rouse Tobias, I sneak down the stairs, admiring the house the whole way down. It's just as amazeballs in the daytime. Somehow, he salvaged the entire barn. _I wonder what the hell it was originally used for?_ I look up to the rafters, thinking that it's the largest barn I've ever seen. The whole upstairs of the house is in what would have been the hay loft, but he must have added on considering all of the extra rooms up there. _That I have yet to explore… Maybe I can browse before he delicately prompts me to leave?_

When I'm at the bottom of the stairs, I look up as I walk toward the kitchen, noting that its location is directly under the loft. And…it's huge. The kitchen…is huge. _A friggin' stone wall fireplace?! Where did that thing come from?! Whoever's gonna live here better host every damn holiday!_ I frown slightly at the idea of other people celebrating here. But then I wipe the thought away just as quickly—this house deserves a family.

Not wanting to take too much time right now, I cross through the kitchen and into the mudroom, where I entered last night—the bench and cubby system with barn wood paneling not going unnoticed. To my utter delight, I spy another room just beyond it. _Yes! Noooo…_ It turns out to be an extra area with a bunch of shelves, a commercial sink and weird floor thing with a hand-held shower. I take a couple of small steps toward a door that leads to the backyard— _Focus, Prior! Focus!_

Grumbling to myself, I backtrack through the kitchen, making an intentional detour toward the cabinetry, instead of the straight shot toward…wherever the hell I was going. I smile to myself, admiring the custom work—the knotty wood with a light blue distressed tint. A small whimper of sadness comes out of me as I notice that the hand-blown glass knobs I had picked out, are in their rightful places _. Why does that make me sad?_

"Shit," I whisper, feeling a cooling air on my backside as part of the towel falls away.

I drop the wet clothes on the counter and transform myself into a tyrannosaur again, securing both towels before a buzzing sound on the island grabs my immediate attention, followed by an incoming text blaring right in front of my face as if it were on a chalkboard and I was five-years-old, learning how to write capital letters.

 **(1:42 PM) Clare: Thanks for checking in. It's all settled.**

Closing my eyes, really wishing I hadn't seen that, I lean back against the counter, the burning feeling in my nose that signifies tears coming forth. I don't know whether to chastise myself for being a nosey person, or for being here at all. I want to claw myself out of my skin, but I'm holding dripping wet clothes and wearing hand towels. So, deep breathing is all I can do.

I have no reason to be mad. In fact, I'm not mad at all. I'm sad. Sad that I'm even in this situation. All of the I-should-haves and the I-never-should haves are threatening me. Specifically, the I-never-should-have-broken-up-with-him one.

I lean my head down to wipe my tears on my shoulder and think about this rationally because I am a more rational person now. I used to be rational… _over_ -rational, in fact. Then, I turned into a nutcase. _But I am no longer that nutcase! Okay—that text could mean have meant anything. Anything at all… And I have no claim over this man. No claim at all…_

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _"You're with someone else, and I shouldn't care. I keep telling myself I don't care!" I exalt, the mantra I kept running through my head still very fresh in my mind. "That I don't care about cashmere! And espresso! Right now, I don't want to care. 'Cause this has been…amazing. Confusing and amazing." A shiver runs through me at how easy this man can get me going, but the seeming emotionality behind it is what really got me, along with it just being so…him. So awkward, so unplanned, almost going horribly wrong…just…perfect. "Seeing you. It just feels…normal. Not like the everyday normal. But, ya know, our normal…which is…from the outside…not normal. But I don't like normal! But, I know tomorrow's gonna come…or whenever…could be five minutes from now…and then I'm going to feel like I died…again. Fourth death. Part of me thinks…it would be worth it, ya know? But the other part—"_

 _"Tris, stop!"_

 _"WHAT?!" I scream, angry and thankful that he interrupted my humiliating rant because where exactly was I going with that?_

 _He's looking at me, biting his bottom lip as if he's concentrating on concentrating. Then he opens his mouth like he's prepping himself for his first words. "I didn't follow half of that!"_

 _"Well…" I try to run through my mind everything I just said…and I'm failing because my mind is about to explode! "Where the fuck did I lose you?!"_

 _"Cashmere?" he answers, running his hands through his hair._

 _I notice he stated that like a question. "You don't know what cashmere is?!" And an unexplainable bout of hopeful hysteria hits me._

 _"Don't you mean where?!"_

 _"Huh?" I ask, suddenly feeling the cold air hit all the most sensitive parts of my very naked self. I bounce up and down to keep warm, covering myself from the elements—embarrassment being one of them._

 _"_ _Cashmere_ _. The northernmost geographical region of the Indian subcontinent? Why am I explaining this to you?! You brought it up!" he states, exasperated as he brings himself closer, warming my arms._

 _I look at this big idiot, nonsensical happiness taking over. My subconscious must have still been hanging onto_ _the horrific idea of him knowing the properties of goat's wool along with obtaining the skills of a barista. I laugh at myself for my stupidity, while loving the feeling of him close to me—even if I am hopping up and down like a monkey. My eyes flit up to his chest—his nipples look like they could cut diamonds. He's just as cold as me. I clench my fists to keep from sliding my arms around his torso, knowing it would just push me over the edge—_

 _"I'm…not…with…anyone," he says, suddenly right in front of my face._

 _"You're not—"_

 _"No!" He pushes me away in almost disgust. "Do you really think I'd try to seduce you into wanting me if I was?! What the hell, Tris?! And why should that bother you if you're so 'haven't-seen-her-like-this-ever'?!"_

 _The thought of him trying to seduce me into wanting him both makes me angry and makes him stupid. Why the hell he felt the art of seduction was necessary for me to want him is beyond me. Also, seeing as he is the only man I have ever truly wanted—like wanted, wanted—physically, it was entirely unnecessary!_

 _"Uh…you lost me on that last part," I say suddenly stuck on what the hell that meant._

 _"Are YOU not the one…with…as in REALLY WITH…someone who's not me?!"_

 _I make some sort of unattractive disgusted noise at the thought, having finally decided on my trek today that I can't even imagine being with someone else anymore. Especially with whatever the hell that was in the shower. I can't even…think…about another man!_

 _"I am with NO…ONE…WHO'S…NOT…YOU!" I take a quick step back, realizing I was taking my frustration out on his shoulder. I look at him in an almost seething way as his mind starts working like a calculator—one that paces…a lot._

 _"So…like, deductive reasoning. If you're with…ah…no one who's not me…" He puts his weight on his toes, nervously. "Then that would mean…just…mathematically or grammerically—Shit! Grammatically speaking—"_

 _"Jesus Christ, Tobias!" I interrupt before his grammatical error makes him pass out. "I want to be with you don't ever leave me," I growl feeling my fingernails dig into the flesh of my hands._

 _I mentally facepalm myself at the honest, desperate, urgency of that. So, stupid, stupid, stupid! But, knowing I have now laid everything on the table, I glance up at him, the look that I delivered him a double whammy of stupefaction is splattered on his face._

 _"Is that…okay?" I close my eyes in hatred of myself for sounding like such a weakling, but it's the only thing in the world that I want right now._

 _"Is that… Is that…okay?" he repeats as if I just said the dumbest thing he's ever heard. And that's sayin' something! "I..."_

* * *

I groan and squeeze my thighs together, the instant butterflies possibly bringing me to orgasm right this minute if I continue down that thought path. _Geez_ … Our first time was amazing…like, hold-on-for-dear-life amazing because I had no idea sex could be…well, amazing. But, last night was… _whoa…_ just… _whoa._ Slightly rushed, but holy passionate, and emotional, and relieving, and affirming and— _Yes, affirming! Affirming. I'm sticking to affirming._

The reminder buzz of his text comes through again, and I shake my head, pushing it from my mind. _He said he's not with anyone. He said it. He said he loved me. And he said it first!_

I wipe my face on the clothes I'm holding to rid myself of tears of stupidity and scoot my way across the floor, praying for a laundry room sighting. I see nothing! No hint of a damned thing! _What's wrong with this house?!_ Ultimately drawing at straws, I walk toward the front of the house and follow the brick stairs that go down to the right, immediately before the front door. I eek to myself, feeling the towel slip a little. Knowing I need to be quick, I run down the five steps that lead to a small den area front room. It's sunken in, and the English style windows are at ground level.

"So damned charming." I feel myself begin to weep again. The uncertainty of the present and the regret of the past is stifling…and there's no way there's a laundry room down here.

I make my ungraceful way back up the stairs and toward the great room, but the crazy dungeonesque curving steps leading to what I can only assume is the basement suddenly catches my eye on the left. The entryway is narrow and shorter than most—definitely creepy. I suck in a nervous breath and switch my weight back and forth before deciding to make the decent. The stairs curve almost immediately and the temperature drops—

"Even I'm not dumb enough to put a laundry room…down there."

I freeze in my tracks upon hearing the low-tone of Tobias's voice echo from behind me. Scrunching my face, I back up the stairs and crane my neck to see him leaning over the banister looking down at me amusingly. He's in nothing but boxers. _Fucking sight for sore eyes… I swear to God—_

"As entertaining as it has been to see you scurrying around like a…whatever you look like…I don't have the heart to make you go all the way down there."

I clear my throat and shrug my shoulders, turning myself to look up at him properly. He scratches the back of his head and laughs lightly. "Uh… It's up here." He nods his head toward a room behind him while I trudge back up the stairs looking soooooo just…dumb.

 _Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him._

But, of course, I look at him. Biting his bottom lip nervously, he looks as if he wants to tell me something. _Great… He made a mistake. He didn't think things through—_

"I can take these," he mumbles, pulling the clothes out of my hands without making eye contact. He turns to follow the banister, disappearing into a room around the corner while I wait…still wearing hand towels.

I hear nothing…pure silence while I linger, wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do now. And because I'm apparently nosey and curious today, I sneak toward the room to see Tobias staring at the dryer. He must sense my presence because he stands up straighter, trying to look purposefully thoughtful. Then he reaches in and pulls on the top of it, to no avail…although, I don't know what avail he's going for. The fact that he didn't even attempt the washing machine first does send a shot of disappointment through me. _He's not even going to wash them? Shit… Maybe he wants to get rid of me—_

"Tris?" he groans, our eyes meeting.

I brace myself for the onslaught of I-don't-know-what-the-hell-I-was-thinking-last-night excuse. The one where he says _"I just wanted to see if we still had a connection, but, as it turns out, my connection with someone else was stronger and—"_

"How the hell do I open the washing machine?"

I don't know whether to channel Julie Andrews or…well, myself. The laughter takes over as his face turns ten shades of sheepish. Apparently, channeling myself was my unintentional choice. As I scoot forward, he huffs and turns away from me, grumbling to himself. I nudge him to the left and point to the front of the _washer_ with my toe.

" _This_ one is the washing machine, and it's what's called 'front loading.' You just…pull—Nope," I interrupt as he goes for the top of the circle. "Right here." I point again with my toe to the slot where you put your fingers.

He quirks his eyebrow, flitting his eyes from my entirely exposed pointing leg back to my face. "I knew that." He shrugs pulling on the door. "Just wanted another leg shot." He looks at me sideways as I back away, not really interested in any more of his physical compliments. "Now what?"

"Well, under normal circumstances, you would put detergent in, but—"

"Nothing about this is normal. I know," he sighs as I frown at his implication, taking quick offense because _normal_ , relatively speaking, was one of the only things I ever really wanted for him but had always epically failed at providing it.

I hip check him to the side. "Well, at least, _this_ is." I turn the dial to the 'normal' cycle and press start. "Actually, no." I press the pause button and turn the dial to 'speed wash,' pressing start and walking out of the room.

I bee-line it back around the corner and straight to the loft area, having lost a towel on the way. I grab the one draped along my front half and wrap it around my lower half, but it doesn't connect in the front, so my vagina is just…out in the open! "Ass or vagina?" I whisper. "Which one is less horrific?"

"So, you want to get out of here so damned quickly that you can't even wait for your fucking clothes?"

I look over my shoulder toward his angry tone to see him leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed. If I didn't know better, I would detect a hint of redness in his eyes.

I turn around, moving the towel to rest vertically, tucking each hem under my arms and pressing them at my side. I nod my head, feeling secure that all primary erogenous zones are covered.

"I don't want to leave! You're…" I point, moving just my hand because my wrist is pinned at my sides. "…the one who was disappointed because this isn't normal."

"No. You…" he responds, mimicking my pitiful pointing gesture. "…were the one frantically trying to escape. And quit with the modesty shit," he spits. "I've committed every torturous curve of your body to memory, for Christ's sake."

"First of all, there was nothing frantic about me. Second of all, as you, yourself, deducted, I was looking for the laundry room. There was no hint of escapism!"

"If only I had recorded you, you could see the extent of your frantic nature. You looked like a squirrel suffering from dementia trying to find its nuts!"

"Well, that's some bullshit imagery! And who the actual fuck puts a laundry room…upstairs?!"

"Smart people. So they don't have to haul laundry up a very long flight of stairs!"

I pause at that very calculating design win. "Well…that is…very smart," I point out with a clenched jaw, in slight awe that he had thought of that.

"Don't give me too much credit. I wasn't smart enough to put your clothes in the wash last night so you wouldn't have to be tortured by my company. So very sorry to make you wait." He bows his head, sarcastically.

"I don't want to leave! You're the one who wants me to leave!"

I ponder his follow-up look of where-do-you-come-up-with-this-shit because now that I think about it…that may be just sliiiiiightly contrived—

"Did you take your crazy pills this morning, Beatrice?!"

My mouth drops open—

"Close your damned mouth," he orders, my eyes widening at his dumbass tone as he points at me fiercely and unapologetically. "Yep. You heard me! And where did you…?! Why would…?! How…?!" His obvious suffering from proper choice of interrogatives seems to just add to his semi-rage. Maybe…he needs crazy pills—"Did last night NOT fucking HAPPEN?!" The look that teeters between desperation and bewilderment radiates off his face as the realization hits me that I had discounted so many moments of last night as being meaningless to him.

"It did," I say with a pleadingly apologetic look.

"Did it mean anything to you?! Tris, I need to know…now. Like, right this fucking second," he says in finality making the gesture of an umpire calling 'safe.'

His urgency sets me on edge, a reminder of the vibration of a particular cell phone downstairs—a curvaceous woman with perfectly brushed blond hair falling in beachy waves over her shoulders, tan, funny, smart, typing with perfectly manicured opposable thumbs on the other end, reassuring him that all is well. "Why? What's the rush?" I ask, testing him.

He sighs, running his hand down his face. "Look, I took the reins last night, and I know there wasn't much talking involved. I think I interpreted the fact that you _let_ me as a sign to 'Proceed,'" he says as if he's quoting a 'Proceed with Caution' sign. "But, if all of it was you just getting caught up in a moment…or mo _ments_ …you have to tell me. Immediately."

"Why?" I just about growl. "What…is…the…rush?"

He slumps his shoulders, laughing lightly in self-deprecation. "Because…as of right now, I could walk away. I'd hate it. But, I could do it. Because at this moment, I don't feel like I have you. But…once I have that feeling again…giving it up may just kill me. So, tell me now. Right now."

I swallow, the guilty feeling of doubting him hits me again at his perfect answer. He means it. I can see it in his eyes.

"Why are you back in town?" I ask, crossing my arms, a sudden wall of defense coming up as if his responses are too good to be true. so I need to brace myself for some disappointment. Also, a little information may take some of the edge off of a possibly very blunt blow.

"Ah…for several reasons…some taking precedence over others depending on the moment…or my mood…or the circumstances…" he responds looking at the floor, being purposefully vague. "It ended up being a last-minute decision."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He groans, looking up at the ceiling. "I told myself it was for work. I also told myself it was to see Marcus. I also told myself it was to check in on Zeke. I also told myself it was to see this house. It depended on the moment."

I feel like I'm swallowing a thousand questions related to his answer. Most likely because I had hoped there was, at least, some intention on his part that included me—not ALG, his fucked up father—

"It was you. I came to see you. But, I had to tell myself otherwise in order to get on the damned plane. And…it also helped me get through this week," he mumbles.

"Really?" I ask in quiet shock. "Why were you…coming to see me?" I'm trying so, so, so hard not to smile and bounce up and down on my toes.

"Please don't…be happy about that," he mutters, running his hands through his hair. "I mean, I'm happy you're happy about that, but…just, don't be."

"Why?"

"Because I fucking chickened out! I was leaving!" he exalts, walking toward the look-out door. He shakes his head turning back toward me but training his eyes on the floor. "You should know. I was…leaving. If you hadn't shown up last night…,I'd be on a plane."

I nod my head in disappointed understanding and acceptance. "Didn't want to see me all that badly then…" I say softly and directly, him raising his head displaying nothing short of sadness in his eyes. "I'm not being self-deprecating, and I'm not trying to make you feel bad. It's just obviously a fact," I sigh. "Thank you for being honest."

"Your fact checking skills need work," he responds almost darkly as if I've struck a major nerve. "The _fact_ was, I wanted to see you so badly that a rejection would have sent me right into the bottom of a very tempting bottle of booze. And then, who knows where from there…" he trails off suddenly distant.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, him drowning himself in liquor wasn't exactly uncommon.

"Yeah," he chuckles, noticing my expression. "Ya see, my heart isn't as calloused as it used to be…neither is my liver. I, uh, wasn't coping with things in a healthy manner—turns out pushing all emotion to the side with whatever alcohol is available isn't the answer. Who knew?" he shrugs sarcastically.

"Well, I had…battles of my own…along those lines. Just…so you know," I inform, the shame of the ex _tent_ of my battles still haunts me, one in particular that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to share with him.

My cheeks burn at the memory of waking up in the ER with nothing but an ache in my side, an empty purse and absolutely no memory of how I got there. Lynn and I still haven't been able to figure out what happened. I feel him trying to decode my comment, and I see a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"Tris, these last few months, I've been living a very mundane existence, but a mundane existence would be preferential to seeing a look of indifference on your face. And, I ended up feeling _sure_ that _that_ was exactly what would have happened."

I see his eyes shift just slightly, telling me there's more to that story and leaving me curious as to what qualifies as a 'mundane existence' for him. But, I push it aside because I just really don't want to know how he's been 'existing.'

"Well, your _certainty_ skills need work," I reply, mimicking his words.

"I'm…willing to work on them," he chuckles quietly. "So…where does that leave us? Because, Tris, last night was… I don't know, at the time, I just wanted to live in the moment, but as things…progressed…I changed my mind. I don't think I can live with _just_ one moment."

I embarrassingly shudder at the thought of having last night and last night only—my reaction to the text on his phone also very telling of the fear I have of losing him. I can't go through that again. I need to be sure, more importantly, I need to know he's sure.

"Tobias, you were leaving. I mean, how much could you really want this if you were willing to just take off when you were already here?!"

"I can't even quantify how much I want you. Therefore, I have no answer."

"Well," I pause entirely taken aback by the quickness of his response, along with the honesty in his gaze. "That was a pretty good one." I pull up the towel to under my armpits, ignoring Tobias's amused look. "And, on my account, I didn't exactly seek you out. Christ, I literally stumbled upon this house because of an unstable millennial!" I look at him apologetically, not wanting to hurt him by my comment, but it's true—I had no intention of hopping on a plane to Cali. I wanted answers, but I'm not sure I'd ever have the courage to get them.

Running his hands through his hair, he walks toward the look-out door again.

"You said you couldn't handle indifference, but…let's be honest, there may be a lot more to handle than indifference," I mumble, wondering if he's truly up for the task. The thought of the myriad of uncomfortable discussions and possible hurt that we may inflict on each other is nauseating—decisions I made that are regretful, may just be the ones that he'll hold onto and never let go of.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Staring out the door, I take several measured breaths making sure they come out smoothly rather than riddled with the nerves I feel at this moment. _Indifference…_ She's wrong. I'm fairly sure I could get past just about anything. But seeing that look—the one she gave me the night she broke it off—pure indifference. _That_ …I wouldn't be able to take.

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _I head toward the back door of Hangars, hoping it's locked, entirely barring my entrance. Because if it is, that will be my sign to get the hell out of here which would be just perfect because this was an entirely last minute decision anyway. The outcome has no bearing on my purpose for being in town. I own a company—I need to check on…things. Amar can't possibly run ALG on his own. And…I have friends here…I think—I need to say a quick hello. But, that's it. Oh, and…I have a…house…here which I don't plan on seeing, but, hey, it's a reason, right?_

 _I stop short of the door, knowing what's behind it—who's behind it—and I immediately turn around to walk away. I make it to the lamp post and stop short, a cross between a sigh and a growl coming out of my mouth. What the hell am I going to say to her? 'Hi. Don't care if you have a boyfriend. Let's get out of here. Built a house for ya. Just…one request—Don't ask any questions…about…anything. Ever. And I will do the same. The last three months didn't happen. Capisce?'_

 _I laugh aloud at how much I have completely screwed up my life—so badly that I won't even approach the woman I'm supposedly in love with. Maya crosses my mind, her endearing tinkle of a laugh as she looked out over the water brings on a quick bought of self-disgust. Enough so that I push off the lamp post, take a deep breath of the fantastic freeze-your-lungs air that I so missed, and jog back to the door—_

 _"Four?"_

 _I halt at the sound of a familiar voice coming from my left. "Hey…Kirsten?" I greet, awkwardly bracing myself for the hug she always goes for. However, this time I'm surprised that no such thing occurs._

 _"You're back," she states with an even tone as I take note of her very, very, very short hair._

 _"Uh, yeah. Just had to check on a few things. What are you doing here?" I have nothing but vague semi-recollections of possibly seeing her in a dive bar a few months back. I remember very little of the exchange—just that she was there, and I think I talked…a lot._

 _Oh, God… What if I was hitting on her? I did almost use her as a physical replacement of Tris once before. Would I have done it again—_

 _"What things? And stop staring at my hair."_

 _"Uh, I'm here to see someone, possibly…if they're…here," I respond, trying to concentrate on her face, rather than her terrible haircut. I never notice girls' hair, but this is like some shorter-than-short little fairy haircut—_

 _"Who?"_

 _"Huh? Who what?"_

 _"Who…are…you here…to see?" she asks as if I'm deaf and only able to read lips. Being slightly taken aback by her tone and question, I decide to be equally as direct. "There's a bartender here. I want…or need…or just…should and…" I scratch the back of my neck wondering what the hell happened to my directness. "My ex-girlfriend is…probably in…there—"_

 _"Tris," she states, rolling her eyes._

 _"Oh. You, uh, remember her?"_

 _"I've heard her name spill out of your drunken mouth more times than I can count."_

 _I shift my weight, not knowing how to respond to that. I'm certainly not going to deny it because it sounds like something I would do. I stare at the ground, shoving my hands in my pockets on account of the Patagonia-like weather. Looking up at Kirsten, I see her practically imitating my movements as if she were equally nervous about something._

 _"Why are you here?" I ask, suddenly more suspicious at her demeanor and the fact that it's after-hours._

 _"Meeting a friend," she mumbles angrily._

 _"Do…you…know Tris?" I ask trying to quell the horror of that possibility._

 _"Yes."_

 _"Well, that's…awesome," I choke out. "And does she know…you?"_

 _She raises her eyebrows as if I'm some kind of idiot. And I'll admit, that was a stupid question._

 _"What I mean is does she know...who you…are…?" I ask with more intention this time, hoping she'll catch my drift._

 _"Oh, I get it," she responds, crossing her arms and looking at me like I'm a fool. "Does she know that…I'm…the Kirsten you used to date? If you'd call late night boredom sexcapades 'dating'."_

 _"Uh—"_

 _"That…I'm…the Kirsten you tried to have a rebound with…and failed?"_

 _The memory of me wanting to expunge Tris from my mind through incredibly awkward and haphazard sex is pretty damned shameful. Although sleeping with Kirsten wasn't my initial intention for that night, it soon became the driving force—purposeful sabotage of everything Tris and I had. And, Kirsten must have low standards for what qualifies as 'sexcapades.'_

 _"That…I'm…the Kirsten who had to hold you up to keep you from spilling out of a barstool while you babbled on and on about how much you hate her which is why you know how much you love her? And how there's no one like her in the world; at least, no one with a butt like hers."_

 _I bite my lips at that comment because I'm entirely sure I said that—even if I don't remember._

 _"Does she know that…I'm…the Kirsten who knows that her boobs may not be a high schooler's wet dream, but that you sure as hell love 'em?"_

 _I suck in a pained breath through my teeth and bounce on my toes from remorse at that comment which I'm also sure I said—even if I don't remember._

 _"Does she know that I know how tortured you were? Or that I've never seen a more sorrowful look on a man's face before?" she asks softly, changing her decibel level. "No. She doesn't know…any…of that."_

 _I swallow and nod my head in gratitude, shifting my weight again. "So, how do you know her? Are you guys…friends?" I ask, hoping to God they aren't._

 _"She's a bartender here," Kirsten states as if it's the most obvious thing ever._

 _I swallow my pride and embrace her seemingly unwarranted attitude in hopeful exchange for information. "So, you come here often? Shit. I'm not hitting on you!" I add on quickly and defensively, dodging the repercussions of the cheesiest pick-up line apart from 'Hey baby, what's your sign?.' "That wasn't meant to be in a shady, pervy way. I swear—"_

 _"Shut up, Four," she interrupts sharply. "And, yes, I come here often."_

 _"Sorry," I mumble, now entirely aware of my floundering. "So, when you say 'often,' do you mean…often enough to see…or tell me…how she's…doing? Or…" I trail off based solely on the look on Kirsten's face—the one that says are-you-fucking-kidding-me. "Or…not. It's fine. I really don't need to know—"_

 _"You don't…need…to know? Or you don't…want…to know?"_

 _I chuckle at her wording—the words of my therapist. "Lately, they feel like one and the same."_

 _"Great," she mumbles looking at the door as if she's deciding to use it or not._

 _"Are you two…friends or…something?" I ask again, trying to get more information out of this incredibly vague version of Kirsten who is obviously not happy to see me…or even 'meh' to see me._

 _"Something," she huffs throwing her weight into the door with force upon her entry while I stay outside going over what 'something' means. "Well, are you coming? Let's go explain!" The mock enthusiasm in her voice as she sticks her head back out the door sets me on edge. "What? You don't want to?!"_

 _"Kirsten…please," I beg. "I don't want to start out a conversation with Tris, you and I being the subject."_

 _"Then, go." She nods her head to the street behind me._

 _Honestly, the street has never been more tempting, a cab has never sounded so sweet, the stop and go of bus has never enticed me more, and neither has oncoming traffic. While pondering the CTA in all its glory, I realize that Kirsten has barely made eye contact with me this whole time—she's hiding something. "Why do you want to get rid of me so badly?"_

 _She purses her lips and backs up, holding the door open for me. I follow, the nerves not feeling like nerves anymore—more like an orgy of angry butterflies in my gut. Directly off to the right is the back room. I can see the locker room bench out of the corner of my eye. I know it was my fault, but I don't remember how it happened. Just Tris's crumpled form on the ground, unmoving. Everyone else trying to help her while I just stared on, unable to see past my own rage. Hell, she may have been dead of a concussion and I still would have just sat there._

 _I stop and lean against the wall in the hallway, literally breaking out into a cold sweat as Kirsten continues toward the bar. I hear muffled voices, but between the music still playing in the background out front and the pounding in my head, I can't identify any of them._

 _Closing my eyes, I thud my head against the wall—the images appearing in the driver's seat…again: Marcus, Dr. DuBois, Carlos, my mother, Eric, Carl Avery, Jack, Nita, Dr. Karsson, Zeke, Hana, Gertie, Amar. Voices screaming obscenities, contorted faces looking at me with disdain, or worse…pride. All with conflicting interests and opinions, some self-serving and some not. All uninvited nonetheless._

 _All is suddenly quiet in my head as I picture the simplicity of life in California—beautiful weather, a job I love, the ease of lunch, coffee and light conversation with a less dramatic person…and my heart rate regulates._

 _"Don't mind me," Kirsten remarks, pulling me out of my head. "….. ….. …. papers to grade, or lessons to plan, ….. ….. emails to return or…anything of importance ….. …..."_

 _I push off the wall and walk toward where she is half-on-half-off a barstool, in the seat right next to the removable top. No one responds to her comment, so for a moment, I wonder if she's talking to me. Movement to the left catches my eye—a mirror. And I stop, frozen by its reflection—Tris. I let out a brief huff of a laugh at the odd sensation of stinging relief I feel just at seeing her face. I don't even have a clear shot of her, but she draws me in just the same. If only making out with a mirror were considered civil behavior… I lean against the wall again, just watching her like a stalker—leaning forward and resting her elbows on the bar, smiling, her head down and to the side. An invasive sickening feeling creeps through my veins as I take in the scene more closely, taking years off my life—clinking glasses, a closed-mouth smile at an inside joke or an intimate moment, an easy conversation, a quick laugh, her twirling the end of her braid around her fingers, shoulder-to-shoulder in a relaxed way…with another man._

 _"Are you still in love with her?"_

 _Not taking my eyes off the scene, I find myself incapable of giving Kirsten's sudden appearance an answer._

 _"Well, Four, see that nice guy she's all cute and cozy with? That's my friend. Now, here."_

 _I jump as something cold is thrust right into my chest, the contents spilling over the sides leaving behind the ever-familiar smell of gin as I grab the glass before it falls._

 _"If I remember correctly, this is what you drink when you want to forget that the world turns. I made it a double for you," she snarks._

 _I stare down at the cool, clear liquid in the glass, unsure of who's cruelty is worse; the cocktail's or Kirsten's. 'Temptation' isn't even the word I would use to describe the urge to down this drink with the sheer purpose of temporary reprieve, and then stop at whatever watering hole is closest to continue my journey down the rabbit's hole. I feel suddenly sick. Sick that I would even be tempted to screw with Tris's life again—inserting myself to bring both of us nothing but misery. I glance back into the mirror upon hearing her laugh. Her tone is unfamiliar and not quite right…and I hate it. I hate not knowing her anymore._

 _"Why don't you have a seat? Join them for a night cap? I'm sure she'd just love that."_

 _I turn my head slowly to look at Kirsten, not registering her face, just the fact that she's in between me and the exit. I slowly push the repulsive glass into her hand and walk past her down the hall having no further interest in this situation. No further interest in pain. And especially, no further interest in regret._

 _Getting on that damned plane in the first place is all the regret I can handle._

* * *

I shake my head slightly to rid myself of that night. Although, it was because of that night that I ended up here…in this house, with every intention of selling it—washing my hands of it. If I were smarter, I would have just had the realtor do everything, but something in me told me that I had to see it first-hand. I had to confront it. And then, I couldn't leave it. So, I guess I have a week's worth of stupidity…and Tori's sudden passing…to thank for the situation I'm in. I wince, wondering when a good time would be to bring up Tori.

"Tobias, what if we aren't compatible anymore?"

I laugh at her, hoping she didn't see my eye roll, as I think of all the tiffs and arguments and frustrations she's brought me—we've brought each other.

"Were we ever to begin with?" I ask, turning toward her and walking closer now that I have more control over my emotions. Based on her silence, I can tell I've caught her off guard. "Do you know the definition of 'compatible' is _capable of existing together in harmony?_ Has there ever been anything harmonious about us?"

She swallows and looks down, biting her cheeks while lower my gaze to see if she's holding back tears—I kind of wish she was.

"Hey," I whisper, closing the distance between us even more. I tilt her chin up with the curvature of my knuckle. "Did that make you love me any less? Because you making me work for us…is what made realize how much I love you." I run my thumb along her lower lip, in disbelief that I get to do that again—the small gesture I've done so many times in the past but was certain I'd never get to do again. "It made me love…us…more."

I watch and can't help but smirk as she stares at my lips—I know she loves them.

"Tobias…" She pulls my hand down, intertwining our knuckles. "I made…mistakes…"

The part of myself that feels like I deserve punishment for indiscretions, lies, and half-truths comes forth, and I open my mouth to ask her what her mistakes are. _Falling for someone else?_ I would be thrilled to find out that she considered that a mistake, mainly because the speed with which she moved on sent me into a hole of self-loathing that I'd rather not share with her— _I mean, what was it…a month? Less?_ Less would be…sickening because the thought of any other woman apart from her took me months to even consider.

"I did too," I respond, looking down at our linked fingers, twisting them back and forth and wondering if she'll have the courage to ask me the question I couldn't.

"What if we find out that we don't like each other anymore?"

I laugh lightly again and look at her in slight jest. "If I've learned anything…it's that we don't always have to like each other…to love each other." I clear my throat, trying to quell my frustration with her, wondering why she is making this so damned hard.

"That's really…poetic…but—"

"Jesus, Tris!" I turn and run my hands through my hair doing a full 360, remembering the night I saw her at the bar looking pretty damned happy with someone else.

The thought that she lied to me about the fact that she's with another man—one who is not me—comes forth in a way it hadn't before. I know what I saw at the bar, but last night I chose to give her the full-on benefit of the doubt. _Was I wrong?_ I can feel the crazy stirring inside me, and I don't do well with crazy!

"You're giving me every damned reason in the book why you think… _us…_ is a bad idea! What is this really about?! God, Tris, if you're with someone…then…just…fucking STOP BEING WITH THEM! NOW!" I shout, walking away again before I find something to throw across the room. The stifled laugh she rewards me with does not help things! "Glad you find this so damned funny, jerk."

"I'm sorry! You just…look like a fool! You're freaking out, and your hair's all…woah. And your face is red and…" she trails off, hopefully sensing my disdain for her as I stare, wishing she had a damned mirror—a full-length mirror, that idiot, with her fucking hand towel that is unsuccessfully covering her, hair spastically awry, toes turned inward. _Damn it. I love her._

I clear my throat, closing my eyes, having just realized how exposed she is. "If you got caught up last night…and said things you don't mean—"

"I'm just fucking scared, for God's sake! I don't want history to repeat itself! And how can you be saying all this when I…I broke us?! How? How? HOW?! How do you NOT HATE ME?! WHY AREN'T YOU BLAMING ME?!"

I back up with my hands in the air. "I DID blame you! I blamed you…for weeks! Check in with Uriah on that front. I even told myself I hated you," I state flat-out.

Even after I found out my father had been paying someone to plant ideas in her head, I still couldn't understand how she couldn't have seen right through it. I still don't. Nor do I understand how she could have ever cast me aside. But, I no longer blame her.

"And don't kid yourself if you think you _don't_ look like a fool," I add because I just had to.

"Did you?" she whispers, looking down at herself. "Did you hate me? Because if you did, it was no more than I hated myself," she says softly as two tears fall.

That admittance hits me…hard as my mouth all but drops open. I literally want to scoop her up and just hold her, making a thousand promises and relieving myself of the guilt of _letting_ her hate herself, even if I didn't know that she had. But, the guilt goes away as I remember that, well, she didn't 'hate herself' for long. I straighten up, telling myself to act like a man who made his own choices, just like she made hers.

"For the record, I only _told_ myself that I hated you. And I tried… _very_ hard to move on. I was, yet, unsuccessful," I mutter, glancing up at her.

She purses her lips as if she's physically trying to hold herself back from asking a question. I internally laugh, seeing as I'm doing the same thing. If she asks if I was in a relationship, would I tell her about Maya? I'm not sure if it would be pertinent or necessary. I had allowed myself to feel something for another woman, regardless of the inferiority of it. Why would I want to hurt Tris with that knowledge? She may just be trying to do the same for me.

The solution pops into my head, the one that had been there probably the whole time…

"Tris, look at me," I request walking closer to her again. "We made a mistake…last time," I say slowly and sincerely as she looks at me with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "We jumped in head first after you left the hospital. Well, I pretty much… _made_ …you jump in head first."

Still holding her arms at her sides, she does her best to wipe under her eyes. But at this point, the towel is slipping so low, that I can just about see her nipples which are doing no favors to my concentration. _Maybe we should just put this conversation on hold and—_

"You didn't make me do anything," she says as I try to control my innate advances by thinking of how it would feel to step on thumb tacks. "I didn't give you a choice but to offer up your life to me."

"No," I disagree. "I'm certain it's because I didn't want you out of my sight. I still don't."

She smirks and laughs briefly under her breath. "I'm sorry I was so…ungrateful." She braces her arm across her breasts and reaches for my fingers with her free hand, linking our knuckles loosely. "I think it was just information overload and proximity and suffocation and…" she trails off, shrugging to the best of her towel-holding ability.

"Was I suffocating you?" I mutter, remembering all the times I would find her sitting out on the balcony and wondering if it was on purpose.

"No," she responds with a sympathetic smile, communicating that I was the one being suffocated. I sigh, running my hands down my face in frustration at myself for making her think that while also remembering all the times I needed space. "It wasn't…you. I never _wanted_ to get away from you, Tris. I just—"

"Tobias," she interrupts. "I know."

I nod my head, thankful that I don't have to explain that I was stuck between wanting to hold onto her so hard that I would crush her while also wanting to get far away from the situation so I could breathe again. "I'm going to make this easy," I mumble, closing the gap between us again. "I just want…you. That's all I've ever wanted. I want all your mistakes, your burdens, your baggage, neuroses, and all around…poor choices." I gesture to her current towel predicament making her smile slightly and blush at the same time, probably because I'm looking at her as if I want to devour her. "But, you'll need to take mine too," I comment knowing this can't be a one-way street. Her closed-mouthed grin gives me hope enough to ask her…just one more time, ya know, for good measure—"Do you love me? I know you said it last night, but…this is different. Tell…me," I order, cupping her face and staring into her crystal blues. "I'll know if you're lying."

"You know I love you," she mutters as I feel the hem of my boxers brush my thighs, her moving the thin material back and forth between her fingers.

I grin, resting my forehead on hers, running my thumbs over her cheekbones. "Can you tell me why?" I whisper. I smirk at the question I had dissected tirelessly, the one I'm still not sure I got right, but I had run out of parchment from 27 rewrites.

I hear her swallow as the tips of her fingers brush slowly up and down the backs of my legs, making me lose my resolve, officially giving in to the relentless pressure of arousal.

"Because I'm unreasonable." She shrugs, leaving me momentarily speechless. "Oh, my God. That just came out. I'm sorry…" She buries her face in her hands. "That was terrible—"

"It was perfect," I amend as she rests her forehead on my chest. "It was honest. Loving someone beyond reason isn't the worst thing."

She pauses in thought, moving her fingers down to absentmindedly toy with the coarse hairs on my lower abdomen, sending firecrackers right to my gut. I can almost hear her grin at the sporadic involuntary movement under my boxers.

"So…are you unreasonable too?" she asks walking herself close enough to be near flush with me.

I chuckle. "Definitely." Moving my cheek to the side of her head, I watch over her shoulder as I glide my fingertips from the nape of her neck slowly down her bare back. I take my time, eying the curious trail of goosebumps left in their wake, coming to rest right where the curve of her backside begins its glorious slope.

"Do you know what I want?" I ask, kissing the side of her head, not taking my eyes off the contour of her ass.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

"Mmm?" I hum, his careful caresses putting me into a near catatonic state in a mix of both comfort and lust.

His tender circles, feeling his stubbly chin next to my cheek and his tone of voice makes me want to permanently get lost in him, forgetting all obstacles. But his erection tenting his boxers, his course dark hairs under my fingers and the way I can see the sensitive skin peeking out just slightly through the slitted fabric makes me feel an entirely different kind of permanence.

"I want to…date you," he says in the decibel that only he and I could hear. "I want to know you again."

I smile immediately at the suggestion, the assurance that jumping into a possible abyss of disappointment could be avoided feels like quite the brilliant idea _. But, how could we possibly pull it off? We know too much…_

"So, what, like...start over?" I ask, resting my hands on his hips, which is hard because I'm still clutching the towel under my arms. "This isn't a book. We have actual brains…with memory," I groan as he moves his hands lower, cupping my butt gently.

"Trust me, Tris." He kisses my neck, starting under my ear and moving lower, to rest his lips on my shoulder. "No novel could do us…" Taking two handfuls of me, he sighs, pulling me against him "…justice."

I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around his torso and pushing the heel of my palms up his strong back, making sure it's his turn to moan as I lightly scrape my nails down his back.

"There's no possible way…" he continues reaching around the side of my right butt cheek, "to ignore what we've been through. But, I just want to enjoy…" he rests the tips of his long fingers right next to where I really want him, reminiscent of how close he got in the back of a certain Jeep. "…you."

I feel him swallow against my head, seeing as this time I'm not wearing panties and the uncertainty between the two of us isn't there. I'm sure he can feel just how much I want him.

"I want to enjoy you…very much, in fact," he says almost hoarsely.

He pauses, dragging his hand back around to my front and resting them both on my hips, pushing me away enough so he can look me in the eye, the hand towel dropping to the floor. I don't even try to pick it up because…his eyes—those…eyes. Whereas before, there was nothing but frustration and near-pleading, now it's sincerity and softness as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Do you want to find that place again? At the beginning?"

I have to admit the idea is beyond tempting. But, the logistics scare me. I'm not even sure how it would be possible. To start at the beginning, but not start over? _What do I just…ignore everything? Admit nothing?_ I suddenly find myself concentrating on cracking my toes and making sure my big toe fits into one of the knots on the floor. _I just love this wood…_ I crouch down to pick up the towel, suddenly feeling slightly ill-at-ease; but, Tobias immediately pulls it gently out of my hand, tossing it to the side. I huff as he chuckles and pulls me behind him to the mattress.

He moves the comforter to the side and sits down, pulling me with him, his eyes never leaving mine. I hesitate slightly as he urges me down, then softly takes my right ankle, placing it to the side of his ribcage, and then my left on the other, reaching around and pulling me closer to him by my lower back, my knees framing his torso and his mirroring mine. Before I can protest at the mass amount of exposure I'm providing him with, he leans his whole body toward me, kissing me softly on the cheek while rustling the twisted-to-hell sheets behind me. His lips never leaving my cheek, I laugh as he grunts and wrestles with the linens until they're freed, haphazardly tangling them up all around us. I thank him with my eyes as I am now sufficiently covered, but still close enough to him to feel entirely intimate.

I sigh, knowing I'm now officially at the point of no return—right back at that place where I only feel the most comfortable when some part of my body is touching his, some part of my mind thinking about him. Although, I'm not sure that last part ever _truly_ left. Maybe this is the 'beginning' he's talking about. I can definitely do this beginning. But, I'm curious as to his motivations.

"Better?" he asks, running his palms down my arms and taking my hands, pulling them between us.

I nod my head and gaze at his gorgeous face, reaping all the benefits of this position. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can always _ask_ me something," he responds, his meaning of doesn't-mean-I-have-to-answer-you not being lost on me.

"Why do you need that?" I chuckle. "To find that so-called 'place' again? I mean, do you…feel…different now…about me? Or…us? Please, be honest."

He sighs deeply and kisses my knuckles. "Very different now."

I nod my head, toying with the hem of the sheets neglecting the efforts of his fingers, wondering if he knows how telling it is that he wants to try to go back in time to _find_ that feeling—the one I still have. I can understand why he doesn't. But, how long should I wait—

"Because now…I'm already in love you. I know how it feels." He leans in to my ear. "Stop thinking the worst," he whispers as an aside while I shrug my shoulders sheepishly. "And you're off base," he continues, leaning back on his hands. "I don't _need_ it. I _want_ it."

Making a mental note for him to explain this whole need versus want thing, I nod my head for him to continue.

"When we first got together, I was shocked and pretty much in a daily state of confusion and awe that someone could ever have _that_ effect on me. I analyzed…everything—overanalyzed." He furrows his eyebrows, absentmindedly searching my face. "I missed out on things, looked too deep, took for granted the easy moments, you know?""Well, there weren't many. So, don't be too hard on yourself," I say in jest…with a tad of 100% sincerity.

He lets out a quick laugh, but I can see a hint of fault cross his face. I don't even point it out because there's no use talking him out of his blame game.

"So, you agree? That we never had that…ya know…" he prods, nodding his head with wide you-get-my-drift eyes. "I mean, do you even feel like we had that…ya know…?"

His ya-knows leaving me at a bit at a loss, I raise my eyebrows in question of his terrible skills at the board game Taboo.

"Come on. That time when…ya know, at the beginning…?"

I swallow my laughter as the word he's vehemently trying to avoid, comes to the forefront of my mind. _What a pussy._ "Hmm?" I hum innocently.

"Ah…" He scratches the back of his head as I shake my head slowly at his avoidance of _one damned word._ "When you don't care about anything else except just…being with that person…and the anticipation…the…" He finally looks at me, my arms crossed in slight annoyance. "Come on!"

"Hmm?" I quip.

"You're gonna make me say it?"

"Mmm hmm." I nod my head, wondering briefly how we could possibly be in a relationship if he can't even utter the words—

"Fine. Honeymoon period."

You would have thought I just performed a dental extraction on him.

"Wow. You _do_ know that we wouldn't really be on a honeymoon, God forbid," I comment entirely annoyed.

He opens his mouth to defend, but soon closes it as I give him a minute to work this shit out. "That's…not at all—Look, it's just a weird word for a guy to say! And, frankly, I'd appreciate it if you never told anyone I said it," he states with finality.

"I wouldn't dare expose your weakness," I deadpan.

He bites his lips, his eyes laughing at his absurd hang-up. "I think you're a little confused about my weakness."

I watch, suddenly mesmerized by the way his eyes sweep all over my face, never resting on one place for more than a millisecond—and suddenly he kisses me. I find that my body just responds immediately to him, even before my mind can catch-up. He pulls me closer to him by my lower back as I wrap my arms under his, pulling down on his shoulders. His strong hands tangling in my hair and squeezing almost to the point of pain is such an odd turn-on. It's like he's claiming me and has no intention of letting go. He guides my head to the side, hands still entangled, landing his commanding lips on my neck causing nothing but shocks and a trembling deep inside me, especially when he grabs my ass, roughly demanding friction as my core meets his need—hard and wanting. Mine matches his own as I cross my heels behind his back, enfolding him tightly. I smile as he groans resting his head on my shoulder, moving both hands down to squeeze my butt and guide me, slowly rocking me toward him and away from him. I suck in a quick breath as my sensitive skin moves harshly over the fabric of his boxers. _Okay, maybe boxers are my new favorite._

"Shit," I murmur moving my face to glue our cheeks together, him holding me right there and taking over, snapping his hips quickly.

Suddenly I feel skin on skin, heat on heat, his obvious desire meeting mine, causing a different kind of friction as I slide against him easily. I smirk at his unabashed moan at being suddenly exposed. Biting my lips, I brace myself with one arm around his neck, reaching down and teasing his tip with the pad of my index finger, looking down with curiosity at his physical reaction, the lubrication making my ministrations that much easier. I glance up to see him watching me as he cages me with his legs, gripping my arms harder with each pass. Until he suddenly grabs my hand and guides it down over him, exhaling a much held in breath, the teasing nearly driving him mad. I watch as we work him together, my concentration doubling as I feel him harden even more. The tandem of his hand knowing exactly his needs and the extra aid of mine, just about makes his eyes pop out of his head.

"Jesus," he exhales, now closing his eyes and leaning back on his free hand, giving me more room to maneuver.

My quick change of angles must give him a brief moment of resolve as he opens his eyes almost looking horrified and attempting to sit more upright, reaching for the apex of my thighs as if just realizing that I'm here too. I stifle a laugh as he half-heartedly makes an effort, but all it does it make me lace my fingers with his around his length and tighten my grip slightly. He just about hisses and then groans, giving up with the defeated gesture of his chin to his chest.

Watching _that_ alone makes me flex my thighs in want and I'm already worked up and mesmerized enough as it is—watching his forearms strain and his abdomen tighten with each pull. I hear him whimper—actually whimper—as he relaxes his hand, letting it drop to the side, allowing me to take over completely as if he knows he doesn't have the power to stop me. Just the fact that I can make him give up control is…beyond empowering.

Reaching in with my other hand, I rub the fabric of his boxers where his balls are confined, feeling them already taut and thick. His eyes meeting mine as he shakes his head, his weakened way of begging me to stop is all I can take. Letting go, I push myself up using his knees as leverage. He opens his eyes looking at me in relief as I grab the back of his neck, swerving my hips to align him right where he needs to be. I feel his strong hands run down my sides, gripping me as I sink down slightly, both of us gasping at the teasing pleasure. I rise back up, shuddering at the sparks in my abdomen that that one small movement stirred. Sitting up straighter, he braces his hands more firmly as I drop down again lower this time and back up. Catching me off guard, he holds my ribcage like a vice, not letting me descend deeper, his hot tongue circling my breast before he takes my nipple between his teeth. The overt pouting noises I'm making, begging for him to lower me are made simultaneously with the back and forth of my hips, moving his tip just slightly inside me.

"Fuck," he grits out, finally letting me sink deeper.

Each rise and fall, back and forth, gets easier as he stretches me, grunting when I'm fully seated—fully connected. It isn't until that moment that I give myself to him 100%, officially looking him in the eyes. If I didn't feel him practically throbbing inside me, I would swear he wasn't interested in me physically—the way he's looking at me…looking inside of me.

Ignoring the welling up in my eyes, I brush the messy hair away from his sheened forehead, kissing it softly. I splay my hand around his neck, moving my lips to his temples and his cheekbone, to the side of his mouth, then his lips, just tasting them barely, even though he opens his mouth for more. Instead, I press my upper body flush with his and wrap my legs around him, making an involuntary squeeze with my core causing him to just about choke and suddenly cage me tightly to him.

"You okay?" I whisper shakily with worry, the fluttering feeling deep, deep within me, messing with my vocal chords.

"Yeah," he huffs. "I forgot how…that feels..."

I tighten around him again, squeezing my eyes shut as a reflex, along with pulling myself even closer to him. He grunts, again, deeply and I can literally feel the goosebumps forming on his skin as he leans forward hiking me up onto his lap further, forcing me down on him even more with the strong push of his palm. I moan way longer than is necessary as he rocks us back and forth, the pressure of his hand unrelenting especially each time I flex around him. The uncontrollable rushed exhale that comes out of him each time, spurs me on to do it over and over.

But, the confidence I feel from being in control is gone just as suddenly as I feel my cheeks burn and the almost immediate urge to climb him like a tree hits me. Quicker than quick an orgasm that was a slow burn ignites like a firecracker that took its time to light. All I feel are his arms holding me in place and a surging current from deep inside as I'm robbed of the ability to breathe. Then I gasp at the sudden emptiness until I find myself on my back, Tobias driving back into me without an ounce of hesitation, forcing my body to pick up where it left off and ride out the interrupted climax which only seems to make it last so…much…longer…so, so, so, so much…longer. Suddenly I'm weightless and unable to participate, as he hitches my leg and drives into me hard chasing his own end with several deep, rigorous thrusts until he stills, letting himself go entirely with a deep-seated, stunted groan.

My leg drops to the side dramatically matching his recovering breaths as he looks at me with an immediately worried expression. Pulling out of me, he rolls onto his side, and then his back leaving me with that weird empty feeling on account of his quick absence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him scrubbing at his face before he angrily tucks himself back into his boxers as if he's taking his apparent frustration out on his dick.

"That was…really rough. At the…end there. I kind of…lost touch with…reality or…you. I got caught up. Still in…my damned…boxers. Next time, I'll be more… Well, if there is a next time…" he laughs, nervously. "I just… I'm…sorry for…pretty much…pile driving you."

I slowly turn my head to look at him with what I'm sure is a baffled expression. _He really just said pile drived, huh?_ He's staring at the ceiling, definitely on purpose. It's actually sweet that he's so conscientious of me, but at the same time, I want to stick a dirty sock down his throat and punch him in the gut to get him to stop being such a freak. _Or I can totally mess with him…_

"Well, I'm not," I say in urgent desperation, leaning up on my elbow as he purses his lips. "Really, I'm not. I'm… _fine_ …" I rest my hand on his chest, biting my lip and giving him my best I'm-fine-even-though-you-bruised-the-shit-out-of-me-during-human-vampire-sex face.

"You're fine," he repeats angrily squeezing his eyes shut. "Fine? That's…very telling—"

"Look, don't ruin this!" I exalt squeezing his bicep desperately, channeling Kristen Stewart.

"I… I'm just apologizing?" he offers, looking at me like I'm crazy for my outburst. "Not…ruining it—Did I ruin it? Shit. I ruined it…" he trails off rubbing his face again.

I grab his hand and hold it to my chest. "Why can't you see how perfectly happy I am?" I ask in an overly soft, sweet tone of voice which makes him look at me as if he doesn't know me. "Or _was_ …twenty-or-so seconds ago." I move my arm dramatically to where he had me pinned to the mattress. "Now I'm sort of pissed off actually!"

"Shit," he whines as if he recognizes me again. "I did ruin it. Please—"

"We knew this was going to be tricky, right?" I ask, leaning into him coyly with my shoulder, while looking past him, furrowing my eyebrows in weak self-deprecation. _I officially realize how awful this movie was…_

"Not…really…?"

"I thought it was amazing," I mumble, feigning embarrassment and overly exaggerated social-emotionalnesss. "I mean, it was amazing for _me_ …" I swallow and bite my lips only to keep myself from laughing at the shitty dialogue.

"Uuuuhhh… Do you think it wasn't for me? Did you hear me? I sounded like a meat head doing clean and jerks at the gym," he states, his face turning red at that analogy.

Holding it together at that comparison is nearly painful, albeit accurate and I plan to exploit it in the future. But somehow, I push through, pausing for way too long. "I know it's not the same for you—"

"Wha—"

"But for a woman," I grab his face laying the Breaking Dawn on very thick. "I can't imagine it gets any better than that." My pity-me look is almost as good as my reassuring-me-that-our-vamp-human-coitus-was-fulfilling look, but pulling them off simultaneously with K-Stew's breathy voice may be a stretch.

He clenches his jaw as it connects in his brilliant ignorant mind, and looks at me like I'm the biggest asshole he's ever seen. And before I can react, he rolls me over holding me down on the bed with his weight and staring at me like he wants to strangle me. Before his face suddenly softens.

"Twenty seconds ago…was the best…climax…of my existence," he admits, serious and brooding and beyond intense—Edward-style.

I snicker in an evil way while Tobias goes for my ribcage, tickling me hard enough to make me stop breathing. "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop," I choke out, him pulling away abruptly.

He looks down at my right ribcage, slightly panicked. Sighing heavily, I wait for the bullshit. "Does it still hurt?" he asks sincerely, referring to Eric's choice of sufficient injury.

"No. That was legit tickle-laugh—"

"Good—"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" I double over curling up into a ball as he continues to accost me. "Okay, I lied! Total…pain! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow—"

"Say sorry," he commands grabbing my feet and facing away from me, tickling the bottoms of them.

"No—"

"Say sorry for making me feel like shit."

"NO—"

"And for making me quote Twilight! That was…AWFUL!"

"No, no, no, no, no, no—Ok! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I breathe out, needing the torture to stop as I squirm and writhe.

"Sorry for what?" he asks curiously, still holding my bound feet and looking over his shoulder.

"For making you feel like you said I made you feel," I snark, having no interest in apologizing further.

"Which was?"

"Geez…" I begin rolling my eyes. "I wasn't trying to _actually_ make you feel like shit. I was trying to make you feel like shit in order to make you look like a dumbass. And it worked! You recited Twilight like a sonnet," I sing-song in my best Shakespearean tone…which is pretty off base I'm sure.

He shakes his head and turns crawling on top of me. "We had sex four times during that movie marathon. The constant rewinding was excruciating…" He leans down to the nape of my neck, kissing it softly. "…but well worth it when I had your legs over my shoulders," he whispers, making my face turn a stupid shade of red. He pulls back and rests the back of his palm on my forehead, laughing at my embarrassment. Rightfully so—those comments really shouldn't get to me. "Wait…" he squeezes my cheeks together with one hand. "You made me look like an idiot so I wouldn't feel terrible?"

"Yes," I mutter through smashed cheeks.

"That was very sweet," he quips, kissing my nose. "Thank you."

"Yooooouuuuu're—Oh, shit." An eye-catching sight on his shoulder in the form of a huge bite mark jumps out at me. My mouth actually drops open as I lightly touch his shoulder, the mass of broken blood vessels forming in two large identical crescents.

"What did you _do_ to me?!" he yells while laughing. "You broke the skin!"

I suck in a guilty breath through my teeth as I look closer, noticing little pieces of skin curling up. "I'm so sorry…"

"Huh. Turn those tables, Prior." He cranes his neck to get a better view. "That is…somethin' else. I don't even remember you doing that—Ow." He tenses as I push harder on it.

" _I_ …don't remember doing it."

He bites his lips and looks at me in _that_ way. I can't exactly describe it—love and lust all in one glorious package deal. "Is it weird that I think it's hot that we can do that to each other?" He asks moving down my body and kissing the valley between my breasts. Although, it's not really a valley; it's more like two small hills separated by an expanse of flatlands.

"Do what?"

"Get lost in each other," he mumbles moving toward my right breast, nudging my nipple with his nose.

I smile. "No," I reassure, carding my fingers through his hair, trying to be totally okay and entirely casual with him exploring my 100% bare torso like a cow foraging in the field. _Holy shit. I just compared myself to a cow. Or I compared him to a cow_ … I close my eyes and transport myself to another realm where a situation such as I'm in, wouldn't make me want to jump off a bridge; or where I could walk across a shower and not lose my mind, knowing he's checking me out. One where I could strut around naked, like, all around…just naked everywhere and feel good about myself…or at least okay about myself. A world where I was confident—

"Roll onto your stomach," he says in a suggesting tone, my eyes shooting open and doing it without an ounce of protest.

I exhale through my nose in relief, facing away from him, feeling the thin material of rustled sheets being placed as low as possible without my butt hanging out. I groan, suddenly feeling the heel of his hand rubbing circles into the musculature of my lower back. Then the swish of my hair as he brushes it over my shoulder, right in my face.

"Uh...—"

"Face me, please," he orders politely, as I smirk and do as asked. "I'd like to, at least, see your beautiful face," he says grinning so sweetly that I just about melt. His grins are just about as good as his smiles.

I close my eyes, enjoying the pressure of his hand, the closeness of him, his smell—I could never even attempt to describe it—mixed with the smell of _us_ lingering on the sheets. I can hear the wind outside. It sounds different in the winter—subtle at one moment and then foreboding the next, the lack of rustling leaves making it known that there is no escaping it. I open my eyes and stare at Tobias's chest, not really focusing on it, but just because it's there. The companionable silence is oddly reassuring, as he continues to run his fingers up and down my back from my neck to my sacrum, tracing my vertebrae absentmindedly. A warm feeling spreads through me as he starts humming and he relaxes fully on his side next to me. He gives me a small smile in greeting as our eyes meet, before he stares past me, getting lost in his own thoughts, me trying to gather mine…

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Watching Tris doze off feels like the highlight of my life. Although, I've said that many times in reference to some of her actions— _many_ of her actions. Honestly, I just still can't get over the fact that I'm even here, in this moment, her physical presence right next to me—her scent which words can't describe, her calming effect even when she's erratic and makes no sense to me, and the fact that she seems perfectly content right here, right now. I brush her hair over her shoulder again, smiling slightly as she furrows her eyebrows, fighting slumber. I wonder if she still doesn't get much sleep. I think we slept well over 12 hours, and she's already tanking again. I sleep pretty soundly on behalf of having a practically banal existence, not looking forward nor backward. Except for the last week or so—New Year's among other things having thrown me off balance.

"I don't want to talk about anything, yet," Tris mumbles, breaking our silence. "I broke up with you. You left. You're back. Got it?"

I hold my breath at her monumental oversimplification, being momentarily hung-up on the specifics of our break-up. That night temporarily ruined me, but I can't be mad.

"Your silence is deafening. It's not permanent. I know we can't just ignore…things…" she trails off as I rest my palm on her back. "I just…know myself…again. And I think I can only handle, so much."

I furrow my eyebrows wondering how much does she really think there is? Then Marcus crosses my mind—how much I hate him. I hate him for making me lie. I hate that he basically made me into a loser who leaves his life behind. I hate him for having been the puppeteer of Tris's emotional state. She will never understand that I left because of her. _Never._ The idea of putting off an explanation until we're stronger…stronger together…is the temporary solution to my possible forever problem. And, I'm taking it.

I sigh, looking into her eyes that seem far away and almost lost to me at the moment. It's familiar. "I still know you too."

She smirks and nods, slightly.

"You have that look again," I say, moving my thumb back and forth over the soft skin on her back. "When we first started dating, I could tell you were holding back. I could see it in your eyes. It's there again."

"You have it too," she mumbles. "I liked what you said about beginnings…"

"Yeah?" I whisper, intrigued as I brush a hair away from her face, her taking my hand and resting it on top of mine between us.

"We had a good beginning. It just ended too soon," she adds.

I nod my head, feeling both nostalgic and sad. _It was my fault…_ "So…what happens when…or if…we find out things we…don't like?" I swallow thickly at the question I hadn't intended to ask. I cannot even begin to think about her throwing in the towel again. I know I'm all in 100%, but I'm worried about her.

"I want to work through it," she whispers, drawing circles on my fingernails. She purses her lips, her eyes becoming glassy.

"Me too," I say in a reassuring tone of voice, wondering where the sudden bout of possible tears came from.

"Just don't leave me out on a fire escape again."

I know she's kidding, but the shame I still feel about that is pretty damned overwhelming. She opened up her soul to me…and I bailed. I clear my throat to hide my self-reproach.

"At least, it was June. Ya know, if I did that now, you'd be dead by morning." I smile pleased that I was actually able to make a slight joke out of that, and I'm even more pleased to see her return it with a laugh. "And if I wanted to murder you, I would have done it months ago. The first time you marched into my apartment and didn't take your shoes off."

I furrow my eyebrows, wondering if that day—her barging into my apartment to find me on the ass end of a drinking binge, her demanding me to open up—the one where I first told her about Marcus, was the beginning of the end of…that stupid phrase I'd prefer not to say. Or was it the beginning of what could have been something better, had I let it…

* * *

 **Uriah's POV:**

"Ahhhhh…" I recline back, putting my arm around the back of the couch and crossing my feet on the coffee table. The gym is booming and I am in particular hi-demand thanks to my amazing girlfriend. I needed a night…off.

"Pizza'll be here in an hour and—"

"You lost me at 'hour,' Mar. I'm starving!" I yell like an angry man bear.

She laughs from the kitchen, clinking around whatever she's clinking. "You insisted we order from Maretti's! I would have been fine with Half Time!"

"Half Time," I scoff under my breath. "That's 'cause they only get it right, half…of…the…time!"

"Um…no," Marlene responds walking around the corner toward me. "You insist on Maretti's because their ranch dressing is…how did you put it? 'White creamy goodness in a cup.'"

I cringe at my former wording. _That's nasty._ "I did…not…say it like that," I deny, completely lying.

"Whatever," she sighs, lying two paper towels on the coffee table. I watch as she saunters in front of me, purposely shaking her booty in my face before she seats herself—I love her confidence. I see that she has a beer and a glass of Moscato in her hand. I smile at her and wink at how awesome she is as she hands me the glass of Moscato while quickly uncapping her heavy lager with whatever weird name is trendy in the micro-brew department—Naked Moose or Awkward Donkey or Fat Hay Bale or some shit. We cheers glasses, as she relaxes back on the couch, leaning into me.

"Finally…a night where you can shake your ass…for _me_ ," I comment, appreciating the fact that she also has a night off, her traveling dancing sex-on-stage sideshow act on brief intermission.

"I shake my ass for _you_ every night! I told you, I picture ALL naked-Uriah's in the audience," she says defensively.

"Yeah, but you're not _dancing_ with a naked-Uriah. And your new partner is very much not at all 100% gay."

"Rockland is harmless—"

"He single-handedly has the most manliest name on the planet. Rockland Steel! How am I not supposed to be threatened by his name alone?!"

"I'm not going to apologize for my job. And…have you seen the women you train? How is training the Luvabulls going for you, by the way?" she asks lightly as I roll my eyes knowing she's right.

But, I am 100% professional when I train these incredibly attractive, curvaceous, gorgeous specimens. Marlene has nothing to worry about. "Well, they're not as _love-a-ble_ …as you," I respond giving her a kiss on her head in recovery. _Well done, Uriah. Excellent play on words._

"Nice try. Just don't throw rocks at houses, okay?"

I squint my eyes at her messing up the expression I don't understand—'Don't throw stones at glass blouses.' But, I don't have the heart to point out her mistake.

"So…which episode were we on?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Gilmore Girls or Downton Abbey?"

"Hmm…" I think to myself wondering which version of English I'm in the mood for—snooty toot Brit or small town smack down. "Babe, I don't have time for all the rewinds on either. I have to be at the gym at 5:00," I sigh, wishing I could get past the language barrier of those two shows.

"How about Parenthood? Or…we only got through half of Sex in the City?"

"Parenthood," I decide taking a sip of my sweet, sweet liquid. "I'm diggin' Ray Romano, right now. Who knew?"

"Right? Such a weird casting," she agrees reaching for the remote.

As Marlene scrolls through the episodes, my memory is refreshed that this could possibly be the episode where Hank and Sarah actually admit their feelings to each other—the walla-walla-bing-bang of a text message comes through as Marlene grabs my phone off the table and looks at the screen.

"Ew," she says Jimmy Fallon-style. "It's Four."

"WHAT?!" I yell, grabbing it out of her hand as it almost slides out of mine like a banana.

Her eyebrow quirk followed up by an eye roll pisses me off. _One of the people I'm closest too in my life, who I haven't heard from in months, contacts me and SHE'S ANNOYED?_

"What's with the face?" she asks. "He's a dick. Uri, he gets in one argument with Zeke and uses that as his excuse to move to California with some chick, leaving you guys behind to feel like shit for months? Yeah, I'm not okay with that. Plus, I'm Team Tris," she says like a high-schooler.

"What Team Tris? There is no Team Tris! She broke up with… _him._ For all we know…she's the one who drove him to move away! Then, she decides to celebrate hump day with some dude like five seconds after—"

"I knew I shouldn't have told you! Look," she growls pointing in my face. "Do _not_ …for one second…tell me she doesn't have the right to sleep with whoever she wants. However she wants it. And however often. I believe they call that slut shaming…Uriah!"

"What the hell is…? I _never_ shamed her for being a slut! Damn!"

"Tell me…you did not…just…SAY…THAT!" she screams, smacking me on the arm…hard.

"What?! I was repeating your words! I don't even understand what it means!"

"Just…" She pauses and looks up at the ceiling which she does when she's thinking really hard.

"You don't get it either. Do ya?" I state, crossing my arms.

"Never mind! If anyone's a slut…it's him! Banging a married woman?! That's just disgusting. He's fucking disgusting. And I'm disgusted with him," she says lightly before taking a large drink of her beer. "I'll be straight with you, babe…if we broke up and you hooked up with someone else only weeks after you were supposedly soooo heartbroken, I'd ride the first dude that looked at me side-ways like a virgin pony, just to forget about your dumbass."

I slump back on the couch not knowing what to do with that descript picture while watching her down her lager and slam it on the table in triumph. "Aaaaaaahhhhh… Want another?" she offers as I swish the contents of my pink drink.

"Sure," I sigh, taking down the rest like a shot as she heads back to the kitchen.

I clear my throat at the thought of Marlene and whatever guy lookin' at her sideways ridin' him pony style at the petting zoo. But I have to admit, she has a point. And honestly, I was never mad at Tris…at all. I just didn't blame Four for one second either. He was miserable and he found a way to _not_ be miserable. In my perceptive opinion, he was full of shit, moving on in a way less-awesome way, and was absolutely using this lady and my idiot brother as an excuse to get as far away from Tris as possible. Dude…was…wrecked…

I grunt in frustration at my aggravating girlfriend and select the text.

 **(7:47) Four:** I'm dating someone. We're watching a movie. Can I move closer to her?

I stare at the bullshit on the screen…speechless. Fuckin' speechless.

 **Uriah:** Why don't we start with…How the hell are u, dick?

 **Four:** I'm fine.

 **Uriah:** No, me. Ask…me!

 **Four:** How the hell are you, dick?

 **Uriah:** You don't deserve to know.

I look back at his original question, not understanding what he's getting at.

 **Uriah:** And what the hell do you mean? Move as close as you want!

I wait, smiling at Marlene as she brings me a much fuller glass of Moscato. She raises her eyebrows as if I'm supposed to tell her what he's texting. _Pssshhh! No way in hell, woman!_

 **Four:** Touching closely, or to lie close or snug. I just want to know the rules.

 **Uriah:** There are no rules. And what's a snug?

 **Four:** It's a verb: to cause to fit closely.

"He's dating a girl and he wants to know if he can 'Move closer? Touch closely? Lie close or snug?'" I repeat to Marlene in more confusion than I've been in in a long time. "Do you think he's high? Is weed legal in California?"

"Well, doesn't _he_ just get around," she says…like a hypocrip. "And why can't he call a Spade a Spade and just say snuggle? What an asshole."

I start to laugh under my breath in near hysterics as I clue myself in to his stupids.

 **Uriah:** U pussy! Are you dictionarying me so you don't have to say snuggle? BahahahahahaahAAAAAA!

I wait, still laughing, for his "Fuck you" response because I know I am so right!

 **Four:** Please, answer me.

I suck in a surprised breath, covering my mouth.

"What?" Marlene asks, lounging back and plopping her feet in my lap.

"He didn't tell me to 'fuck off,' or 'fuck you,' or 'eat shit,' or 'kiss my ass,' or be rude in general." I sit up straighter, now ready to put my game face on.

"Well, call Darwin. Apparently, he's capable of evolving," she snarks.

"Okay, babe. I know you hate it when I correct you, but it's 'Darvin.'"

"Shit. I always get that one wrong," she says sadly as I lean back on the couch ready to concentrate on Four's lack of skill-set. _I wish she wouldn't be so hard on herself…_

 **Uriah:** How long have you been dating?

 **Four:** 4 hours. 23 mins.

I choke back a laugh at his instant response while Marlene sits up and grabs my wrist, pulling the phone so she can see it.

"Seriously?" She rolls her eyes, rips the phone out of my hands and starts texting, making me very nervous that she'll scare him away. "Don't stare, Uri. I'm not murdering him via text." She tosses me the phone and reclines back again.

 **Uriah:** This is Marlene. Go for the standard arm around shoulder thing. She'll take it from there. I don't like u.

 **Four:** Thanx, Mar!

"Did he…? Did he use an exclamator point?! And an 'X'?" I ask, looking closer at the screen.

"Who cares…" she sighs, seeming sad.

"What's wrong, my sweetness?" I grab her feet and give them a cute little squeeze.

"He seems happy. You know, text-happy. I don't want him to be happy when Tris is so sad. It's not fair."

 _Seems pretty fair to me…_

* * *

 **Christina's POV:**

"Donovan! Were you messing with the board again? Do I have to start taking pictures when we're on a break?!" I yell to him from across his expansive apartment.

"Look at this face!" he responds looking at me handsomely around the corner. "Does this look like the face of a cheater?" His endearing wink and bright white smile would make any man or woman swoon.

"No," I reply, plopping myself down in front of the Chess board. "That's how I know you're cheating." I scrutinize the board, trying to remember the last move I made—

"How about we forego Chess and play Backgammon?" Don asks, strolling into the sitting room looking so just…yum…in his white linen pajama pants and tight fitting light blue t-shirt. Both colors perfectly offsetting his chocolate skin. "Or finish Citizen Kane?"

"Hmmm… How about La Dolce Vita again?" I glance up at him as he grins at me—we've watched that movie five times. "You're right, you're right," I sigh, knowing he wouldn't deny me, but it's way more fun we when both are enjoying what we're doing…or so I've learned.

"How about a documentary? I've been dying to see 13th," he suggests, grabbing his reading glasses off the side table.

"Me too!" I respond excitedly.

Donovan had suggested I do some more research into my Puerto Rican heritage, considering it's a territory of the U.S. and his recent travels there. It brought on a new appreciation of history and made me question…a lot of inconsistencies in our government. I'm not trying to be all weird, but being more informed has been kind of awesome!

"I'll see if it's available," he says softly, kissing me on the head as he passes.

The slow ding-dong of a grandfather clock alerts me to a text. I smile, seeing that it's Tris. I can't wait for her to meet Donovan. His reserved nature can be a little off-putting, but she'll see right through it and straight to his heart of gold. Plus, he loves Scotch whiskey. Although…that may remind her of Four…

 **(7:51) Tris:** Hey.

 **Christina:** Hey, yourself.

 **Tris:** I'm dating someone.

I have to pick my mouth up off the floor before I start squealing. "Eeeeeeeeeeee!"

 **Christina:** I need deets! Send me a pic!

 **Christina:** Full body shot.

 **Christina:** FaceTime me.

 **Tris:** No.

I sigh as Don walks toward me with a cute quirked eyebrow. "Tris is dating someone, but she needs my approval."

"I'm sure she does," he chuckles, pulling me up by my arm as I keep typing.

 **Christina:** Well, is he hot?

 **Christina:** How much do you like him?

 **Christina:** Are you moving fast? Don't move too fast!

 **Christina:** Wait, are you with him?! Take an usie!

"Maybe you should let her respond, love," Don suggests sweetly as he seats us both on the couch.

I twist my toes, snap my fingers, and do basically every fidget in the book, just waiting for her response! _Damn her and her lack of phone calling abilities—_

 **Tris:** Gorgeous. Enough. No, we're not. Yes. No.

I try to connect the dots with which answer went with which questions, looking at Donovan who has his eyebrows raised in jest. "I'm just excited for her! Or…not… I need a picture, first."

"No, you don't," he responds flatly looking at me intensely, making me sigh in regret.

"You and your love-the-mind-before-the-body crap," I mumble jokingly, knowing he's right.

"I loved your mind before your body," he says in his deep voice, not at all sexually.

"You did?" I ask, not believing him for a second.

"Yes. You could very well be the most passionate person I've ever met. It's the one and only thing that I noticed about you, at first," he admits smoothly.

"You didn't… What the hell, Donovan? You didn't even think I was…pretty?!" I ask exasperated and super pissed.

"A lot of women I'm surrounded by are pretty," he says, running his hand down my hair as I flinch away. "…beautiful even. But, they're not special. They didn't talk me into making my company buy higher quality clothes for refugees."

"Well, you get more bang for your buck." I shrug, remembering our first meeting at a fundraiser for his charity. Brielle brought me and I got into an argument with Donovan's head chairperson when I found out that they get their clothes from a plant where they thrive on child labor and cheap material.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at me endearingly with those beautiful browns. "You stand up for yourself in an industry that is dominated by men. You're unapologetic. You're stubborn but also willing to learn from experience. And you're loyal…fiercely so."

"Hmmph." I frown at him trying to be mad, but he pretty much gave me the best answer…ever. I look down at my phone, suddenly feeling his breath on my neck.

"However, you did look fucking stunning in that velour Versace."

"Now _there's_ my answer," I agree, allowing him to softly kiss my neck, another text coming through.

 **Tris:** I need guidance.

 **Christina:** Lay it on me.

 **Tris:** We're watching a movie. How snuggle-worthy do you think a first movie is?

 **Christina:** Set the scene.

 **Tris:** Binging Iron Man.

"Hmmmm… Iron Man. Not very telling…" I mumble.

"They're watching Iron Man?" Don asks stretching and leaning back on the couch.

"Yeah. What's Iron Man on the cuddle scale?"

"I don't think there is more of an ambiguous cuddle movie."

"Right? I mean it's entertaining enough to get sucked into a no-cuddle zone, but also romancey enough for a good snuggle. And Tony Stark is hilarious! Nothing like a good cuddle-laugh-pull-her-closer moment," I sigh.

"Noted," he says cheekily.

 **Christina:** We need more deets.

 **Tris:** Apparently, Donovan says hi?

 **Christina:** (shrugging innocently emoji)

 **Tris:** He's at the other end of the couch. Feet on coffee table, crossed at ankles, head resting in palm propped up on arm of couch, texting. I'm in the bathroom.

I make some sort of disgusted face at this scenario. "He's… _texting,"_ I state annoyed.

 **Christina:** Bad body language. He's texting? Rude. End it.

 **Tris:** No.

 **Christina:** He doesn't seem interested.

"Your phone is sewed to your hand, love. Maybe put those stones down. Keep those glass houses intact," Donovan irritatingly suggests, now looking over my shoulder.

I glare at him and he just stares back. "Chris, you don't know this man," he explains in a less-sarcastic tone as I huff and turn my attention away from him.

 **Christina:** Harsh. Sorry. Are you at hand-holding stage?

 **Christina:** Don held my hand on the first date.

 **Christina:** And kissed it.

 **Christina:** Wait, is this a date? I thought you don't do dates? Wow he doesn't know you at all. End it.

"Your fingers are going to fall off if you keep that up. And then who would I beat at Chess?"

"Are you going to be helpful?" I ask, relaxing into the crook of his arm.

He sighs. "I'm old-fashioned. So—"

"Got it."

 **Christina:** Don says let him come to you.

 **Christina:** I saaaaayyyy…Go all in. Sit by him. Head on shoulder.

 **Christina:** Or lap! That's how you'll really know if he likes you. Wink wink.

 **Christina:** What have you got to lose?

I wait for her response, but still am bothering by the end of the couch looking bored and texting scenario.

 **Christina:** Srsly. He sounds lame.

 **Christina:** Hello?

 **Christina:** Helllooooo?

I sigh and put the phone down. "Just trying to help."

"I'm sure she knows that," he says, pacifying me. "At least she's dating…again. Sounds like that last guy was…intense."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "They both were. I thought they'd end up together. They just kind of…got each other." I squinch up my face at the way I treated Four. He and Donovan would probably hit it off, actually. "We butted heads. He's not exactly…friendly. But, he would have done anything for her."

"So, you had more in common than you thought…"

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

My eyes shoot open from random sounds by the front door, so I slip my hand under my bed, grabbing my Taser. Relief floods me at the fumbling of keys, and I count the turns as each lock is released, just to make sure. I've gotten way used to having a roommate. Being alone in this place isn't appealing at all anymore.

I pull my ear out of my hoodie, hearing more than one voice.

"I'm fine!" says the trying-to-be-quiet voice of Prior. "Go."

I wait, unable to get out of bed because it will let all of my stored up heat out—and it takes me hours to accrue it.

"Do _not_ …sleep…in your…car—"

She's cut off by a man's voice. Definitely a dude… _Tre. Ugh…_

"Because you drive a Lexus and it'll be stripped by morning," she whispers, stifling a laugh.

 _Yep. Right down to the frame._ I listen for a response, but based on the silence, Tre doesn't think it's funny. Although, it _is_ kind of funny that he drives a luxury car. _He's a damned pub bartender! Must come from money… Maybe his parents own a kangaroo farm…_

"It was a joke!" she says about her not-a-joke.

I crane my neck further hearing murmurs and more murmurs and even more murmurs. _It's so weird…_

"Bye," Tris says before closing the door and locking the five bolts.

I wait until she comes closer to yell at her, but the screeching metal of the mini-blinds tells me she's at the window. "Go! Go!... Go!" she whispers loudly.

The purr of an engine pulling away along with Tris sighing like Cinderella when she got back from the ball is too damned confusing for me to handle. _She ran out of here like her tail was on fire yesterday, and now this?!_

"What…is going on?!" I ask, straight up.

"Whoops." She walks toward my door wearing my damned scarf again. "Did I wake you?"

"Of course, you woke me! You can hear a dog piss on the sidewalk from in here."

"So…you…heard…me?"

"I think the most shocking thing I heard was that Tre drives a Lexus," I say dryly.

"Um, he doesn't," she answers kicking at the ground.

"Well, then your relationship with your Uber driver must have escalated quickly."

"Wrong again," she says over her shoulder, walking to her closet.

"Explain, please!" I demand, hearing her rummage through her plastic drawers.

"Uh… It was a…a guy I met at Hangar's…a while back. We ran into each other," she quips.

"You ran into each other? Did you run into each other for over 24 hours?"

"Don't tell me you were worried, Madelynn."

"Worried? No," I scoff. "Suddenly weirded out by new-guy-24-hour-excursion? Yes."

"Nighty night!" she yells closing her door as much as it can close.

"Nighty fuckin' night?! This is a bad idea! Bad news, sister."

"Ugh... We're just dating! Relax…this won't impede your life," she says sarcastically.

"It's already impeding my life when you come home acting like your pre-teen braces met their match."

She laughs loudly at my metaphor—like, a real laugh. _What...the…hell…?_

"Lemme just say that when you crash and burn again…don't come to me to pick up your ashes."

She doesn't answer. Hopefully she just fell asleep.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Lynn's comment ringing in my ears, that fuckin' bitch. I pull down my hat and bury my face in my pillow, praying she's wrong. _She has to be wrong. She's wrong._ My phone vibrates in my hand and I smile, seeing a text from Tobias.

 **(11:47) Tobias:** Can you tell someone you just started dating that you love them?

I close my eyes, grinning at the screen. _She's definitely wrong._


	34. Outsiders

**AN:** I went back and changed part of Chapter 27 (In Repair). Tobias now has no knowledge that Tris read and responded to the text from Clare. One of the problems of posting chapter by chapter…

Forgive me if there are errors up the wazoo!

* * *

 **Will's POV:**

I smack the pile of papers on my desk with gusto and head out to the office floor with a lilt in my step and a smile on my face. I could put Fred Astaire to shame, for Christ's sake! I can't explain the glee—the…friggin'…glee—I feel at finally wrapping up the Conrad Grayden build all by myself—or all by myself, but with Four's total cross-country guidance. Also, I told my girlfriend that I _loved_ her last night, and best of all…my buddy was back! Holllllllaaaaa! I stop in my tracks and adjust my tie realizing I should switch those last two.

I think it's more shock than excitement that I experienced at my pal, Four's reappearance.

I would have bet my life that he wanted nothing to do with anything Chicago anymore, considering his exit of _"Because I want nothing to do with Chicago anymore, William_ " upon my query. I had a feeling he was lying, but I was not up to arguing with him considering my own emotional state, which looking back on it now, was ridiculous. I still don't know for sure what the guy was trying to get away from—Zeke blamed himself, Uriah blamed Tris, Shauna blamed a married lady, Amar blamed work…and the least perceptive of all, Marlene, is the one who I must say got it right for once—she blamed Four. I was in total agreement. He's a grown-up. He moved on his own accord. His fault.

But, I digress. He's back and in an uncharacteristically phenomenal mood! Although, it did _not_ start off well.

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _"So, a Rabbi, a Priest, and a Minister walk into a bar together," Matthew starts, leaning into the table readying himself to be, in his opinion, funny. "The bartender looks up and says, 'Is this some kinda joke…,'" he trails off, looking around the table at all of us as we wait for him to finish._

 _"Matthew! We have two minutes till the meeting. Finish the damned joke!" my super awesome and blunt-when-appropriate girlfriend chimes in while I fight the temptation to rub her lower back. The fact that I'm her boss, and she's on my team has been…challenging in the work place._

 _"That was it," he replies with wide eyes as we all look around at each other. "That was the… Come on! Nobody…got it?!"_

 _"You've gotta work on your delivery, man," Chuck replies shaking his head slowly._

 _I don't even try to replay the joke in my mind because we need to wrap up. "Okay, guys." I clap my hands and stand. "Time to present. Get your plans and meet in the conference room. Amar should be there in a few. Be early, please."_

 _I smile at Zoe as she passes me and mouth the words 'You're gonna do great' as she purposefully moves her hip closer to me, grazing my dick as she passes._

 _An unintentional grunt come out of my throat, her sinister snickering making me fist the back of her jacket, not letting her exit the room further. She stops in her tracks as to not draw attention, calmly allowing the other associates exit. I know I'm not imagining Derek's side-eye, seeing as he has had a crush on her from day one. He's on my Asshole List now. (I'm not as mature as I make myself seem.) But, I suppose I should thank Derek because he's the reason I knew how much I liked her—the dejected feeling when I saw, with my own eyes, her accept an invitation for drinks with him. I ate too much ice cream that night…_

 _After the room empties, Matthew's murmuring of 'Where the hell did I go wrong?' nothing but a vague echo, I pull her backward and into me harshly—well, not harshly, but a little rougher than normal—and rest my chin on her head. She's short, so I get to do that._

 _"That was inappropriate, Zoe," I whisper in her ear. "Have you always made it a habit of grazing your boss's genitalia when you leave a room?"_

 _"How do you think I got this job?" she asks sarcastically, turning to face me. "It's what set me apart. That…and using purple Bradley font in bold on my resume."_

 _I bark out a laugh envisioning Zoe waltzing out of Amar's office after a nice penis pat. "Well, at least it wasn't Four."_

 _"True," she sighs, now pushing me back toward the table until my ass hits it. "He doesn't seem like he'd be a fan of purple font."_

 _I put a fake pout on my face, not even bothering to envision her trying out that nonsense on Four. First, he doesn't let many people get within a mile of his personal space. Second, he was dating Tris, so basically, in his mind, no other female existed…at that point._

 _Zoe looks up, giving me a closed-lip smile and sliding her hands into my front pants pockets, leaning into me. I grip the edges of the table, looking down at her as she bites her damned lip really wishing she wouldn't cause that's kind of my job. But, I watch anyway because her lips are perfection—the sexy bow and arrow shape at the top drives me crazy. And don't get me started on the pouty face she's giving me along with the small movement of her index fingers. I'm a goner. My hands—both hands—immediately on her very, very, firm butt, pulling her to me. Zoe is petite, but healthy with an athletic build. I love how her ass muscles flex when I grab them._

 _"How about you just save the wildly inappropriate touching for this boss only?" I suggest, moving down to her ear, inhaling her mild perfume that makes me crazy for—_

 _"Please, do," says an even-toned, semi-bored voice from behind us._

 _I halt all movement, except the projection of my eyes, to see…Four…sitting at his desk—laptop open, glasses on, full work mode as if he's been there…this whole time, typing away as if Zoe's hands weren't about to caress my lower extremities. I pull my head back to look at what I can only imagine is a look of panic on my girlfriend—It's worse: horror—wide eyes as if she's just watched her own death._

 _"Let…go…of…my…ass…William," she grits out as I realize I'm still squeezing it as if I'm at the grocery store looking for the best cantaloupe._

 _"Sorry," I murmur, letting her go._

 _"Hi, Four," she croaks in a weak voice, slowing pulling her hands out of my pockets._

 _"Zoe," he acknowledges, not even glancing at her as he continues working._

 _"I should…go. Bye, Four. Glad you're back," she mumbles, waving over her shoulder as she bolts out the door._

 _"Zoe," he repeats again nodding his head once without giving her a glance, his way of acknowledging her exit._

 _Clearing my throat, I turn to the table to make sure I'm properly calmed down. It won't take long, hearing another man's voice while being fondled by your girlfriend is kind of a kill joy._

 _"Hey, uh…you said I could use your office for meetings," I defend sheepishly, looking over my shoulder while fixing my hair. What I wouldn't do for a little coconut oil…_

 _"Meetings, William. Indeed. I did say…you could use my office for…meetings."_

 _"Ha ha. You didn't specify what kind of meetings," I reply, trying to joke…unsuccessfully. "So, it's good to see you, man!" I say, switching subjects not at all smoothly as I finally turn. I decide to shove my hands in my pocket, ya know, just in case. "When did you…uh…fly in?"_

 _"Last night," he answers absentmindedly, still focused on his lap top and making no move to greet me._

 _"How long are you here for?"_

 _"The bare minimum."_

 _"More specifically…?" I ask, ducking my head trying to signal that I need eye contact._

 _"Until I get everything done that I need to get done."_

 _"Which is what?" I prod, not giving up. "Dude! I'm not trying to be nosey. But, you're my friend, and I haven't seen you in months! I mean, how have you been?"_

 _"I talked to you last week, Will," he sighs as if his presence is routine and I'm over-reacting. "I'm the same as you ask me every time. Fine."_

 _I cross my arms and sit on the edge of his desk which I know he hates. "Guiding me about proper design implementation of aluminum and glass curtain wall with a serrated western facade isn't my idea of a decent conversation."_

 _His noncommittal shrug and non-acknowledgment of my ass on his desk make me feel quite unimportant. But…I'm going to give it one more…college try._

 _"Want to get a drink before you head out in…whatever the bare minimum is?"_

 _"No," he responds instantly._

 _"Got it." I push off his desk, making sure to upset his perpendicular stupidity of pens and mechanical pencils, at the ready to bury my feelings in the team meeting with Amar._

 _"Will—"_

 _"Yeah?" I stop, all too quickly, and look over my shoulder as he rights each writing utensil individually._

 _"It's not you. It's me," he mumbles, not making eye contact._

 _"Oh, really? The old not-you-it's-me?" I ask, disappointed at his weak excuse. But then I feel suddenly guilty as his shoulders slump and he rubs his eyes. He kind of looks like shit. "Well…what about lunch—" I'm interrupted by the ring-tone of his computer._

 _"I…have a…lunch date…or, I mean, meeting…already."_

 _"It's fine. I get it," I respond with added snark as I officially exit the room, pausing outside the door just to catch his reaction. I hear a very satisfying groan of guilt, giving me instant gratification—_

 _"Hey."_

 _"Ready?"_

 _I lean in—totally unintentionally—as Four's casual voice greets another guy's casual voice. I guess I had just assumed it was a work meeting… But that is not his work voice! That's his friend voice, damn it!_

 _"Be one to see three," Four replies, making me pause before I go in there to raise hell._

 _"Seriously? Wouldn't you rather do be two to see Four?" answers the now-very-condescending other dude's voice._

 _"What the…heck?" I whisper to myself, trying to decode what the hell they're talking about._

 _"We have gone over this. You are…not…to make suggestions. I know you think you're smarter than me, but let's face it, you're not." Four's aloof and sarcastic tone toward this guy exposes that they aren't just acquaintances._

 _"Please. You couldn't even tell me the resulting chemical properties of a magnesium and fluorine reaction."_

 _I hear Four clear his voice and shift in his chair. "You couldn't even tell me what a hat trick is, nor a single thing about the cultural nuances of Southern France. In fact, have you been out of the state?" he asks dryly._

 _I lean in further hearing nothing but muttering, and then…silence. Who…is this guy?_

 _"It's okay, you know. Maybe someday."_

 _I just about fall through the door at the…soft tone of…Four's…voice? What…is…happening?!_

 _"Doubt it," the guy responds in a severely depressed voice. "Be one to…uh…move it to…the sea spot."_

 _I take a step back as it clicks—speaking in code and referencing chemical reactions? An unworldly introvert? Never being able to leave the state? This guy has to be in…in… prison! What, is he like the Unabomber's protégé? I've gotta find Amar—_

 _I'm suddenly pulled back from the door and just about run over by Amar who, as it turns out, is deceptively strong because I am now in the middle of the walkway._

 _"Tobias?" he chokes out in a voice I've never heard coupled with the fact that he used Four's given name._

 _The instant look of shock on Four's face appears as quickly as he's out of his chair and at Amar's side with a steady hand on his shoulder, Amar hanging his head between his shoulders leaning on the table. I walk in slowly, not wanting to intrude but ready to lend a hand if I'm needed._

 _"I have to go…go to the hospital," he says out of breath._

 _"Will, call an ambulance—"_

 _"It's not me!" he interrupts, ripping his arm away from Four before I can take a step toward a phone.  
_

 _"It's Tori…." he trails off, shaking his head. "She…died. She's gone. I don't know…how or…" It's like a vacuum sucked time out of the room as it seems to stand still, no one knowing what to say or do._

 _"Hello?!" an annoyed voice bellows from the computer, snapping us all out of the moment._

 _I find myself with my hand on Amar's back with Four pulling him in for an embrace, Amar sobbing on his shoulder._

 _"George… Oh, my poor Georgie…"_

 _I feel Four tighten his grip momentarily, widening his eyes as if stave off tears himself. "Where is he?"_

 _"The hospital. He could barely…speak—"_

 _"I'll drive." With the sudden resolve of an ox, Four coaxes Amar out of the room, not leaving his side. "Don't tell anyone yet, Will," he orders clearly and calmly. "You run the meeting. Don't be biased to your own team."_

 _"Maybe we should just cancel—"_

 _"Step up, Will," he interrupts my moment of self-doubt. "Got it?"_

 _"Yeah." I stand up straighter at the confidence in Four's voice, chastising myself at almost responding with a 'Yes, sir.' Now I know where Matthew gets it from…_

* * *

I sigh, thinking of the unfortunate circumstances and feeling nothing but sympathy toward Bud, George, and Amar. The fact that it wasn't even the lung cancer that caused her death made me reprioritize. Especially after hearing that Tori and Bud had barely been married for two months… Together for years, but only married for two months…and for no legal benefit that I can wrap my head around.

After the meeting, I pulled Zoe into a closet and gave her the biggest and most heartfelt hug I've ever delivered, loving the sound of her awkward laugh. Then the way she pulled back, looking at me questioningly without asking me what's wrong—that's when I knew I loved her.

Rounding the corner, I breeze past Amar's office still seeing it completely darkened. I haven't seen him since the funeral. But, at least, it has brought Four into the office more. Even though at first, he was all business. As in 100% business.

It reminded me of when he first came to work at ALG. I think being promoted to Senior exec, not even a month into the job, made him feel that he had to prove to us that he deserved it. It was probably the right thing to do because although _I_ wasn't at all threatened by it, the other juniors were. That is until they saw how he could basically take apart a building like Lincoln logs just by looking at the schematics. Also, that he wasn't at all arrogant—in fact, he was humble as all hell, having no idea how to handle a compliment. Plus, his natural-born leadership abilities come out strong in a team setting—which oddly goes against his anti-social personality.

So, for about a week, he was right back to Four the original. I didn't like it. I wanted my friend back. And boy…did my wish come true!

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _"Okay, guys… Seriously…you need to stop talking to me—"_

 _"We're not," Zoe interjects Matthews more-random-than-usual babble._

 _"I'm…very…busy. I know my popularity is through the roof and all…but, the roof…the roof, the roof is on fiiiiiyyy-aaahhh… We don't need no water let the mother effer burn! Burn mother effer—"_

 _"Mateo!"_

 _We all freeze as Four's loud clap on Matthew's shoulder shakes the building._

 _"Just say mother fucker," Four chuckles—Yes. He…chuckled. As in, laughed lightly and with jest. "And you've been an excellent producer lately. Well done on the Oak Park house. Loved it, pal!" he yells over his shoulder, heading across the floor to his corner office._

 _We all turn to look at Matthew. Stunned doesn't even begin to describe him. It's more a mix of shock with a tad bit of awe, dumbfoundedness, entirely aghast, and utterly non-syllabic. I could probably go on, but all I really want to say is—Hallelujah! Of course, being the mature individual that I am, I push the sting of Four calling Matthew 'pal' aside and wheel my chair closer to Zoe's desk to check out her brainstorming for the hotel-turned-Half-Way-House she's working on._

 _"Mind if I take a gander?" I ask, nudging her knee with my own._

 _"Sure," she replies assuredly, moving her laptop so it faces me. "I figured I'd start with some—"_

 _"Did you guys—"_

 _I just about jump out of my skin as Matthew's head appears right between mine and Zoe's._

 _"—HEAR THAT?"_

 _"Hear what?" Zoe hisses, smacking his nose roughly with the back of her hand._

 _"He called me…pal," he responds in a nasally voice, rubbing his injury._

 _If I didn't know better, I would say Matthew was about to cry, and not because of the blow Zoe delivered. I look closer to see a glaze in his eyes. Apparently…I don't know better._

 _"Oh, God. What do I do now?" he asks in a panic, gripping the sides of Zoe's chair._

 _"Breathe," I deadpan.  
_

 _"Should I ask him out?"_

 _"I wouldn't recommend that!" Chuck yells across the floor._

 _"No. I mean…for drinks," Matthew corrects as if that sounds less weird._

 _"Still no," I answer, shaking my head slowly._

 _"No, guys. Like, man drinks."_

 _"A big fat no," Zoe chimes in, still occupying herself with her project. Women are excellent multi-taskers…_

 _"I must have gotten to him. I broke through!" Matthew backs up, shaking his fists in triumph. "I had a broke through!"_

 _"Don't you mean a…break…through?" I question his idiocy…because I always seem to have to question his idiocy._

 _"No. This was a…broke…through. A break through based on previous actions—a broke through."_

 _"Holy hell…" Zoe says under her breath._

 _"And I think he's just now realizing it," Matthew adds, literally clutching at his chest._

 _"We aren't following," I add, looking at him amused._

 _"And, I don't care."_

 _I stifle a laugh at Zoe's comment._

 _"It was all my Facetiming! It kinda started to be our thing, ya know?"_

 _"No," I disagree, even though I'm sure he took my response as an answer to his ambiguous question._

 _"I'd cruise on through the house like this…" He holds his arms out and begins walking with his pretend tablet. "Talkin' him through this and that, and this and that…driving the builders crazy…and for once, it wasn't because of me! It was because of him!" He turns to me, seeing as everyone else seems to be ignoring him. "Remember when you were a kid and it felt like your parents would say, 'No,' to absolutely everything?"_

 _"I never really asked my parents for ridiculous things."_

 _"Well, this was like that," he continues, ignoring my answer. "Except it was a grown man who legitimately said, 'No,' to everything…to other grown people and with a way more commanding tone. And I just stood there, holding the tablet and shrugging like 'the buck does…not…stop with me,' my friends, and 'Don't shoot me. I'm just the tablet messenger!' And…just to lay the cards all out on the table…he, most of the time, was angry because I was holding the tablet at the wrong angle, or the lighting was bad, or every time I would speak, in general. Oh yeah, and when I'd facetime him late at night just to check in. He didn't like that," he finishes with a cringe of regret._

 _"Uh huh, I bet not," I chuckle in disbelief. "Get back to work…Mateo." I squeeze Zoe's shoulder as I stand, glancing down to see her smirk before wandering toward Four's office._

 _Sometimes I don't know how Matthew is as good of an architect as he is. He is a quirky, quirky dude… But he has taken on the residential end of things like a champ. I have a feeling I won't have him on my team for long unless Four and Amar do some restructuring._

 _I walk right into Four's office, seating myself in front of his desk only to find him grinning as he scrolls through his phone…and he doesn't even try to hide it._

 _"Mateo? Really?" I ask, curiosity at his mood swing oozing out of me._

 _"Yeah," he laughs lightly. "That's what Christina used to call him, right? Hey, do you two still keep in touch?" He glances up at me as I stare at him, practically feeling my quirked eyebrow meet my hairline._

 _"You're asking me…about Christina?"_

 _"Yep."_

 _Trying my best to ignore the fact that he just used the word 'yep,' I push on addressing a deeper issue that is kind of pissing me off, all of a sudden._

 _"You haven't been at all concerned about me since…mmm…" I tap my finger on my cheek in thought. "…the last heartfelt conversation you had with me about my derailing love life which was…huh…never."_

 _He opens his mouth but then seems to decide against speaking._

 _"You…did not…give a shit that I, also, was barely keeping my head above water. Although, as it turns out, I was probably in the shallow end," I add, not wanting to exaggerate my realized lukewarm feelings toward Christina._

 _"You're right," he sighs, sitting back and putting his feet on his desk, ankles crossed while I wonder if I've entered an alternate universe where Four is less anal retentive. "I'm sorry. I have been a frightfully…terrible…friend."_

 _"The worst."_

 _"Absolutely," he agrees with a nod._

 _We sit there in uncomfortable silence, and, honestly, I have no idea what more I need—except for this strange moment to be over._

 _"Soooo…what's goin' on?" I begin. "I've never seen you…chipper… You're just…chipper." I say the word with a certain amount of disdain because it's just weird._

 _"Yep," he affirms, deflating from the tense moment. The grin reappears on his face that I notice is now clean-shaven._

 _"Why? You redefined the term sourpuss this week. And now…this? Matthew is taking credit, by the way."_

 _Four looks up at the ceiling and barks out a laugh, making me almost jump out of my chair. "Well, indirectly…he played a hand. He was an excellent presence and held his tablet quite steady when I berated him."_

 _"I hadn't realized you were micro-managing him," I comment. "You didn't think you should have run that by me? What if I needed him…for something?" I ask, sitting up taller to make myself seem more assertive._

 _He furrows his somehow perfect eyebrows. "Did you?"_

 _I slump my shoulders and sit back in my seat, knowing I'm being ridiculous. "No." I laugh at myself. "Honestly, I don't know how he does it—head first into residential and still on his A game for my team. Zoe said his renovations are incredibly creative. The guy must have no life outside of this office."_

 _"Well, he had help…quite a bit of help, actually," he states lightly, opening the side drawer of his desk._

 _"Oh." I think of all the associates on the floor…upwards of 40. It could be anyone. "Who?"_

 _"Tris."_

 _Her name momentarily throws me for a loop. Before he moved to California, Four talked about Tris like she was almost a non-entity—someone that bore no significance on his life. But, now…I don't know…the way he said it—she exists again. "Tris?"_

 _"Tris."_

 _"Wait, what?" I just realized I was so caught up in her name, that I missed why he referenced her._

 _"She was the preliminary designer for all four of the homes," he states factually._

 _"Uh…why?"_

 _"Because she was sitting by herself in my apartment all day, and I wanted to give her something to keep her mind off…things. Turns out, she was really good at it." He shrugs, looking toward the window. "I even dropped the hint to hire her."_

 _"Shit. Thank God that didn't pan out. What a fuckin' disaster! Could you imagine?" I laugh, thinking about all the awkwardness that would have ensued. And yelling. I've heard them fight. It's bad. "Suppose it wouldn't have mattered, though. You ended up in California regardless."_

 _Four's sudden averted look and then blank stare out the window nudges me in the direction that I went too far._

 _"Sorry," I mumble. "Is she still a sore subject? I mean…you brought her up, so—"_

 _"Not at all," he replies entirely straightforward. "Is Christina?"_

 _I shake my head slowly, not wanting to delve into the whole but-you-and-Tris-were-different scenario. "Not at all—are you…smirking?" I'm not usually hyper aware of male nuances, but…Four's is kind of hard to ignore, especially because he seems like he's trying to hide it by eye fucking a window. "What is that…on your face?"_

 _He shakes his head, laughing at himself before turning to me…blushing. He…is…blushing. "I probably was smirking, yes."_

 _"Wow."_

 _"What? I can smirk."_

 _"Yeah…but, you've never been a smirker. So, it's…weird."_

 _"I have too been a smirker. Well, ya know…it's been known to…happen…" he trails off, laughing at his own expense._

 _"Jesus Christ, man. You really are in a better mood."_

 _"Super much better," he says, pulling out a bottle of some type of whiskey I don't recognize._

 _"What…did you…say?" I ask, watching him get up to walk across the room, grabbing two rocks glasses from the cabinet in his server table._

 _"I'm in a…super much better mood," he answers with a follow-up smirk that borders on a smile._

 _"You're doing it again. But worse." I point to his face as he pours about an inch in each glass, apparently expecting me to drink that burning fluid in a glass. "Huh. I've only seen you like this…" I trail off, knowing he'll fill in the blanks._

 _"When I started dating Tris?" he offers, glancing up at me._

 _"Yes. 100%, yes."_

 _Sighing, he walks over to me, offering up the glass of pure liquid butt acid._

 _"You're not expecting me to drink this shit, are you?"_

 _"It's from a $150 bottle of Bourbon," he responds as if I'm nuts._

 _"I don't care if it's a million dollars-worth of liquid 24-karat gold. And…are you trying to change the subject?"_

 _"Actually, no," he replies matter-of-factly. "Just wanted to have a drink with you, buddy."_

 _"Okay, Mr. Chipper. Seriously…spill. What the heck is going on with you?"_

 _He takes a slow sip of his drink, sinking in his chair with a thunk and props his feet up again, furrowing his eyebrows at me as if he's debating…something. "I'm…dating…someone." The shit-eating grin on his face is near contagious, but his accentuation of the word 'dating' along with the eyebrow waggle is…odd, seeing as this isn't exactly brand new._

 _"Yeah… I know."_

 _"What?!" he says into his glass, pulling it away as some contents fall into his lap._

 _"It's sorta common knowledge—"_

 _"How? I haven't talked to anyonnnne—Uriah," he sighs, running his hands down his face._

 _I shrug my shoulders in possible agreement. "Is it a secret or something?"_

 _"Yes. Or…no. I don't…know. It's just… Ah…" He's scratching the back of his head like a rescue dog with mange. "It's…new. Yeah. New. So…"_

 _"Oh," I reply, confused._

 _"Why are you saying that weirdly?"_

 _I chuckle at his use of weird as an adverb. I know it's grammatically correct, but it just sounds…well, weird. "Weirdly how?"_

 _"Like, "Uuuuh-oh," he answers with a head swivel._

 _"Oh. Uh—"_

 _"Stop saying 'Oh!'"_

 _"Fine! I just mean…your definition of 'new' is different than mine."_

 _"Uh…I would say two days is…pretty damned new."_

 _"Oh," I reply with a little more understanding._

 _"Stop with the 'Ohs,'" he whines._

 _"Sorry! Now I get it. And I'm…surprised. That was…fast. You've been back, like, a week."_

 _"Yep," he states almost proudly as he walks to the bathroom and takes his tie off…which he never does._

 _"So, California girl didn't pan out?"_

 _"What California girl? Wait…did Amar tell you that?" he asks in almost a panic._

 _"Again…common knowledge," I reply, warily._

 _"Or…common ignorance. Where do people come up with this shit? I fucking hate rumors!" he exalts, fixing his hair in the mirror._

 _"Anyway, I have minimal information because I had been seriously preoccupied and entirely out of the loop." I wait for him to ask why._

 _He looks at me, furrowing his eyebrows and nods in understanding of my emotional state at the time. "God, this just makes me want to see everybody even less than I already do."_

 _I just nod my head, feeling slightly guilty because I know Zeke is in his own state of turmoil, but it sounds like any conversation they would have right now would probably end badly._

 _"Yeah, so…" Matthew's stretching his arms over his head, and providing us with an exaggerated fake yawn is a semi-welcome intrusion. "I'm just headin' out. Gonna go for a drink…somewhere. Just…casual. Someplace close." He pauses bouncing on his toes, quickly changing his demeanor. "Are you guys…headin' out? 'Cause I am. And hey, you guys can totally come with me. We can talk about stuff… I'm sure we'll find…something to talk about." He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks toward the ceiling._

 _"I'm in."_

 _My head snaps back over to Four as he swiftly pulls his suit coat from off the back of one of the chairs at his table._

 _"What?" I ask in astonishment, seeing as I've been trying to get Four to have drinks for the last week-and-a-half._

 _"Yessssss…" Matthew hisses to himself quietly as I see him discreetly hi-five himself._

 _"William?"_

 _"Okay…" I respond slowly to Four's shall-we tone. "Let me see what Zoe's doing." I grab my phone to text her, not wanting to ask her in front of the other employees. "Where are we going?" I ask Matthew while smiling at Zoe's profile pic._

 _"Hangars," Four replies, rendering me…speechless._

 _I glance at Matthew, who seems entirely unfazed at Four's suggestion but is staring blankly at nothing. "Really?" I ask for confirmation. Confirmation for more reasons than I can count._

 _"Yep." He claps me on the shoulder, prompting me to rise from my chair. "Matthew. Here."_

 _Stopping his mumbling of 'It's happening. It's happening. It's happening,' Matthew looks at the glass Four has offered him in disbelief. "For me? You…poured me a drink?"_

 _"It is…a drink…that I poured," Four replies factually._

 _"For me?" Matthew clarifies taking the beverage from him slowly._

 _"It is yours."_

 _I stifle a laugh at the likeness of this conversation to King Arthur handing Excalibur to the court jester._

 _"Thank you, sirrrrr—or, Four." He takes a tentative sip as if he's drinking out of the Holy Grail, but then quickly relaxes, realizing he's being watched and takes a rather large gulp._

 _I see the outcome before it even comes to pass—the stinging liquor pooling at the bottom of his mouth, the rest traveling down his throat like liquid lava, face turning red, gag reflex triggered…and…_

 _I instantly back up as Matthew lurches to the nearest garbage can at the end of Four's desk—or not…because there isn't one. The coughing fit that he has almost masks the fact that every ounce of the bourbon that was in his mouth is now on the floor…although at least half of it makes its way onto Four's shoes._

 _"Oh, God…" Matthew groans while I walk across the room, grabbing a box of tissues._

 _"Not a fan?" I ask, crouching down and handing him in the box. I steal a glance at Four who is biting his lips between his teeth, obviously trying to control his temper._

 _"Hey, Will. Let me ask you a question," Matthew begins calmly as he wipes Fours shoes with tissue. "Did that really just happen? Or is this some nightmarish scenario like running down the street naked, or watching your grandpa inseminate a cow, or—"_

 _"Matthew, stop talking. Yes, it happened. You should go now."_

 _"Thank you," he whispers, walking a couple steps on his haunches before standing to exit. "Am I still allowed to go for drinks?"_

 _"Yes. You invited…us, remember?" I remind him, picking up the array of tissues he left behind._

 _"Oh. Yeah. Right. Hey, is it okay if I ask—"_

 _"Ask whoever you want we'll meet you there," I respond curtly._

 _"Oh. We're not going togeth—"_

 _"See you there, Matthew."_

 _"'Cause I just thought—"_

 _"Matthew!" Four growls, alerting me to the return of at least a portion of his normal demeanor, thank God._

 _Shaking my head upon Matthew's scurrying out the door, I toss the tissues into the garbage in the bathroom. "Why do I feel like I need to apologize for him?" I ask, watching Four shake the remnants of the Bourbon off his pants._

 _"Because he's a dipshit, but he's still on your team, and you're a good leader."_

 _"Uh, thanks. Wow. So, hey! You should bring your newest girl for drinks! Or is it too soon…?" I question, changing the subject to hide my smile of pride at his compliment._

 _"She's working tonight. Plus, we're just dating, so…we aren't hanging out…every day. Because we're dating. Just…dating."_

 _"Ew-kay…" I trail off, having a feeling this relationship won't last based on his apparently fierce opinion of not seeing her every day. When he was with Tris, he seemed to barely want to be away from her. Speaking of which… "So, I have to ask… You seem very much okay with going to Hangars. Have you…talked to Tris?"_

 _"Yes." He shrugs noncommittally, walking around his desk to grab his messenger bag._

 _"Really." I have a feeling my eyes just about popped out of my head._

 _"Indeed."_

 _"Wait." I hold my hands up in front of me as he tries to pass. "It took me about 50 pints of ice cream to get over Christina…and as it turns out, I wasn't even half as much in love with her as you were with Tris. Don't deny it."_

 _"Wouldn't dare."_

 _"And you guys are…okay? I mean, being around her is…okay? I know I'm saying 'okay' a lot, but I truly don't know what's happening here."_

 _"Sounds like you have a lot to work out." He smiles resting his hand on my shoulder condescendingly._

 _"I do! Tris was my friend, and I feel like I lost my friend. Two friends if I'm still including you! And now, you're just 'okay?'"_

 _"Yes," he answers with a head nod of reassurance._

 _"You must really like this just-dating girl."_

 _"That I do. And, if it puts your mind at ease. Tris is dating someone too." Removing his hand from my shoulder, he heads out the door._

 _"And you're okay with that?!" I yell._

 _"I am more than okay with that!" he shouts back. "Happy hour at Hangars, everyone!"_

* * *

The office was silent after his sudden announcement, but they seemed to get over it quickly at his boomingly sarcastic—"Get your lazy asses to the bar!" He actually got almost everyone to attend—most likely out of curiosity, but still. The entire evening at Hangars was like living in another universe—a universe where Four and Tris can coexist harmoniously as friends…as in friends-friends…like, the kind who smile and laugh at each other, banter easily, buy each other rounds, and…just…be happy. It was a universe I will gladly be a part of.

I round the corner and see the back of Zoe's head, scribbling in her perfect penmanship—which for some reason she seems to hate—her beautiful silky blond hair that I'm tempted to just rake my fingers through…just one time, and—

"Hahaha," she belly laughs, throwing her head back as I see Matthew stand up from where he had been on the floor, doing what I can't say.

"And _that_ is how it's done," he states, crossing his arms proudly, nearly out of breath.

"How what's done?" I ask, joining in.

"Siberian twerking," Zoe answers.

"Whatttt…?"

"Not to be confused with Russian twerking," she adds pointedly.

"Can't say I would have."

"Yeah. Altogether different style." Matthew suddenly stands, looking at Zoe as if he's annoyed. "Are you finally going to let me get back to work? Tisk, tisk, tisk…" he chastises over his shoulder, plopping down at his desk.

Shaking her head, I detect a hint of an eye-roll, but I don't have the frontal attention I crave, so I can only suppose.

"Hi," I whisper leaning in over her shoulder leaving about ½ of an inch between our cheeks.

"Hey."

"What's going on here?" I ask, referring to her project but keeping my voice as sexy as possible. But, my self-awareness being as good as it is, I think I come across as a white-guy doing a poor impression of Barry White.

"Working," she says adding a higher decibel on the –ing. Lately, her confidence has gone through the roof, and I'm thrilled for her.

I look over her progress because it's my job…but also because I get to be close to her, and I see that she's going a bit rogue. Narrowing my eyes at her screen…I take note of the fact that she's missing half of the hotel.

"We're doing this one a little differently," she responds even before I can ask a question.

"I see that."

"They're trying to cut costs. And because this is a circa 1900s hotel, cutting costs up front is tough because you never know what kind of plumbing or jimmy-rigged electrical bullshit they'll come across. So, this is step one—we're starting from the outside in, and that's it."

"What do you mean outside in. And, more importantly, what do you mean 'that's it.'?"

"Well, it's really easy to blow a client's budget, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, this is a Half-way House, so…there isn't wiggle room for budgetary surprises. But, if we go one step at a time, they have more control over costs. For example, if the exterior-work is more costly than anticipated, they'll have time to figure out where they can compensate that cost, without holding anyone else up—like, plumbers, dry-wallers, painters, so on and so forth. Once the outside is done and the money has been worked out, I'll move onto the next step."

"So—"

"Plus renovating and insulating the roof and façade, including new joinery, improves the building's efficiency by 80%!"

"That's—"

"And I know, I know, reno guys like to go in with their hammers and gut the place, first thing, but…fuck 'em."

She gives me a closed-mouth smile and a head nod, communicating to me that she's finally done. All I can do is smile at her because for once, she didn't ask me what I thought. Four was right on with his advice when I came to him about my concerns with Zoe— _"Will, look her in the eye when you talk to her. Don't waiver. She doesn't need and most likely doesn't want a pump-up speech. Female employees pick up on social cues that male employees are too dumb to even identify. She'll see right through that shit. Show her she can do this job by trusting her. Give her the tools without the instruction manual—she'll probably make it better than the original."_

"Why are you smiling…like that?" she asks, interrupting my brief memory.

"Four was right," I state, switching sides and tilting my head just a little so I can see more of her face.

"About what?"

"You're brilliant."

"He said that?" she asks, surprised.

"Pretty much, yeah," I chuckle.

"Wow…" She smirks, seeming pleased with herself. And she should be. I know how much Zoe admires Four, for the same reasons we all do.

I glance at the time on her computer—3:47. "Stop by my office before you leave?" I suggest, standing and resting my hands on the back of her chair.

She turns her head and looks at me questioningly, causing me to immediately backtrack. "To say goodbye. Just…good-bye." Memories of the horrifying moment when I was too over-eager in my office on a Friday evening come back to me—her face, as if she were disappointing me when she declined to have sex in my office. Little did I know how much of an asshole I was being…

"Will. Stop being so sensitive about that," she whispers. "You didn't do anything wrong—"

I grunt as a metal object is thrust at my chest. Looking down, I see it's a small fire-extinguisher…Matthew's hand attached to it.

"Thought you may need this, pal. Ya know, for your face."

I grab it and shove it right back at his chest, heading to Four's office, ignoring Matthew's panicked whisper of 'Is he gonna tell on me?!'"

"Mmmmmgh…" I growl under my breath just as I'm about to reach the door. Not even bothering to check on if he's busy, I charge right in. "I know the whole damned office knows Zoe and I are together, but I really try to keep a certain level of…professionalism—"

A loud spray followed by a man's shriek causes me to bring my attention back to the floor. I peek out the door just in time to see Zoe finishing up the remnants of a fire extinguisher on Matthew's head, the clunk of metal as she tosses it at his stunned face causes the room to erupt in laughter. However, Zoe, unfazed, straightens her jacket and sits back down at her computer instantly getting back to work.

"You were saying…?" Four drones, making a frustrated notation on whatever is in front of him.

"Haha. Never mind," I mumble sitting in a chair across from his desk.

"Control your team, Will."

"Seriously?" I ask, surprised at his sudden change in demeanor while also not being surprised at all _. Yes, it's possible._ "We're back there again?"

Tossing his glasses to the side, he rubs his eyes, sighing.

"Where has Amar been?" I ask, wondering if the stress of running this place is taking its toll on his personality.

"Traveling."

"Any places in particular?"

"Quite a few," he answers impatiently, leaving me to wonder whether his attitude is because of me or Amar.

"Are you going back to California when he—"

"Did you need something?" he interrupts, cutting me off completely.

All I do is stare at him, waiting for a most likely very, very, brief explanation…if I get one at all.

"Fuck," he sighs. "I'm sorry… It's…" He takes a deep breath and calmly rises from his chair, making his way toward the door which he closes and locks, along with the blinds on the window that overlooks the floor.

"Dating is total _BULLSHIT!"_ he shouts as I jump out of my chair. His fast track to the window makes me believe he didn't even notice my yelp. _Thank God._

"Uh. Okay," I reply, calming my racing heart.

"It's fucking awful." He repeats, shaking his head. He rests his hand on the window without actually looking out of it, adding to my suspicion that Four has a fear of heights. "God, I just want to… _see_ her…all the time! But, apparently, I need to be cool and hold off. But, then I find myself staring at my damned phone wondering if I should text her, but second guessing myself because I had texted her twice in the last hour. And does responding to her texts count as _me_ texting or is that _her_ texting? And…phone calls. I've never wanted to… _talk…_ on the phone. She makes me want to…to… _chat!"_

I give myself a quick moment to laugh lightly as he looks at me with shame and slight disgust at himself.

"Hey, I get the whole chat thing," I reassure, leaning toward him, my elbows on my thighs. "Zoe and I used to 'chat…'" I emphasize with my use of air quotes. "…late at night. Like, in bed…late at night. A piece of advice, my friend? Avoid Facetime," I warn in all seriousness. "It's not real. It's a trap—a trap that leads to the land of blue balls." I observe his frustrated scrubbage of his face as he plops down in a chair with a groan. "You've already fallen into that trap, haven't you?"

His now-incredibly-loud groan is all the answer I need. "Fuckin' Facetime," he whines into his hands. "When she arches her back to get more comfortable and then her fake-real boobs are right in my face! It's imaginary reality! It's look-but-can't-touch!"

"Yep. And ya just wanna grab…things…" I agree, trying to reign in my hand gestures.

"It's torture! Knowing she's all under-the-covers, and in a t-shirt, and whatnot…or the lack of 'whatnot…'"

"Oh, the whatnot is the worst!"

"Yep. And the _damned_ …microphone," he groans, sliding down in his seat like a child.

"A curse."

"Son-of-a-bitchin' curse! You hear…everything. Every adjustment, sheet shenanigans, shake and shimmy—"

"Shimmy?"

"Yep. She's a shimmier. She shimmies to get in her 'spot' and then she cracks her toes. It's fuckin' adorable," he says, angrily.

"The close-ups are what really get me. Something about the grainy screen… I don't know."

"Ugh…and her cute smiles and how her eyes crinkle, right here…" He points to the outside corner of his eyelids. "…and the way she tries not to look at herself in the little picture in the corner, but I know she totally is because she frowns and lifts her chin, so it doesn't look like she has two."

We both seem to stare off for a moment. I sigh happily knowing that my and Zoe's screen days are over. We have an excellent routine of consistent sleepovers—just sleeping…sleepovers. Which I am totally okay with. I am good with…that. Yes.

"Ya know, there's no need to…tell anyone that I said…any of that," he adds, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Ditto, pal," I agree…wholeheartedly—with entire wholeheartedness.

"So how long did you and Zoe…date?"

My head spins for just a moment at his sudden jump in subject. "What do you mean? We still are…dating."

"No, I know. But, real. When did it become… _for real?"_

"It has always been… _for real,"_ I respond, mocking his emphasis.

He clenches his jaw, looking like he's about to growl at me.

"What?! I don't know what you're asking me!" I state.

"I'm trying not to make this sound like an adolescent conversation, William!"

"Well, you're failing. You sound about as awkward as an eleven-year-old with his first erection. Just say it!"

"Fine." He clears his throat. "How long did it take you to call Zoe your—Wait," he pauses, leaning toward me. "Did you say 11-year-old? Were you… _eleven_ …when you got your first erection?!"

I open my mouth ready to defend my male-ness, but I end up just scratching the back of my head thinking about it. "I think so… Why? Shit! Is that weird?"

"Dude, I've been getting boners all my life."

"Really? Like…even baby-boners?"

He leans back in his chair staring off in thought. "Don't remember that far back."

"Hmm." The drip-drop of the semi-leaky sink faucet suddenly seems louder than a fog horn.

"Can this also be on the list of things we never speak of?"

"Yes, please," he mutters. "Ahem, so…how long until you and Zoe were…exclusive?"

"Ah…now I get it." I sit back with my hands behind my head. "You want her _officially_ all to yourself."

"No," he entirely denies. "I already have her all to myself."

"But, you're not…exclusive?" I ask, wondering if he even understands himself.

"No. We're totally exclusive," he says defensively.

"Your question alluded to the fact that you are…not."

"Wrong again. In fact, we're so exclusive that we're actually inclusive!"

"Wouldn't that mean you have an open relationship—"

"No," he says, sounding almost beastlike.

It hits me how much he must really like this girl. A sudden pang of sadness comes along with it because it feels like she's Tris's replacement. "I would say…a month-and-a-half," I sigh, resigning myself to what he's asking. "About six weeks to figure out that we wanted to take things to the next level."

"And... _what_ …is the next level?"

"I guess…I officially called her my girlfriend at that point?" I shrug.

His eyebrows lift so high they nearly fall off the back of his head. "Six fucking _weeks?!"_

I grind my teeth at how literally inaccurate his response is, and then instantly go on the defense, yet again. "Yes! Why are you acting like that's a _millennium_?!" I yell back knowing very well that it felt like a millennium. Many, many things feel like a millennium.

"Okay. Fuck," he mumbles with his hands flat on his desk. "Sit. I need details."

I furrow my eyebrows, and look down, not having realized I was standing. I lower myself slowly, preparing for the onslaught of technical questions that I have no desire to answer.

"When you started dating…" he begins, putting on his glasses, not at all bothered by my reaction. "Now, I'm not talking _slow burn_ phase, I'm talking… _burn_ phase. What was your order? Like…the first few weeks … How many times did you 'hang out'? What did you do? Did you ever feel like something was too much? Or too little? Or—"

"Okay, first—Why did you air quote 'hang out?'"

"To point out its ambiguity." He shrugs, starting to make an outline of sorts in his A: LOGG.

"And…what is this _burn…"_ I say in my lowest scratchiest Four voice possible. "…business?"

"Uh… Ya know…at the beginning…a relationship is all new and can't-keep-your-hands-to-yourself and…well, _fiery_ —the burn phase. And then later…it's slower…and more comfortable—"

"So, you basically made this shit up?" And…speaking of burn, I watch as fire moves up his neck to his face. "You think about this girl…like, a lot, don't you?" I ask in amazement…and again with a little sadness. "What's her name, anyway?"

Ignoring my question, he erases one of his headings—my guess is that it was formerly entitled 'burn phase.'

"I'm not gonna Facebook stalk her or anything," I say, lying.

"You would be unsuccessful anyway. She is…not on Facebook."

Damn. "I need a name if you want answers."

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you…"

"Um…try me?" I say as a question to his incredibly strange statement.

He smirks, my ultimatum being a total success. "Beatrice," he responds with a nod.

"No way. As in…the same given name—that I was never allowed to use—as your ex-girlfriend?"

He sits up straighter, and I can see I must have hit a slight bone of contention based on how he flexes his jaw. "One and the same."

"Wow. There's another Beatrice in the world? That name should be put to rest along with Buella and Bertha," I laugh, trying to lighten my comments. I never really know where he stands on the Tris-o-meter.

He bites his lips between his teeth, apparently protective of the unfortunate name. Or I wonder if it reminds him of Tris too much…

"Back to that information…" he reminds. "Now, how much time did you spend together at the beginning?"

I look down to see that he wrote _Phase 1_ after the _A.)_ on his notes and it takes everything in me not to laugh. "Once a week? Maybe…twice—"

"Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry. What—"

"Did you escort her home each time?" he continues, scribbling what on his A: LOGG I have no clue.

 _"Es_ cort?" I clarify at his shitty wording. "Who the hell says that? And, no. She would not have appreciated that. Zoe's pretty damned independent—"

"Ever heard of being a gentleman?" he interjects, continuing to write. Although the way he said it—he made it sound as if he were defending… _himself._ That is the only reason I decide to hold my tongue.

"And, what did you guys do? Did you go on…actual _dates?"_ he asks with a mix of nerves and terror in his voice.

"Uh…yep. That's why they call it 'dating,' my friend."

His follow-up grunt of dissatisfaction was clearly aimed at himself. "So…like…what?"

"Well, dinner—I made her dinner a couple times…" I tap my hand on my cheek in thought. "We went to a Big Band concert and out for a champagne and truffle tasting afterward… Around Christmas time we did Skate on State, and then I took her home and made homemade hot chocolate…" I can almost smell the aroma of the delicious thick drink bubbling on my stove- top. "I took her to Spiaggia and then hit up Tony N Tina's Wedding. That was hilarious!" I remember the look of horror on Zoe's face when she found out it was an interactive musical. "Ummmm…what else—Oh, we took Greek cuisine lessons and then restaurant hopped in Greek Town to see whose spanakopita was the best—definitely The Parthenon. Did you know that place actually closed down?!" I take note of Four's slow head shake at my question. "We had a couple casual dates—Eataly and then an Italian Film fest marathon at The Movie House. Oh, yeah! And because she's not from here…I did a Chi-town themed tourist date. We went to the Chicago History Museum, then Blue Man Group, out for pizza and topped off the night with a midnight architectural boat tour… Couldn't bring myself to take her to The Pier, though…" I cringe at the tourist death-trap. "Hmmm…There's more…but… Damn, I'll have to get back to you," I think, shaking my head. "Oh, no wait! We went horseback riding down the shores of Lake Michigan. It was this tiny town, and we took a trolley ride and then had a little charcuterie plate by the…" I trail off, sensing Four's burning stare. Although, I kind of wish I had my old catcher's mitt, so I can make sure I save his eyeballs before they jump out of his head.

"God…" he moans, putting his head on his desk with a really loud thump—like a that-definitely-left-a-mark thump.

"Why? What are… _you_ …doing?"

"More like…what am I _not_ doing…" he groans with his face in his hands. "And I guarantee you…if I did anything…it would be wrong."

"There is no wrong," I assure. "Plus, it's only been like…a week or so, right? And, dude, this isn't your first go at this."

"I screwed up last time," he mutters.

"Come on. There is no screwing up. Everything happens for a reason. Do you know how many attempts Ben Franklin had when he invented—"

"Yeah, so how about a pace?"

I laugh at his no-room-for-bullshit response.

"Like…how long until you two started to spend more time together? How long until sleepovers? And…did you take the couch at first? And…what is the sex-wait-time nowadays?"

"Nowadays?" I ask in panic at his questions. "There hasn't been a 50 year stretch between your last relationship! What's your deal?!" I lean forward, elbows on my thighs knowing I need to get my shit together to make sure this doesn't veer too much in my direction. "Go at whatever pace works for you two. There are no rules—"

"I need rules," he grits through his teeth, tossing his glasses on his desk and slumping in his chair. "Just…trust me. I need them. I need…boundaries."

"Are you having that much trouble being a gentleman?"

He steeples his fingers, leaning his chin on them. "Think about a dog…"

"Mmmm-kay…"

"He goes his whole life eating dry dog food, and he's content. Ya know, he's full. Has no idea what he's missing. Then one day, his owner, who has complete control, gifts him a perfectly seasoned seared-rare rib-eye steak for a meal. And he feels like he died and went to canine cuisine heaven, thinking this shit's gonna happen whenever he wants for as long as he wants. But then the next day the owner, who has complete control, decides, 'Mmmm…no more steak for you.' So, the dog knows, because this is a smart dog, that he just has to behave really, really well…then he'll get another steak. So, the dog has to be patient…knowing the owner has...complete control." He stares off over my shoulder while I process his analogy.

"So, you've had sex…and now you have been denied."

He just looks at me and grabs his pencil, tapping it on his desk. Neither Four or I are particularly keen on discussing our sex lives in detail. Speaking in analogies is kind of our thing.

"Let me rephrase that, you've had steak…and are now being denied…steak."

"I had organic, free-range, grass-fed beef rib-eye seared in an iron skillet and then baked to a medium-rare perfection."

"Hmm," I respond, my one-track mind veering off to the left. "I prefer fillets on the grill."

"Mmm…" he ponders. "Yeah, I like fillets too. But Hana always cooked hers in the oven, and they were amazing."

"Cast iron skillet, huh?"

"Yep. It was her great-grandmother's. Oh, and sear it with butter, too."

"No, shit? Wait, you can't even boil an egg. How do you know how to cook steak?"

"Just because I know how, doesn't mean I _can."_

"S'pose that's true…" We both seem to zone out, and I start to plan my next meal in my head—medium fllet mignon with béarnaise, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, lemon grilled asparagus—

"So, back to those rules—"

"Holy shit, just Google it!" I joke, laughing aloud until the guilty look on his face appears. "Geez, you _did?!"_

"And it was…about as helpful as you are," he states shamelessly. "Now, how long is the get-to-know-you phase?"

"Man, you'll have to be the judge of that. I mean…do you _feel_ like you know this girl? It hasn't been long, but—" I stop as he begins to laugh under his breath. "What's so funny—"

"Hey, pals…" Matthew saunters in with his hands in his pockets like this is _his_ office.

I turn my head back to Four as he clears his throat, biting his lips probably to hold back a rude remark.

"Just so you know…" Matthew states putting his hands out. "…layin' the cards out on the table for you all…" He takes a deep cleansing breath. "I broke up with my girlfriend. Just…making it known that I will be emotionally unavailable for the next millennia. Four, I'm sorry for the load of shit I talked behind your back when you and Tris broke up, mainly when I referred to you as an impenetrable asshole with about as much emotional capacity as Genghis Khan, and how I pretty much told everyone that you were a fuckin' moron for letting her go."

"Why, thank you, Matthew," Four responds sarcastically.

"And Will, I'm sorry for being insensitive and making fun of you behind your back because of the amount of weight you put on post-Señorita Christina. You got a little tubby, but now I totally get it."

"What a relief," I deadpan, my face flushing at the word 'tubby.'

"This is the worst feeling…ever. I feel like The Incredible Hulk is doing squats on my chest and that a Taser gun has been implanted in my heart." He wanders to the window, dramatically leaning on it with his hand planted firmly…obviously mimicking Four.

I make eye contact with Four, gesturing him to say something, but he gestures back emphatically for me to do it. Between the two of us spewing pointer-fingers at each other, I decide to buck up. "What…happened…?"

He throws his hands in the air and pulls a chair over from the table, a little too close to me than I appreciate. "She was…embarrassed of me."

The double stifle or snort or whatever of a laugh that comes out of both Four and I makes me bark out an actual laugh in response which sends Matthew fleeing from the room.

"Matthew! Get back in here, now!" Four yells commandingly after him.

We both wait patiently as Matthew slowly back tracks—as in, walks backward the entire way—until he turns and sits in his too-close-for-my-comfort chair. I angle away from him slightly, just so at least our legs are no longer touching.

"Continue," Four requests.

"She won't meet my family. She won't introduce me to _her_ family. It's like we were on an exercise bike. And not the good kind where you can plug in and interact with attractive trainers across the country who yell at you. No, this is a 1980's wind machine stationary bicycle. No movin' forward. No movin' backward. Not that there was any backward to move," he mumbles. "And…" He takes a deep breath. "She wasn't attracted to me." He looks down at his thumbs and moves them in circles as if they were working mini-punching bags before sighing resignedly.

"Uh…" I look to Four for back-up, but the worthless ass just shrugs his shoulders. "Sure she was! Right, Four?" I ask, widening my eyes for him to agree with me, but all I get in return is a screwed-up face and a middle finger.

"You think?" Matthew looks intently at Four because, apparently, my opinion of his handsomeness isn't good enough.

"Yep," Four responds with an exaggerated pop at the end of his one-word incredibly annoyed reply. I know he can see the laughing going on in my head about the fact that he had to agree that the guy who once considered his ex-girlfriend to be the object of his affection is indeed…attractive.

"Right?!" Matthew stands again clenching his fists at the ceiling. "Girls like me because I'm funny and quirky and self-deprecatingly charming. But, that only goes so far! I mean—I work out. I'm in shape. I have a 6-pack. Look at this face!" He looks right and then left pointing at his face. "This screams 'boyish charm!' Oh, my God…" He sits again, resting his face in his hands. "Listen to me—I'm rationalizing my looks. Can you believe that shit? I sound like an asshole." He lifts his head as if an epiphany kicked him in the face. "She…turned me into an…asshole. I'm not an asshole! Help _me!"_ he yells, louder than necessary.

This time I stay purposely button-lipped. Four gets to take the lead here. I can practically hear the groan in his head as I make a just-fucking-say-something face at him.

"She won't meet your family. Won't introduce her to yours. And isn't attracted to you," he drones basically repeating what Matthew just said.

"Exactly! You see…he gets me," Matthew says, nudging me.

I roll my eyes at his ass-kissing abilities. "How do you know she's not attracted to you?" I inquire, having wondered that thought about Zoe once or twice, my curiosity is peaked.

Matthew actually stays quiet for a moment and seems to battle with what to say next. "At least…I don't think…she is…"

"Explain," Four sighs again, undeniably wanting to get this over with.

"Well, I wouldn't really know because we've never…ya know…" He lifts his feet and claps the instep of his shoes together. "Pretend I'm wearing boots."

I look at Four who has his brow entirely furrowed in confusion. "Why...?"

"Because I'm knocking my boots, Will. Get it? Knocking boots? We haven't…done that…yet..." he trails off as I sigh, having no idea where he gets his ass hat phrases from… "Wait, you guys don't know…?"

I sink in my chair, resting my face in my left hand as Four continues to sit there nearly mute.

"H-Town? _A give me some good looooove—Somebody rockin' knockin' da boots…"_ he sings with what I can only assume is his best Barry Gibbs impression.

My grandma loves that guy…and his chest hair. Yuck. What band was he in again—

"Four, help me out here!" Matthew pleads.

"Matthew," Four leans forward on his desk. "I could throw you a life preserver, life jacket, arm floatie-things, a pool noodle and a raft…and I still wouldn't be able to save you."

"Fine! We haven't…had… Nothing has been…had… There has been no sex to be had. And you epically failed on the 2000s song trivia!"

"There is no way that is a song from the 2000s," I mumble.

"Maybe not…it takes a long time for music to travel up to unincorporated Baraboo. I think Umbrella is on the top 10 hit list right now. _Under my umb-a-rella…ella…ella…eh…eh…eh… Under my—"_

"Matthew!" Four shouts as I slump lower yet in my chair, finally happy that he's going to nip this shit show in the bud. "How long did you date for?"

I sit up quicker than necessary, glaring at Four unbelieving that he is encouraging Matthew.

"Five months-ish? Just a tad less…maybe—"

"Is that normal?!"

"What? Dating for five months? No. That's a record for me—"

"Not…what I'm…asking," Four deadpans.

"Ah, now I get it," I chime in, sarcastically and pretty pissed. "Matthew, he wants to know if it's... _normal..._ to date someone for five months in a sexless relationship. Right, Four?"

"Must I have the steak talk with you again?!" he asks, matching my aggravation.

"Look, man, there is no normal! Now stop making us feel bad!" I yell, immediately regretting my outburst.

 _"Us?"_ he clarifies looking horribly embarrassed. "Will. Shit, I'm sorry—"

"Steak?" Matthew interjects.

"Yep. Our… _pal…_ Four compares women to steak."

"Yuyyyyy. Not cool man," Matthew says shaking his head, Four's throat-clearing shame filling the room. "But I must say, Mr. Adonis-in-the-flesh, that I completely realize you can't relate to the whole nonsexical situation. Good God, a woman would put aside all… _intimacy_ issues…" Matthew just about chokes on those words, and I hope he isn't taking this where I think he is. "…for you. I mean, I bet they just…yep, there they are…right in front of you…just…available. Side note—I'm trying to be respectful of females," he whispers loudly to me.

"Fail," I respond.

"You know, just out of pure Darwinistic tendencies—to keep the human survival rate in tip top shape. That's a compliment, by the way," he whispers to Four who is looking at him blankly. "You're like a stallion! They'd probably use you for breeding. Like the opposite sex version of the Handmaid's Tale—the Handman's Tale or the Handmanmaiden's Tale. What the hell is the gender opposite of maiden? Anyway, I mean, have you ever had to actually deal with a woman with intimacy issues?"

My eyes widen at the words 'deal with' and I snap my eyes to Four whose face is turning maroon.

"I can't even imagine how you'd handle that!" he laughs. "Geez, or how _she'd_ handle the way you handled that—"

Four's chair slamming against the wall is all the interruption Matthew needs while I groan into my hands as Four exits the room. I wait for the inevitable hard slam of the door to the stairwell—and, there it is.

"Oh, God. I did it again. What did I say?" Matthew asks desperately.

"You definitely just lost 'pal' status." Ha, ha, ha.

* * *

 **Lynn's POV:**

"Oh, for the love of _God,_ will you please stop… _staring?!"_ Prior snarks with even more annoyance than usual.

She's got her head buried in the books, trying to make sense of Tori's accounting. I know she's just doing Bud a solid, making sure things are in order when he gets back from wherever he is, but dude owns a tattoo parlor—accounting is not foreign to him.

"Seriously, Madelynn. I'm going to punch you in the nose with the heel of my palm if you don't cool your creepiness down a decent five degrees."

"Please. Lady, you don't scare me." It's pretty much an all-out lie, seeing as I've seen her take down a 190-pound guy at one of her classes. Bitch could lay me out with pure sneakiness. "Just trying to figure you out."

"If you haven't succeeded yet, then you are unlikely to do so now. Plus, I don't need…figuring out. I know myself just fine," she singsongs, making a follow-up disgusted face at the paper in front of her.

"It's not for you. It's for me," I retort, plopping my ass down on the couch that I'm pretty sure Tris has had sex on.

"I had sex on that couch," she states flatly as if that isn't totally gross.

"Damn it! Did you really have to say it out loud? Now it's real!" I whine, pushing myself up and grabbing Tori's bottle of disinfectant off a table.

"Don't worry. It was beyond basic. No messes were made," she states as if she were describing the possible mess left over in a cafeteria, rather than the possibility of post-coitus bodily fluids.

I squeeze a decent amount of disinfectant on my hands, rubbing it up my arms and along the back of my neck just in case. "You talk about it so…plainly, your little tryst with the Thunder from Down Under."

"Because it _was_ plain."

I narrow my eyes at her, remembering her barrage of lesbian-sex questions which I obviously took as either her pulling a classic Kristen Stewart or the fact that she was just plain unsatisfied. "Why'd you do it anyway?"

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. "Because he was everything I didn't want." I smile wryly, knowing she just basically admitted to initiating their 'relationship.'

I had always suspected—Tre seems like way too good of a guy to seduce a woman he barely knows. My, my, my, how I underestimated Prior. But her response…totally foreign to me.

"What?!" she snaps, having caught whatever look was on my face.

"Just thinking how that makes about as much sense as nailing Jell-o to a tree," I comment, walking over to the small cabinet to locate the Lysol. "So, what the hell is up with you, anyway? Are you pissed at me?"

"Well, don't we sound a little bit needy today?" she remarks in a way that sounds shockingly like my mother.

"Shut-up, Prior." I spray Lysol all over my body like bug spray, debating on whether or not to continue this conversation. "You usually talk to me about shit I don't care about, but lately you haven't. In fact, you've been barely talking…at all. And when you _did_ in fact acknowledge the existence of another human in your midst, I didn't know whether to hide all sharp objects or take you to clown college."

"Not…following," she responds, clicking away with the mouse on Tori's ancient PC.

"You've been astronomically Bi-Polar!"

She laughs under her breath, shaking her head. "Thank you for using the official diagnoses of my non compos mentis ex-boyfriend hyperbolically in reference to me."

I pause at this significant information, feeling a pinprick's worth of guilt. Aaaand, I'm over it. "I'm not going to feel guilty for making light of something you never told me about."

She shrugs, glancing up at me. "I don't care how you feel, Lynn."

"Well, in that case, let me rephrase—Your mood swings have been off the chain. What the fuck is up, Chuck?"

"Don't know whatcha mean…" she says again in her singsongy voice.

"Um… Recap—Last Thursday night, you came barging into our apartment maniacally giggling like Richard Simmons in the men's sporting ware department—"

"You are…beyond help."

"Just callin' 'em like I see 'em," I defend, realizing how weird that was. "Fine. You were happier than a clam in a lake. Better?"

"Lord, yes," she mumbles, still focusing on the computer.

"Then, Friday, circa daytime, you were madder than a clam at a clam bake. However, along comes Friday night and boo-ya—happy as a high schooler _in_ a clam bake—"

"Enough with the damned clams!"

"Stop judging my metaphors! They're pretty damned amazing, in my opinion."

"Wrong," she drones.

"Well here's one for ya—Saturday, you woke up moodier than a middle-aged man getting a rectal exam."

"Let's go back to the clams."

"And it's been on and off since then. Just clams and rectal exams. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"You have problems," she sighs, finally sitting back and taking a break from numbers.

"Was it Four? Seeing him?" _Please say 'no.'_

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _I roll my eyes upon seeing the ALG happier-than-happy-that-it's-Friday happy hour crew walk in. Don't get me wrong, they're nice enough, and Amar's a great tipper, but big tables are a bigger pain in the ass than if I dragged my naked butt along a barn wood floor. But then…taking up the rear…is Four—herding the employees in as if they were his flock of sheep. My jaw drops so fast that the olive I had just caught mid-air rolls off my tongue onto the floor._

 _I sense his nervous glance toward me. Good. He should be fuckin' nervous! He's about to get booted in the name of Tori—_

 _"Well, lookee what we have here—"_

 _"Can it, Myra," I hiss, glancing up at the security cameras that go straight to the monitor on Tori's desk._

 _Myra's always had a thing for Four—asked about him with a genuine interest before it was official that he and Tris were dating. And then asked about him again when they broke up…each time. She's not the overtly flirtatious type, and she's picky about the guys she dates. That's catnip for Four._

 _"Or what? You'll make me leave? Please do."_

 _I turn to face her, leaning my back against the counter under the bar. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to keep your mouth shut, please. No comments from your particular end of the peanut gallery."_

 _She smirks slightly and tilts her head, in apparent admiration of her view._

 _"Keep your eyes shut too, by the way," I order as she crosses her arms and looks at me challengingly. "Unless you can look and don't touch."_

 _Myra's a pretty girl with her auburn hair, pale complexion and green eyes. And even though a 20-year-old cat with cataracts would be better at bartending, she's getting her Master's Degree in Anthropology and only working to save up enough money to go on a dig in Tunisia. She's kind of a catch. Even though she sucks._

 _She pushes past me, but I grab her arm. "Don't."_

 _"Why?" she asks, shaking her arm free._

 _"You know why," I warn, nodding my head toward the security camera._

 _"It's not like I'm going to hit on him. I don't play that game. Anyway, what the hell could Tris do about it? I'll talk to whoever I damned well please," she says like a cocky bitch; although, I catch her glancing at the security camera, probably flicking Tris off in her head._

 _"Well, since Tori's with Jesus—crossin' my fingers on that one—and Bud has been wherever Bud has been, Tris is your boss, and she can fire you. Plus, I don't even think Bud knows who the hell you are, so you won't be missed."_

 _Maintaining eye contact, she switches places with me and leans against the counter. "Well, are you going? …Or did you want to tend bar?" she asks, sarcastically, knowing I hate being saddled behind a counter all night._

 _"Crisis temporarily averted," I mumble to myself as I walk toward the ALG table, swaying my hips more than necessary. "So, apparently, you think this is happening," I remark to Four referring to his general presence and the idea that he thinks he will be cocktailing here._

 _"Yes, I do. Hello, Lynn," he responds with a plastered smile._

 _"Don't 'hello, Lynn' me. What are you doing here?"_

 _"Having drinks with my colleagues," he says magnanimously putting both his arms around the chairs to the right and left of him, occupied by Will and Matthew, who, by the way…looks way too happy in this moment._

 _"Ho ho ho, having drinks with my colleagues," I repeat in my best hoighty toighty voice, enjoying the insta-anger on his face. "Tris is here, you know. See that camera?" I point to the small ball-like security cam._

 _"I do."_

 _"That goes straight to the monitor that she sits her lazy ass in front of," I say, waiting for the smug look to disappear._

 _Turns out, it only gets worse…because his look becomes—yuck—friendly! And, he actually waves at the damned camera!_

 _But before I can react per usual, I get a waft of pure Florida Keys—the good kind—not the college kid Spring Break herpes infested pukeville bunch of white kids with way too much privilege listening to 2000s Jay-Z ocean side thinking they invented the cocktail sex on the beach. Nor is it the family friendly only-one-week-out-of-the-year-is-it-possible-to-vacation kidfest where changing diapers on the beach is somehow okay along with listening to way too much Moana. No. This is sunset sitting in an Adirondack, sipping a perfectly blended piña colada with legit ingredients, the tang of steel drums in the background._

 _I breathe through my mouth in defiance of Four's taste in whatever product he uses. "Plus, she can probably smell you from a mile away," I add, not being deterred. "I mean, seriously, is there a piña colada in your pocket? Did you drink a coconut before you got here? Tell me this isn't some paleo-bullshit hydration-therapy for your impeccable physique. Jesus! It's like Jimmy Buffet came in here and sponsored an orgy for his groupies!" I carry on, his stifled laugh only adding fuel to my rage. "Well, this is my Margaritaville, and you will not be wasting away in it. And guess what? No one has any interest in your cheeseburgers, no matter the coconut paradise that comes with it—Ow!" The sting of hair being pulled just enough to injure but not enough to remove strikes the back side of my head, as Tris suddenly appears._

 _"Hello, ALG!" She waves her right hand in a rainbow-like fashion which goes against every ounce of who she is as a person while I rub the pain away from where she attacked my roots._

 _"I'm going to rip your hair out in your sleep," I hiss in her ear, as she nudges me hard with her whole body, trying to make it look inconspicuous._

 _"Hey, wass up, giiiirl?!" Matthew suddenly blurts out in a hi-pitched voice, nearly launching out of his chair to greet Tris._

 _I train my eyes on Four, trying to gage his reaction as the man who had quite the thing for Tris, gives her a good 'ole Midwestern hug-a-baloo, nearly bowling me over. But, I must say I'm slightly disappointed because Four seems intent on keeping his attention on Will weirdly consoling him with several hard pats on the back._

 _"So, tell me…stranger." Tris crosses her arms over her chest, purposefully directing her attention to Matthew and Matthew only. "Where exactly have you been? And why did you ditch me for coffee the other week?"_

 _"Ah…right, right, right. Did I… Did I do…that?" He looks up at the ceiling, rocking back and forth from the balls of his toes to his heels. "Okay, yes. I did," he admits. "I, uh…was at a job sight. The owner is a little off-the-rails as far as the meticulosity train goes. So, I got stuck." He nods at Four as if to confirm his bullshit excuse. "And this particular owner…ahem…on this particular day…double ahem…was particularly…ahhhhhemmmm…anally retentive—way more anal than I was being paid for."_

 _"You should ask for a raise, Matthew," Will's girlfriend quips, skimming the appetizer menu. "That's a lot of anal."_

 _"Nah. I can deal with plenty. Right, Four?"_

 _The way Four's arms are crossed over his chest, and the disturbing scowl on his face is almost as humorous as the fact that he doesn't answer Matthew, letting him flail in his own grave of Freudian slips.. I also can't help but pick up entirely on the quick glance in Tris's direction, Four's arrogant-self is probably dying a slow death at her lack of shock at seeing him. To be honest, I'm thoroughly impressed with her self-preservation._

 _"Yeah," she sighs, keeping her gaze on Matthew. "Dealing with idiosyncratic fools is truly exhausting."_

 _"You see, Lynn?" He makes weird eye contact with me over Tris's shoulder. "She gets me."_

 _"Congratulations," I deadpan, moving my attention away from small talk-ville and onto more informative individuals—like Will._

 _I widen my eyes as if to ask him 'What the fuck is going on?,' but all he does is return my what-the-fuckness with an I-don't-know-what-the-fuckness and a shrug. So, I turn my attention back to Four, who is staring so hard at the cocktail menu, that I think he may burn the words like ants under a magnifying glass. And then I feel it. It's back. The guilt._

 _"I'm not really going to serve him, am I?!" I blurt out, my voice almost unrecognizable to me._

 _Matthew nearly trips over his own stationary feet at my strangled voice as Tris looks between my gesturing arm and Four._

 _"Why wouldn't you?" she asks, shrugging as if it were every day that the guy who stomped on her heart which she in turn returned the favor to just Fox Trotted his snazzy self into this establishment._

 _"Why wouldn't I?! Wh… Why… Well…" I pause in embarrassed frustration at not being able to think of a reason. "Uh… Tori! Yes, her! Because…SHE…kicked him to the curb for eternity," I reply, holding myself on firmer emotional ground. "Remember? She didn't appreciate attempted voluntary manslaughter from her patrons."_

 _Tris's blank stare at me almost drowns out the nervous shifting from the employees at the table. I basically just told them their boss tried to kill someone. Not…one of my…finer moments…_

 _"Yes. You are going to serve him," Tris answers coldly, most likely trying to stave off her own embarrassment. "And keep your comments to yourself. You're acting like Christina," she whispers roughly._

 _"Great!" I retort, pushing her aside. "So, Four. What are we drinking lately?" I slap down paper coasters in front of each employee within my reach, before meeting his stone-cold face._

 _"Will you, please, take my associates' orders first?" he mumbles politely. Damn him!_

 _"I'll have a—"_

 _"Please, hold, Will. You do know I was just honoring Tori's wishes, right?" I interrupt, inserting myself between Four and Will, blocking Will's presence. "Not that you care, I suppose. Geez, you didn't even come to the funeral shin-dig, did you?" I nudge Four with my thigh as he looks down at the menu, the back of his ears burning red. "Your business partner's—aka mentor extraordinaire—sister-in-law dies…" I shake my head and look at Tris who is standing there stunned, but not stunned enough to not want answers, apparently. "She was the wife of your driver, sister of your zhen-infused yogic guru, devoted friend of your ex-girlfriend…and you can't fit it into your most-likely cliché-up-the-ass schedule—"_

 _"You're quite right, Lynn."_

 _I flinch and land right into Will's lap as Amar had suddenly appeared like a rabbit out of hat right behind Four._

 _"Jesus, Amar—"_

 _"Our dear friend, Four, couldn't have possibly fit it into his indeed clichéd schedule. Why, with all the work he did—driving me to the hospital when I was unfit, allowing my husband to literally sob on his shoulder while holding him in an embrace without thinking twice, consoling my mother-in-law with wise words about shared sadnesses for hours in a hospital grief room, and making sure we were all fed and properly hydrated upon arriving at home."_

 _I glance at Four's stoic face as he draws circles on the table with his index finger, his ears still a shocking shade of red—none of it deters from the rock that has landed hard in my gut._

 _"And, as odd as it sounds," Amar continues in a light creepy tone of voice. "We were all shockingly unprepared for Tori's death—logistically speaking. So, Four, with the utmost care and kindness did a favor that is beyond anything Bud, George, or Sue could repay—he made all post-passing arrangements."_

 _I try to reign in my eyes popping out of my head by moving them toward Tris, instead, who I see is burning a hole in Four's cerebral cortex._

 _"Yes, I can see this is a surprise to you, my dear," Amar says, still addressing only me. "As surprising as the fact that my protégé requested a Chaplain to pray over Tori and ourselves. Of course, Four quietly exited the room, allowing us our family moment much to Sue's protests. What am I missing…? Oh, yes. In addition, he acquired the proper information for Tori's obituary along with submitting it to The Tribune. He also made catering and subtle floral arrangements. And even helped Bud pick out a…fucking…urn," he rasps as I jump in my seat at the sudden venom in his voice. "Ahem, excuse my…moment."_

 _I nod my head as he leans in even more, now speaking to me only._

 _"Without sharing any undeserved information, I can only tell you that death is a very difficult subject for my friend here, and I thought he had had quite enough of it. So, when he excused himself from the funeral I gladly acquiesced. Now, do you have a problem with that?"_

 _"No," I whisper more immediately than I care to, feeling shame rain down on me._

 _My eyes skirt the table and I can now see that people are practically squirming in their seats out of discomfort, except Four who is as still as a statue and staring resolutely at Tris. Man, their eyes are locked…like, locked-locked. She shakes her head and backs up a few steps before hitting the road back to bury herself in the office._

 _"Soooo…Four?" I begin, kicking at his heel with my foot while also kicking myself for acting like Christina—all up in people's business. "What can I getcha?"_

 _"Oh, I got this one, pal! An apology. Is that on the menu?" Matthew asks, turning his cocktail menu from right-side up to upside down. "Ah…yes! Here it is…" He moves the menu away from his face, faking far-sightedness. "…a scintillating concoction of acknowledgment, admission infused with atonement and a garnish of pure mea culpa. He'll take that one…right there." He points to the nonexistent upside down description. "Oh, and…make it a double. Right, buddy?"_

 _Feeling like the biggest bitch ever, I decide to suck it up and take my punishment._

 _"Single Barrel on the rocks. Extra ice, please," Four groans, running his hands down his face._

 _I stand there awkwardly for a moment, willing the words 'I'm sorry' to appear out of my mouth. But, Four is out of his chair and on his way to Tori's office before I can get them out._

 _"Shit," I breath out turning toward Will and Zoe, realizing I'm still on Will's lap. I rest my elbow on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. "Okay, seriously…everyone," I look over my shoulder at the rest of the table. "I know it's 50 degrees out today, but at least wait for a solid 55 before you bust out the tanning oil."_

* * *

"Was it…seeing…Four…" Tris trails off, repeating my words. "I believe you were the one who _made_ it difficult. Which you have yet to explain to me why the sudden disdain. You never hated him before. In fact, I had always thought you admired him…or, at least, tolerated his existence."

"I…told…you—his spontaneous exodus affected… _people._ "

She raises her brown eyebrow at me in doubt, rightfully so—I've been pouring half-truths like a lakefront bar pours Shandy on draught.

"Put that rogue little caterpillar down." I point directly above her left eye socket. "Shauna hasn't been the same, not that you'd know that," I add, just to twist the knife. "Zeke hasn't been the same—"

"Oh, you give a shit about Zeke?" she asks laughing lightly, putting on her Felix Grays which make her look like the hipster she isn't.

"He's going to be my family-in-law, so I have to start at some point—What?!" I about yell at her stifled laugh. "I need to start sometime! I'm not heartless, you know."

"You act heartless."

"Fine. I am partially heartless," I admit. "I just…don't have time for bullshit. And there's a lot of bullshit that comes along with Zeke Pedrad."

"Hmmph."

"Speaking of bullshit," I continue, realizing I have succeeded in deflecting my reason about my behavior toward Four. "I only have so much more time for you to tell me what's going on with you." I look at my nonexistent wrist watch. "You have 30 seconds. Go."

She flits her eyes toward me as I stand with my arms crossed, impatiently hoping that I enticed her by only wanting the basics under a time crunch. "Dating is…total…bullshit," she says dragging her words as if she's exhausted.

"You're sick of this guy already? It's only been like a week! Oh, God is he a Stage 5 clinger? Kick him to the curb," I answer for her, ready to retreat—

"Ha ha. _I'm_ feeling like the Stage 5 clinger. God! I want to see him…all the time, like…all…the…time, but I can't because _'We're dating,'"_ she says using fake quotes with a nasally snarky tone.

"What are you talking about? See him as often as you want."

"Wouldn't that be nice," she grumbles, looking up at the dusty ceiling.

"You know I can't handle vague, Prior. And before we attempt further torture, what the hell is his name?"

She sighs, squinting her creepy blues at me as if she's sizing me up. "I fucked up…last time. I rushed things and it ended badly and—"

"Jesus! Are we talking Four now? Is he going to define this relationship? Not healthy, sister!"

"I disagree," she quips, moving papers around to appear busy.

"You cannot use Four as your baseline—not with your guys' history. Wait. Oh, no… You're not over him, are you?" I whine, controlling my feet so I don't stomp them.

She shrugs. "Nope."

It's nothing I didn't already know, but…just like the sex on the couch—now it's real. Except I can't drown myself in sanitizer to make it go away. _God, if they get back together_ … I sigh, only being able to imagine the hatred Tris would have for me if she found out how I had misled Four. But, he…he left with some hussy old lady! No word! No au revoir! She was just starting to get her shit together!... See? Now I feel better!

"Then…how are you possibly into this guy? And again…what is his _name?!"_ I ask, sick of calling him 'he' and 'him' or any other bullshit pronoun.

"You're never gonna believe it," she chuckles.

I frown so hard I can feel the premature wrinkles forming on my forehead. "Ummm…unless it's Darth Vader, Willy Wonka or Magic Mike…I think I'll be…just fine."

"Tobias," she says, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.

I think I actually guffaw at hearing that Quaker-Mennonite-Amishly inspired name. "Are you serious? Well, that's a big ole slap in the face from the King of Coincidence and then a follow-up from the Queen of Irony. How is that possible?"

"His parents made that possible…when they named him."

"Isn't that…weird? I mean, especially since ya just told me you aren't over…original Tobias." _That name…does not suit him._ "Is that like living in a state of constant reminder?"

"It…is a reminder," she agrees, putting her feet up on the edge of Tori's desk.

"Does he know about Four?"

"Yes."

"What about the _extent_ of Fourness in your life?"

"Not sure what you mean by that, but…I'm just gonna say yes."

"Whoa." I _hate_ hearing about any of Sof's ex-girlfriends. I literally cringe, thinking about the tall brunette, Cybil, who Sofi dated for three…whole…years before me.

"Put it this way. He's kind of in the same boat as me." She covers her face in her hands out of obvious shame.

"Dude. No," I deadpan. "A tag team rebound? That's just two balls bouncin' off each other. How the hell is that gonna work-out? You know I have to call him Toby #2, right?"

"Please, don't," she groans into her hands.

"God, what's he _like_? I'm not feelin' like he's a catch…"

She pulls her hands away and gives me a good sigh-growl. "Well, you're wrong…as usual. He's deceivingly sweet. He's a romantic, but he denies it. He's funny…in a I'm-not-trying-to-be-funny way. He has the _best_ smile—"

"Stop right there," I hold up both hands, knowing I've heard all I need to. "You're dating the anti-Four."

"No, I'm…definitely not."

"Yep. Four is the opposite of everything you just said. Next, you're going to tell me Toby #2 lives in the suburbs—perfectly designed custom home, commutes to work but not before stopping at the local café for his gourmet brew, a work-out regimen consists of jogging the square blocks and admiring the flower boxes," I comment, sarcastically…until I hear the classic Prior stifle. "No..."

"He lives in Oak Park, and…everything else you just said, except the flower box part."

"You're dating a suburbanite?! Nope. End it. This screams marriage, kids, and a golden retriever. Those dogs suck! They think they're people! You better run this shit by the good Doctor. She'll set you straight."

"You are more interested in me than you've been in your _entire_ …life. What the hell is up with you?"

"30 seconds is up. Adiós."

* * *

 **AN: I'm sorry about the lack of TnT in this chapter. Seeing secondary character perceptions is a big part of the story, so that's that. The next chapter is written, but I'm going camping this weekend, so it won't be out til next week. I'm shootin' for Tuesday. And a big thank you for your patience! If I could sit down and write all day, I would, but this summer was a killer!**


	35. Fired

**Chapter 35 - Fired**

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

I sip my coffee slowly as I make the two-block trek from Marion Street to Dr. Ramos's house, making sure to step on each sidewalk paver, knowing it will slow me down, possibly even make me late, but basically just postponing the inevitable—Dr. Ramos is going to let me go, I just know it. I sigh, remembering my blabbering and blubbering, and incoherence, and erratic movements, and all-around bats in the belfry behavior. All that aside—because I'm sure she's used to nutjobs such as myself—the fact that I know Evey, has to be some HIPPA conflict of interest or other or something.

Maybe I can squeeze in as much as possible with this last session—summarize everything from the past week. But, what to keep and what to lose? Jesus, with everything that has happened this week, it could take me a good months-worth of chaise time to get it all out.

I shove my left hand in my pocket, feeling the crinkle of the note I had read and reread until I have every nuance of script stamped into my brain. _Tris—Magnini and Proctor, LTD. 1267 W. Harvard 12:00 next Wednesday. –Bud_

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I walk back and forth in Tori's office, trying to control my breathing, and even more importantly, trying to control my suddenly errant as fuck mind._ Tobias arranged…everything?! Should I be mad? Is this a betrayal? Should I be grateful? Should I be relieved? Disappointed? Happy? Confused—

 _"I'm right here."_

 _I whip around, delivering my own bout of personal whiplash to see that Tobias had slipped into the room without my noticing._

 _"Just thought…you should know. Before you start saying really bad things about me," he says softly, shifting his weight. "You talk to yourself, a lot, so…"_

 _I swallow the words 'No, I don't,' and instead wipe the unwelcome tears off my chin and bite my bottom lip because I'm unable to control its trembling. I walk toward the shelf unit along the back wall, pretending to be occupied while simultaneously filing away the image of him in a dark navy suit, looking at me with anticipation, slightly disheveled from his workday—a sight I'd welcome any day of the week for a lifetime._

 _"I didn't tell you," he begins. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want…anyone…to know."_

 _I turn to face him, crossing my arms and holding my head as high as is possible, even though, shrinking into myself would be preferable. I had avoided talking about Tori since Tobias's appearance this week because I had honestly thought it was fairly shitty of him to not show up for the funeral while at the same time grateful that he hadn't. Explaining that madness to Tobias would have been impossible._

 _"You're really good at deciding what I should and shouldn't know," I state, hypocritically, Bud's note sitting plain as day on Tori's desk—the note I have no intention of sharing._

 _I watch his Adam's apple move and his pupils twitch, the one thing he does that tells me I've hit a nerve of some sort.  
_

 _"It wasn't about you. It was about me…not wanting…credit because, honestly, I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I know how bad that sounds, but proximity wise, it's the truth. I was in the office when Amar literally stumbled in. He couldn't even talk…" he trails off, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean, I knew you'd find out eventually, but I didn't think I'd be around to see it. And, well, the last few days…I got the distinct impression you didn't want to talk about Tori anyway."_

 _"And how do you know that?" I ask._

 _"Because I asked you if you wanted to talk about Tori…and you said 'no.'"_

 _"Oh," I remark shortly, glancing up at his raised eyebrows. I only slightly remember his question, having been dizzy on wine, Robert Downey, Jr., and foot rubs. "I was…distracted." Then, I see the semi-sheepish look in his eyes. "Which is why you chose that moment."_

 _"I wanted to ask you about it, so you knew that I cared. But, I didn't really want to talk about it," he mutters.  
_

 _I can feel my face soften and I take a step toward him._

 _"No, stay," he orders. "Let me tell you_ why _before you…get all…whatever." He rolls his eyes, sensing the pity I was about to show him. "It was hard because I saw people grieve…like, actually grieve. It wasn't a show—an unrecognizable body in a casket." He clears his throat, but it was a dry unnecessary distraction, not a physical reflex. Most likely a reaction to the imprint his mother's corpse left in his youthful mind. "It was real. I saw, firsthand, what functional people go through when their loved one dies. Not the here-one-minute, in-a-box the next, but the true steps—I saw the whole thing. And I felt…better." He smiles curtly and then runs his hand down his face._

 _Then I understand it—he's ashamed. I walk toward him even though he purses his lips and backs up a few steps. He doesn't get far though before I slide my arms under his jacket and around his torso, holding him tight, contrary to his stoicism._

 _"Stop feeling so damned…guilty…for how you feel," I murmur, resting my cheek on his shirt and taking a deep breath. It's not his fresh morning scent which pretty much makes me ovulate—thank God for birth control—it's the one that's original only to him. A mix of leather, pencil shavings, and a barely-there hint of his aftershave, coupled with whatever musky scent that seeps from his pores straight into the semi-wrinkled shirt._ I can't believe I went without this for months…

 _"It's not right—me feeling that way. When so many people were devastated, I was…observing," he chuckles in self-deprecation. "Observing in…fucking wonder at the mark Tori left on people, and…_ loving _…the possibility that my mother left that same mark. Even that mere possibility, made me feel...slightly less…broken." He groans, resting his chin on my head with a thump._ Ouch.

 _I furrow my eyebrows and look up at him, my eyes watering at his entirely blatant and not forced admission. The female talk-it-out-til-we-die nature in me wants to point it out to him, but my knowledge of his personality overrides it—he would hate it. I kind of hate it—knowing that I had wanted him so badly to be real and forthcoming about his past. But, he hadn't been able to do it with me. It makes me wonder if my absence in his life was the catalyst._

 _"This is…a new face," he remarks, running his thumb down my cheek. "Dare I ask what you're thinking?"_

 _"Just…" There's no way I can be honest with him about this yet. "Thank you. I…thank you. Not me. I'm not thanking you. But, Bud is. I only say 'not me' because Tori wasn't technically family, so…I don't really have a right to say thank you. But, Amar, Bud, George, Sue…they totally do…thank you. They do. I'm sure of it. So, thank you…on their behalf."_

 _The back and forth motion of his eyes as he searches mine is near dizzying. So, I just put a little distance between the two of us, him grabbing my fingers, lacing them tightly. I look down at our hands and swing them back and forth slightly._

 _"That's a new take on what 'family' means to you," he murmurs. "Thought we had…cleared that up…once." He squeezes my fingers but doesn't look at me._

 _I squeeze them back, but, all I can think is how I had to reevaluate that. Caleb is my family—a constant in my life whether he likes it or not. No one else qualifies for that._

* * *

"Family," I mumble, shaking my head at Bud's note. Did Tori consider me family? I laugh at the likelihood of that, also because I know the _exact_ shitty reason why I'm being summoned to that lawyer's office—"Ah! Oh, God," I moan, clutching my nose from the blunt force it just experienced.

"Oh, crap!" yells a faint young voice to my left. "

I open my right eye since my left doesn't seem to work and see a blurry image running toward me. "Are you okay, ma'am?! I'm so sorry!" The sound of a kid with impeccable manners—apart from the ma'am thing—rings in my ears. I grab his arm before I lose my equilibrium.

"What _was_ that?" I groan, still holding my nose.

"Um…" He scratches the back of his head. "A football? Please, don't tell my abuelit—my grandma!"

"Uh…don't know your grandma."

"Oh, double crap!" he sighs, scrubbing at his face, making his ruddy cheeks even ruddier. "Don't tell her I told you not to tell her! Don't even tell her you saw me!" he points into Dr. Ramos's office. "And especially don't tell her I'm not wearin' a coat!"

"Ohhhhhhhh—"

"Shh!"

"Oh," I whisper in correction. "Dr. Ramos is your…grandma…" I trail off, just now noticing how handsome this little punk is—in a boyish, mischievous way.

He's kind of a scrawny kid, with ears that stick out just a little too far. His hair is a deep caramelish brown and messy, and it's painfully obvious he's going to go through an awkward stage at some point, but that he'll come out swingin' in the end.

"Yeah. But, I'm not supposed to be out front…and I'm… _really…_ not supposed to have a football. My mom won't let me play," he says as if this is the disappointment of a lifetime.

"I happen to agree," I remark rubbing my nose, jokingly.

He smirks and kicks at the ground. "So, you won't…tell her?"

I laugh lightly at the little shit. "Tell who what?" I ask, walking past him nonchalantly.

The poor kid deflates like a relieved balloon and then smiles brightly. And, as weird as it sounds, I could swear my heart skips a beat.

"My name's Toby, by the way," he whispers in secret.

"I'm Tris," I respond, mimicking him.

"Cool name."

"Yours too."

He waves goodbye to me with a conspiring wink—he actually winked—backing away like the child version of the Pink Panther…totally lacking in stealth.

"Evey is in trooouuuuble," I mutter, thinking about how the kid's charm is only going to increase ten-fold as he gets older.

I open the door, the familiar smell of a comfortable home hitting me hard—one where people eat meals together, burn scented candles for ambiance at night, drink tea, have actual conversations, arguments, and celebrate holidays. It fucking pisses me off; but, only on account of envy. Walking the few steps to Dr. Ramos's office, I see a shadow of movement under the door to what I assume is the kitchen, and it makes me wonder if Evey is here. But, I'm quickly distracted as I hear Dr. Ramos humming in her office.

"Here goes," I breathe out taking a quick left. "Hey…there!" I sing-song like the moronic version of Mary Poppins.

"Tris," she sighs, slouching her shoulders. "I'm—"

"Okay, just…wait." I put my hands in front of me so she won't come any closer…even though she's still seated at her desk. "Am I fired? Just, tell me. I can take it." I close my eyes as the embarrassment oozes from my orifices, and all I hear is a deep exhale. "Oh, God. I am, aren't I?" I whine.

"No. You most certainly…are not. I'm actually relieved you came." She stands, walking closer to me which she never does.

My eyes flit to my painting as it stares at me over her shoulder. "You canceled on me, last Friday," I say with a more mature tone. "And, you don't seem to be the canceling type."

"I'm not." She takes my hand and encloses it in hers. "I apologize."

"Was it the Evey thing? I swear I didn't know she was your daughter. And…well, shit, even if I did…does it matter? I can sign something or—"

"No need," she interrupts, letting go of my hand and walking over to her chair. "It was just new territory for Evey and me. She had never referred patients to me before. There is a lot of gray area there."

"Oh. What kind of grey area? It's not like you two can compare notes, right? Or…can you?" I inquire, moving over to the chaise.

"Only with your permission," she says while heaving the chair toward me.

"Well, compare away because, between the two of you, you both probably know me better than I know myself…inside and out." I laugh awkwardly at my double meaning, but Dr. Ramos doesn't seem to share my jest. "Anyway, thank you for still seeing me."

"You're welcome. So, how have you been?" She seats herself in her usual pose—feet curled up to the side.

"Good," I squeak, not knowing where to start.

She appraises me, resting her cheek in her hand. "That was an… _intense_ session last time…"

I wait for her to finish her sentence, but she almost seems at a loss. _Maybe it's my turn? Yes. I'll go._ "I'm…sorry?"

"That is nothing to apologize for, Tris. It seemed like a breakthrough for you."

"Yeah. You could say that," I chuckle, thinking about how my 'breakthrough' ended up leading me to Tobias's house.

The unbelievingness that still goes through my head almost every time I think about him is both exhilarating and debilitating. Although, this week it has been bordering on debilitating.

I'm suddenly distracted by that weird feeling of being cold in a very, very, warm room. I steal a glance to the right to see my painting looking at me…hauntingly as if it's challenging me to say _"Look, Ramos! I painted that! It's mine, and you can't have it!"_ But, that doesn't feel quite right because it almost seems to belong there at the same time. It never exactly made sense why I painted it in the first place.

"Do you ever do things and have no logical reason why you do them?" I ask, moving my head back and forth, the eyes in the picture following me.

"Yes," she chuckles at my movements. "Do you?"

"I paint portraits of people without any intention of giving it to them, and I choreograph dances without any intention of showing them," I respond, equally aloof as if I'm floating above the conversation.

"Sign of an artist. You're selfish."

I turn my head at her comment, my attention returning.

"You create because you _have_ to create. You don't do it to share with the world." Dr. Ramos looks at me seriously while I try to process that. "You don't agree?"

"Um… I guess I've never really thought about it in such a dramatic way. I mean, I dance because I'm good, and I paint or draw or whatever because I love it."

She smiles almost wryly and turns in her chair, her eyes scanning the expanse of art on her walls, landing right in the middle. For a moment, I wonder if she's going to call me out on _my_ painting—something in her eyes tells me she knows something… I shrug it off because she's never seen any of my work, so how could she? Plus, it's so different from anything I've ever done.

"You're quite talented," she whispers, lingering on the one that seems to be her favorite—the cone.

"Can't accept that compliment because you've never seen…my stuff…"

"I certainly have."

I look at her quizzically, trying to figure out how that would be possible—"Oh! My sketchbook? That's…yeah…no. Not at my best there."

I chuckle, thinking about the entirely undetailed and incredibly haphazard drawings of nonsensical colors, wisps, whatever landscape appeared in my convoluted head to the best of my limited ability, people—I could never bring myself to draw Tobias, although his presence, spiritual and otherwise, always seemed to be there. And then, the mystery woman…but she was constantly changing—fluid and non-descript on paper.

An awkward moment seems to pass between the two of us and I can't help but feel that Dr. Ramos is either holding back a question, or trying to find the right words. Either way, it's so unlike her.

"Sooooo, Tris. How do you feel when…" She clears her throat, sitting up straighter. "When… when you aren't doing either of those…things?"

"How do I…feel…? How do I… Shittyish or shittier. No. Crappy. I feel crappy. Shitty is just too strong of a word."

She nods her head. "At our last session, you had mentioned that you revisited your work. Do you think it's something you'd like to pursue again?"

"Revisited my work," I repeat. "The letter I _happened upon_ kind of overshadowed my purpose."

"What…was your purpose?"

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to…make sure my art was still there—that it didn't spontaneously combust," I chuckle.

"That's very good."

"How does a contrived belief in spontaneous combustion seem _good_?" I inquire, catching her as she stares off for a moment.

"Oh. Um…yes. I suppose it…doesn't."

A part of me screams " _Holy shit, Dr. Ramos get on your game!_ " But, based on my own sheer progress—100% on account of her—I decide to chalk her behavior up to a bad day. "So," I continue, taking the lead. "Can I tell you about…the letter? I need your advice on whether or not I handled it…proper—"

"Letter?" she asks in a hi-pitched voice as if she has no memory of it.

"Yeaaahhh? Busted the backing on a painting? Then came to see you and went a little off the rails?" I try to jog her memory, unbelievably so.

She sighs and adjusts herself in her seat. We make eye contact as I wait for her permission—a follow-up from our last session and her suggestion of 'getting answers.' As it stands now, I still don't have answers about why Tobias wrote it. The desire to ask him ebbed and flowed this past week, but the romantic part of me decided to keep it a secret—hide away the fact that I know something about Tobias that is intimate and raw. He had nothing to gain from writing that, it was pure truth—truth that is all mine.

"Ooookay…well, first, the picture is being rebacked. It's costing me an arm and a leg, but, worth it, considering the…context, right?"

"The context… Oh, yes. The context. The Bridge. Your experience. Yes," she fumbles. "Rebacking. Sounds like physical and emotional closure—putting a disturbing event behind you." Her robotic tone makes her sound like she's using textbook psychology on me.

"Well, that wasn't exactly my intention." I think of my own little added flair as an additional deterrent from being forthcoming with my knowledge of the letter's existence.

"Mmm hmm," she hums distractedly as if she didn't just hear a word I said and the painting itself is unimportant. Maybe she's right.

"So, in a major turn of events, the _author_ of the supposedly hidden letter showed up on—or I showed up on—his…doorstep." I feel suddenly flushed, remembering the exact moment I saw Tobias—

"Tobias?" Dr. Ramos says in a dumbfounded way, almost worse than me.

"Yep. This face your making, was equally matched to my own. Tobias…James…Eaton in the flesh…," I trail off, the word 'flesh' sounding oddly erotic when it comes to Tobias—like how the flesh of his ass hollows as he thrusts—I shake my head before an actual groan comes out of me. Good thing…because Dr. Ramos is looking at me like I'm nuts. "Uh, sorry. Anyway, it could possibly be the weirdest story in history, but…I left here a mess, as you probably remember," I explain, gesturing to the door. "And, stumbled my way through your neighborhood, literally, stopping right in front of his house."

"Is that so?" she chokes out, clearing her throat loudly.

"It is definitely…so. The barn house on Rigby—well, it used to be a barn. It's about three blocks and around some corners that-a-way." I throw my hands haphazardly in the general direction of Tobias's house, which I have full intention of walking to after this session.

My near-daily stealth mission is starting to become an unhealthy obsession. I don't know why I feel the need to check on it. I know I'm kind of a shit for not accepting his key and plugging my ears, singing _99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall_ when he was telling me the garage code while also deleting his text and ripping up the piece of paper he discreetly slipped into my jeans pocket the other day. It just doesn't feel right—it's his house, not mine. But, I have no problem being sneaky and gaping quite thoroughly from the outside.

"Do you know the house?" I ask, taking note of Dr. Ramos's wide eyes, that are thoroughly freaking me out. "Should I…keep going?"

"Sure," she breathes out.

"Uh, okay…? I…kind of…don't even know where to start. Uh—can I just say that we're together and I'm stoked but still not convinced that it's real?"

"Together," she states quietly, making me second guess whether she was addressing herself or me. She seems very much in her head.

"Well, just _dating…_ " I roll my eyes at Tobias's terrible idea which I fully embraced. "…unfortunately."

"Uh huh…"

I huff out a breath. "You think this is bad, don't you?"

She shakes her head only slightly, but it's enough to put me on the defensive.

"It's just that we want to get to know each other…again. But, geez, he already knows _me_ really, really, well—like, one sideways glance and he's read my mind. It's infuriating…even though, I have the same talent. But…he hides things better than I do. He should have a permit for conceal-carry-of-one's emotions," I chuckle, nervously. "Anyway, so what sounded like an amazing idea has been amazing, but frustrating at the same time. Yet, a great way for me to not have to tell him…things…and for me not to hear about…things."

"Things…" She keeps trailing off like this is too much to process. _Who the hell am I to judge? I'm still processing!_

"Yep, _things._ He was in a relationship with someone when he left. It broke me. I don't want to be rebroken. And I don't want to break him which is exactly what I'd do." I throw my hands up, landing them hard on my thighs, my eyes, yet again, meeting Tobias's in the picture. I purse my lips to the point of pain and force myself to turn my head back to Dr. Ramos. "Are you feeling…okay?" I ask, based on the amount of furrowness going on in her brow. "You seem… I don't know how you seem."

"I'm…at a bit of loss," she mumbles.

"Oh." I pull at my fingers, making my knuckles pop, wishing Tobias were here to rest his hand on mine, signaling me to calm down. Then I figure out why she may be lost. " _He_ was the reason for my sudden downward spiral. I'm sorry I never told you that. I wasn't trusting…anybody at that point. I'm sure you sensed that at the time. Right?"

"I did." She puts her feet on the floor and leans her elbows on her knees, looking at me with concern.

"When he left, I felt unreasonably abandoned and scared. We were broken up, _I_ broke us up, so it shouldn't have affected me like that; but, it did. I hate that it drove me over the edge. I felt stupid and weak—like an overdramatic hysterical teenager. I needed him gone from my mind—thus my rock-bottom incident."

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _I wake, if I'd call this 'wake,' with a familiar feeling—as if I've been asleep for a millennium, but my mind only equates it to a decent ten seconds. Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to focus on the whiteness in front of me, but my eyelids just get heavier again. Unable to fight them, I relent, exhaling a breath in relief. I move my toes, not enjoying the restrictive feeling of tight sheets…along with the sweaty stuffy feeling of…socks…_ Socks? _Then I hear the beeping._ That noise… _And the ache in my side._ That ache… _And it all comes back to me—a loud smack, and then suddenly the grey cover of my journal is inches from my face…until it's gone, and all I see is the 1990s gold ceiling fan and the water spots around it. I can both feel and hear a thud on my face. The sound is worse as it's coupled with the beeping. And now they're in synch, and I'm trapped entirely unable to move. My arms are tethered. I just wish I would die._ I want to die… Get it over with. Just get it over with—

 _"What are you DOING?!" A loud, bitchy voice rings in my ear, pulling me out of the torture, even though a part of me wanted to endure it if were a means to an end. "GET OFF HER!"_

 _"Lynn! I will handle this!"_

 _I groan, still being mentally antagonized by the beeping, and accosted by memories. The feeling that I'm letting go of someone or something familiar. Letting go of a dream…supplementing it for a terrible reality. I try to fight it—to make the noises stop, bring back whatever feeling of peace, unwilling to face what's to come._

 _"No, restraints! Xavier, I mean it! MOVE!"_

 _Enveloped. That's how I suddenly feel. And shockingly secure. I rest my forehead enjoying the slowing sound of the beeping and the all-encompassing pressure. The rocking is nice too._

 _"I'm not sure what's happening here, but how long until it's over?"_

 _I lift my head, ready to acknowledge Lynn's stupid snark when I realize it was resting on someone's shoulder. I recoil slightly, not understanding what's happening as I take in my_

 _surroundings—I'm in a hospital room._

 _"Tris."_

 _I look in shock at Evey, who is now gripping me by the shoulders, right in my face. I cover my mouth, not wanting to scream out loud even though it couldn't possibly be louder than the screaming that's going on in my head. But a bolt of pain shoots right into my ribs at the sharp movement of my right arm. "Ah, ah, ah—"_

 _"Tris, look at me. Look at me now."_

 _I shake my head, not wanting to know what the hell happened or how the hell I got here because it's going to be terrible. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know what happened. Please don't tell me. Please, please, please. I can't do it again—"_

 _"There is no again. There is no…again. Tris, I promise. Look at me."_

 _Some deep-seated urge forces me to look into her brown eyes. They've always seemed so familiar. As if I'd met them before… I bet I could draw them._

 _"You're fine. Give me your hand." She takes my limp left hand and attempts to put it on my right ribcage, but I pull it away, not needing further evidence._

 _"I wish…he had…just…killed me, this time—"_

 _"Prior, we don't even know who the hell did this! And I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say? Tell me you did not say you wished you were murdered. Evey, call psych—"_

 _"That's enough, Lynn," Evey says in her even-toned voice, her hand lain on Lynn's shoulder._

 _I look left and right, the pressure of two warm bodies on either side of my bed. I feel like a book that's been on a shelf for way too long—the fear that I may fall apart if one of my bookends is removed. Evey takes my hand more securely pulling it to my ribcage, pressing the tips of my fingers down before I yank them away. But, whereas the feeling of a large protrusion of swelling, stitches, and bandages was the expected sensation, what I got was nothing but skin._

 _"There's inflammation from your old injury. That's the pain you feel."_

 _I move my fingers around just to be sure. All I feel is the scar from my chest_ _ _tube—an old wound that seems new again._ I nod my head in partial understanding._

 _"Xavier, page Dr. Chavez, please."_

 _I watch after the nurse I didn't even know was still there, as Evey urges me to lean back. I look down at the I.V. in my arm, and the little finger-clamp thing, the empty feeling of one of my bookends retreating makes me feel cold but resolved all the same because I didn't fall apart._

 _"What happened?" I whisper to Lynn while Evey messes with whatever is on the beeping-beeping-beeping-beeping monitor._

 _"Evie here—"_

 _"Evey."_

 _"You know who you are," Lynn quips to Evey over her shoulder. "She just gave you a hug to last a lifetime."_

 _I glance at Evey as she sighs, taking note of the flush of her cheeks on her pale skin. "She was having a panic attack. I did what…anyone would do." She shrugs it off, plainly._

 _"Mmm hmmm, yeah. Okay, Nurse Checks-a-lot."_

 _"Is she always like this?" Evey asks, the redness still in her face._

 _"Yes." I can't help but smirk at Evey having been here. There's something about her that signals comfort to me._

 _"So, anyway, where shall we start…? Ah, yes. How about when Sofi and I found you shaking like the last leaf before the Ice Age hit? Or…maybe when you were speaking in cursive? Or was it hieroglyphics? I wasn't quite sure."_

 _I squint my eyes which does nothing but make me realize the extravagant headache that has decided to throw itself a party in my brain._

 _"Tris," Lynn says with a softer voice, possibly sensing my unrest, but, most likely not. "You didn't know where you were or where you'd been. You were like Lady Wolverine after taking a bullet to the brain—memory wipe. Except way-less-chill, and way-more-scary, and screechy and—"_

 _"Hello, Tris. I'm Dr. Chavez. How are you feeling?"_

 _"Crazy," Lynn answers for me._

 _"I don't know…what I…"_ I have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence.

 _"Your roommate brought you in because you were suffering from a severe Benzodiazepine overdose."_

 _"I—"_

 _"Do you remember how much you took?"_

 _"Overdose?" I ask for clarification, watching his detachment unfold right in front of me as he flips through whatever the shit is on his tablet. "I didn't…take…" I purse my lips, as it clicks. "I took two Lorazepam." The shame washes over me—not because I took two Lorazepam, but because I stole them from Lynn, and she'll never let me forget it. "But…only two—"_

 _"According to your roommate, it was Clonazepam."_

 _"What's—"_

 _"It's my…new…prescription," Lynn snarks, accenting the 'ew.'_

 _"You took four times the amount a woman of your size and stature can tolerate, in addition to the fact that you have developed no tolerance to it. You had alcohol in your system, no solids, were severely dehydrated, and based on your reaction to stimuli, quite fatigued."_

 _"She keeps herself…real…busy these days—"_

 _"Shut-up, Lynn," I growl, my head spinning from this information._

 _"Tris, you can deny visitors," Evey informs, eliciting a scowl from Lynn._

 _"We pumped your stomach to remove any chemical that hadn't been absorbed yet—not that there was much there—along with administering intravenous fluids to help flush out your bloodstream. We then gave you a drug to combat the effects," Dr. Something-Hispanic drones as if he were reading off a 6th-grade book report._

 _I rest my hand on my stomach, now feeling the fatigue of medical intrusion, and a rawness in my throat that hadn't been there before._

 _"You also re-aggravated an injury, and I say re-aggravated because I suspect it never quite healed. Did you complete proper physical therapy?"_

 _"How about the doctoral community—"_

 _"Medical."_

 _"Lynn," I growl._

 _"What? Two different things, oh ignorant one."_

 _"Mggghhh… How about the MEDICAL community not charge me 20 bucks for an Advil, and 12 grand for a quick jaunt in the back of the Devil's cart, and then maybe we can talk physical therapy," I comment like the bitch I am._

 _"And…she's back."_

 _I shoot Lynn a look, Evey's smirk nothing but an encouragement._

 _He reaches for the back of my dressing gown, just about throwing Lynn off the bed as I recoil from his graceless presence, looking to Evey for help._ Ugh…help. I hate it. _She nods in a let-him-do-his-job fashion._

 _"Sit up straight," he orders as I reluctantly do what I'm told, his probing fingers and emotionless stare sucking the life out of my pride. "Serious swelling and bruising."_

 _"How?" I ask to no one in particular._

 _"My expertise doesn't reach into the personal realm. Now, you'll need to stay overnight—"_

 _"Hell, no."_

 _"Let me be clear," he continues as if he were expecting my response. "You had lost nearly all motor function. You suffered from severe respiratory depression and your blood pressure dropped to near-fatally low levels. In rare cases overdosing on Clonazepam will lead to coma and possibly death. The chances of this are increased if combined with another downer such as alcohol which, as I had mentioned, we found in your system. That was you…only hours ago. So, as I said, you'll need to stay overnight, Tris." He closes out of whatever is on his tablet. "Evey, Tris, whoever-you-are," he nods his head at each of us and exits the room, leaving me feeling like a brainless idiot._

 _I moan, numbers flashing in my mind—numbers preceded by dollar signs. "I am…so screwed," I say to myself. "And isn't he just a bundle of joy."_

 _"He's an ER doctor," Evey reminds me. "It's not in his job description."_

 _I feel Lynn's glare from the chair she has made herself comfortable in. "What?! I didn't mean to take it! I thought it was just Lorazepam."_

 _"That you took with alcohol," she deadpans. "And I'm sure you were drinking on the job before you got home."_

 _"It works…faster," I grit out, giving Evey the side-eye, knowing my defense of benzo usage will not be tolerated by her. "And anyway, I'm sure what you're really pissed about was that I stole from your stash."_

 _"Nope. Plenty more where that came from, especially since I am a non-abuser and have a legitimate prescription."_

 _"I'm…not…an abuser—"_

 _"Where the fuck did you go anyway last night? Wherever it was, must have been stupid."._

 _"What do you mean? I came home and went to bed!"_

 _"Sof and I found you curled up in your everyday unnecessary active wear_ _—seriously time to rethink your wardrobe—shivering and clawing at yourself like a drowning cat. And you were freezing, like you had just been outside," Lynn informs suddenly just as confused as me._

 _"Mental confusion is comorbid with a Clonazepam OD."_

 _"Huh?" Lynn and I both say at the same time._

 _"Comorbid means they go hand-in-hand. Symptoms of amnesia are common—not remembering your name or how you got to the location you're at. Also, fear and aggression."_

 _"Nailed it, Avery."_

 _"Evey—"_

 _"Oh, yeah…and your purse was emptied—emptied-emptied."_

 _"I was…mugged?" I groan again, my stupid rib-cage lighting on fire. "Was I…assaulted?" I whisper under my breath._

 _"It's possible. Probable in my opinion, especially if you fought back—"_

 _"Which you know you did," Lynn interjects. "But…could have been a lot worse…idiot."_

 _I nod my head, knowing she's right as I acknowledge the all-too-familiar feeling of the unknown—the emptiness and confusion brought on by the knowledge of ignorance. The word 'inconclusive' flashes in my head like a neon sign._

 _"Hey, let's upside this shit. At least, now maybe you can upgrade your phone. Or Santiago can just get you a burner."_

 _"My phone?"_

 _"Ummm…yeah. When I said your purse was emptied-emptied, I meant it."_

 _My heart clenches. I hadn't backed up my phone in ages, and my Cloud storage was full._

 _Every picture—gone. Every screenshot taken of texts that I couldn't bear to be deleted forever—gone. There weren't many of either—only the ones I deemed forever memorable, hoping that someday I could look back on them and smile with a fond remember-when awareness. But they're gone—more of Tobias…just gone._

* * *

"You…remember that…little incident?" I ask timidly. _Yuck. Timid sucks._

Dr. Ramos nods slowly.

"Well, it made me think about him even more, ya know, considering his mother and all… God, if he ever found out…" I shake my head, pulling at my fingers again. "I thought about him, Tobias, a lot when I was in the hospital, even though he was with someone else… I was pretty pathetic," I admit. "I wanted to think he still cared about me…a little. And I kept thinking that if I had died, he would have had to live with the knowledge that two of the women who loved him left him in the same way. I know it didn't make sense at the time because technically I had already left him, but…the finality of death, ya know? Death in that way…"

Dr. Ramos's face pales at the mention of death, and I realize I had never given her enough details to know that I could have died.

"Sorry," I mumble, hoping she understands why I'm apologizing. "I'm almost afraid it would be a deal breaker if he found out now. He is so, _not_ past his mother's death. Not that he _should_ get past it. There's just a lot of…unresolved stuff. Or maybe not. Hell, he may have gotten all that shit figured out in California, no thanks to me. Or…thanks to me, I guess." I sniff, realizing my emotions are about to get the better of me. "You see, the thing is…I would have been okay with dying…just like her," I say, the last few words hushed to a whisper.

I wipe under my eyes and grab a tissue from the box on the end table. Looking up, I hear shuffling at Dr. Ramos's desk, and see that she had gotten up from her chair.

"Tris, I…have to go," she says in a thick voice as if she were trying to talk and breathe through her mouth at the same time.

I glance at her clock and see that it's barely been fifteen minutes. "Did I get the time wrong?" I inquire, watching her riffle through random papers.

"No, no," she quips in a sing-songy voice. "I…double-booked. I need to be…at a, um, a house call. I have to…go. I need to go do a house call. It's an emergency."

"An emergency you knew about?"

"It just came up." She smiles slightly, with glossy eyes.

"But, you said you double-booked."

She takes a deep breath, exhaling with an open mouth. "I need to go."

 _I am…definitely fired._

* * *

 _ **AN:** Shorter chapter because I got carried away on the next one! If you're on Facebook, you can find me at **/nitewriter4** or search **Kris Daniels.** There's a private page and a public page. I apologize to everyone who isn't on FB. But, a tip I gave such a reader the other day who didn't want to open an acct because she didn't want to deal with all the friend requests: No one says you have to use your real name. Open an account and just friend my page and be done with it. Or not. No pressure!  
_

 _Thank you for reading!_


	36. Showmanship

**Chapter 36 - Showmanship**

* * *

 **Zeke's POV:**

I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling like a fool for 'needing some air' when the air is -1000 degrees. Getting off two bus stops early—big mistake. And it is absolutely not helping to take my mind off the bullshit all-precinct meeting about the soon-to-be-required body cams. Captain Matthews literally just sat there while two white cops who are well past the age of retirement decided to use my skin color as off-the-cuff, bullshit, random commentary. _'What we wouldn't give to be about ten shades darker! Eh, Pedrad?'_ I stared at them, not understanding what the hell my blackness had to do with body cams when the DA stepped in, _'Gentleman, contrary to your ignorance, one's race has nothing to do with one's ability or requirement to wear a body camera.'_ She's crooked as shit, but kind of a badass. I appreciated her straight-up answer but was pissed she even had to give it—even more pissed at the follow-up conversation I overheard from the break-out room on my way out about all the 'Matters' _—'What, people don't care about Blue Lives? Cops are dying in the street too! Since when does one race matter more? All lives matter!'_ Talkin' about it like it's some secret behind my back. _I…am…Black. This conversation is…le-gi-ti-mat-e-ly about…me! TALK…TO…ME!_ I sigh, knowing they never will…

"Jesus, some people just don't fuckin' get it. No one said _cops'_ lives _don't_ matter. No one said _all_ lives… _don't…matter!"_ I growl, kicking at a pile of salt on the sidewalk. "I mean, I like pepperoni pizza. It doesn't mean I _don't_ like sausage, it just means right now I'm bringin' my attention to this piece of pepperoni pizza right in front of me. It takes not a _damned_ thing away from delicious Italian sausage! It just so happens that brothers are getting shot at point blank _FUCKING_ range for having their tail lights out—"

"That's a heavy conversation to be having one-sided."

I stop in my tracks at the very very recognizable voice of my supposedly MIA thought-to-be best friend who is actually no longer MIA. _Should I bitch slap him or punch him in the face?_ "Well, it's a lot fucking easier that way," I say over my shoulder, not giving this asshole the ultimate satisfaction of turning around.

"Nice day packed full of non-racist people making racist remarks?"

"Well, it _is_ a Tuesday."

"It's Thursday."

"It was an _expression!"_ I grit with a clenched jaw, turning around ready to sock him.

He puts his hands up defensively like a little bitch. "And that was sarcasm!"

I look him over…ya know, in a way that men do—in a manly way. Dude has the same small smirk of a guy who knows he's smart, but would never say it; still looks older than his age, still ruggedly handsome in his dark jeans and grey coat with a scarf tucked into the neck in the perfect way that says, _'I'm wearing this because it's cold, not because I'm gay or European.'_

Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin up. "So, you're back," I state, realizing it's the obvious and not _at all_ brand new information.

"Which…I'm assuming you knew..."

"Uri has a big mouth. And for once, I'm good with that." The feeling of a punch to the gut returns—the one I felt when Uriah let it slip that Four was back in town.

"In his defense, I didn't tell him to keep it a secret."

"Good thing because he didn't hold back. In fact, lemme summarize his rant—'You're back. You're an ass. You're lady-hopping again. Oh, and you're an ass.'"

His mouth turns down in a too large for his face grin. "Lady-hopping?"

"Yes. As in going from one woman to the next. And, frankly, I'm not happy about it." It's only a partial truth—Shauna is the one who isn't happy, and I _have_ to live with Shauna. _I mean, I GET to…I GET to live with Shauna._

Four looks like he has a million thoughts in his head that add up to a big old zero. "Okay, that's a gross exaggeration, and _…_ I know I'm walking on thin ice here…but it's none of your business how many ladies I'm…hopping." Now he crosses his arms trying to man up to my stance.

"But it's Uriah's business?" I ask, trying with all my Pedrad might to mask my injured pride.

Suddenly, he drops the tough-guy attitude and shrugs his shoulders. "No. He was just a poor man's Zeke."

I feel my forehead scrunch up in confusion, even though I try to relax it. _What the fuck? A poor man's… "Is that a black joke?!"_ I yell.

"What?!" he yells back, stunned…totally stunned. "It was an _expression!"_

 _Okay, maybe we should stop speaking in 'expressions.'_

"He was my back-up—my substitute Zeke, you fuckin' fool!"

I sigh, feeling like I need to hide my head in my jacket like a turtle—Four wouldn't care if I was a left-handed, albino, transgender midget. "Sorry. Complexion sensitive today."

He nods his head. "So, I, uh…I wanted to talk to you in person and I…chickened out…a few times. I…I… Shit. I…fucked up our friendship."

I pretty much give him the ultimate frowny face because even though I'm mad that he came back and didn't call me, I was the one who fucked up. "Geez, man. No. You didn't. I shouldn't have said _any_ of that about your mom. I didn't even mean it. I was freaking out about Shauna and—"

"Stop," he orders in the tone of voice that I will not argue with.

I don't think I've ever seen Four nervous around me…or should I say _about_ me—he was plenty nervous on many occasions when it had to do with a certain ex-lady. But—

"I didn't leave because of you."

I feel like the rock of guilt that made itself a home in my gut finally disappear. But, then a question appears like a bubble in the comics section. "Why…didn't…you…tell…me…that?" I growl, taking a step closer to him. "You let me believe…for months…that—"

"Short version?"

I cross my arms at his stupid question. "What the _fuck_ do _you_ think?"

"I left because my father's an invasive piece of shit."

"Pretty sure you left out a good 15% there," I scoff.

"That's the idea of the short version—"

"Fuck the short version. Why didn't you just tell me that, you asshole?! I thought for…days, weeks, months that it was my fault! What the hell kind of friend does that?!"

"A really bad one. I used you as an excuse. And it worked. But, _fuck,_ now I wish it hadn't…"

My extreme guilt is now replaced by extreme anger, and the flicker of fear in his eyes tells me he knows it. I want to hit him. But the problem is…he'd let me…and then it wouldn't count.

"I'm gonna ask one more time. Why would you do that?" I whisper, taming my anger.

"Because Marcus is…everywhere—infiltrated in parts of my life that I hadn't even realized, in parts of other people's lives I hadn't realized." He stares at me hard, and it hits me that he could be talking about me.

Flashes of the hack job of the security cameras at Dauntless that Shauna and I saw on Four's laptop come back to me loud and clear.

"I needed Marcus to think I didn't give a shit about…" He stops talking and runs his hands through his hair. "…my life here anymore. So, I left with no explanation to anyone but Amar. The fact that you and I weren't speaking when I left was…a bonus."

"A bonus," I repeat with a dry mouth. _I'm about to give you a bonus to the nut-sack!_

"Yeah," he answers in his stupid quiet voice. "Everyone got to think I left out of anger and betrayal, particularly convincing anger and betrayal considering you threw my mother's name in there. It was a win-win."

"And you couldn't have trusted me enough to clue me in on any of this? Your dad's always been up in your shit. How is this _any_ different—"

"How's the new desk clerk at Dauntless working out?" he interrupts in the most bullshit subject-changer ever.

"You're really asking me this right now?"

"Is she incredibly helpful? Always around? Bringing coffee? Water? I'll bet she's really attentive. College kid, right?"

"Yeah? Maybe? I don't know. And I don't care—"

"She's actually in an MA program at UIC. She has student loans up to her ears," Mr. Way-too-Full-of-Facts tell me.

I put my hands out, waiting for him to continue…which he obviously isn't. "Oh, is this where I'm supposed to go and give a shit?!"

"No. This is where you make two and two equal Four."

I stop for a minute because this is where he usually loses me—when he speaks in his weird code. "Dude, just be straight with me!"

"She was hired on purpose—so she could eavesdrop."

"Bullshit. Shauna hired her. And I believe the correct way to say that is eathesdrop." I smile in my smuggest smug smile loving the fact that I just corrected him. I watch with satisfaction as his face tenses up tighter than my biceps, and even more so when his adam's apple bobs, proving the mother fucker has swallowed his damned pride for once.

"Her name is Amelia Adams. Any mention of my name at Dauntless ends up on a nice post-grad version of a weekly dossier sent directly to Marcus. Usually on Fridays…around 8:00 PM."

I freeze…mostly because I have no clue what a _dossi-whatever_ is, and I can't give up my grammerical upper hand, but also because whatever it is…it's sent to Marcus. "And how the hell do you know this?"

"Doesn't matter. He's gone over the edge, Zeke. He's more obsessed now than ever. I don't know why. But, I needed him to think I gave zero fucks about anyone."

"Shit," I breathe out walking a couple steps in the opposite direction. "So, now…what…you're back and just…gonna deal with him?"

He shrugs and looks at me like I said something funny. "I don't know _what_ I'm going to do."

"Hmmph. Very un-Four like."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Wanna grab a beer?"

"Not quite there yet, man. Gonna take me a bit." I look over his shoulder down the street at the bus heading our way which may just contain my not-very-loving-lately fiancée.

He nods his head while I try my best to ignore the straight-up man hurt on his face. "Okay. It's good to see you. Tell Shauna I said _hi._ "

"Better not." The second hurt-flash on his face makes me feel like an insta-shit. I suppose I could have left that comment out.

He turns back toward wherever the hell he came from, and I do the same. We look like some bullshit scene in a movie—two dudes lookin' over each others' shoulders…so much left unsaid…such sadness—

"Hey! By the way…I _love_ your complexion! It's what drew me to you!"

I turn and walk backward, the memory of our first encounter coming back to me in living color. There were only two seats left on that bus… "Psh! Drew _you_ to _me?!_ I saved your ass from having to sit on the bus with Stanky Steve!"

He shrugs. "Maybe after all these years…that's what I've let you believe!"

I think back to the look on his face when he hopped on the bus..more like slumped onto the bus. _He looked right, then left, then right again…and left and…then another right._ _Did he…did he choose me?_

"Hey! Wait up!" I jog after him. "You _wanted_ to sit by me?! And…what the hell do you mean _'Let me'?!"_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I stare at the screen of my phone just because it happens to be in front of me, not because anything on the screen is registering. I'm still kicking myself for deleting nearly all pictures of Tris and I, taking special care to select with particular gusto the _These files will be deleted from all devices_ warning. I remember thinking _"Fucking A-right they'll be deleted from all my devices! Haha! Take that to the bank and cash it!"_

"Yeah… Right along with her rent check," I say aloud.

I rest my head on my phone with an unintentional smack, remembering that I just about skipped into the bank eagerly ready to deposit Tris's cashier's check that she had rush-delivered. The memory also hits me of being disappointed that it _was_ a cashier's check because then it wouldn't show up like a reminder knife to her chest as _cleared_ on her bank statement. I wanted her to know so badly how _little_ of a shit I gave about her—no matter how much of a _load_ of shit that was.

Truthfully, years of practice of compartmentalizing made it easy to trick my brain into believing she no longer meant anything to me. But, then the slightest thing—a crack on the sidewalk because she'd never step on them; a fake smile from a female bartender which most people wouldn't pick up on; crisp cotton sheets in the window of a furniture store because Tris always made the bed better than me; strong coffee; greasy spoon diners; arcades; any girl with dirty blond semi-messy hair made to look sexy rather than unkempt—and a seemingly endless amount of other things would send me off on a binging flood of memories seeming to last hours.

I loosen my tie, setting my phone down on the counter, feeling only slightly grateful that I had the wherewithal to keep a couple pictures. They're buried on a flash drive somewhere in an unmarked folder—compartmentalized, just like my head. I don't know why I did it—apparently, letting go of her _entirely_ was out of my realm of abilities. Truthfully, there's only one that I know the exact location of—the picture Lynn took of her, my favorite picture…ever.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I've always actually liked Lynn. She's forthcoming and unapologetic and doesn't snark just to snark—an attribute I hated about Christina along with the overexaggerated dramatic flair she added to it. However, right now based on the sarcastic barrage I'm receiving, I can honestly say I dislike her more than Christina. The only reason I'm sticking around is based on my sheer curiosity of the circumstances. I had just made the last decision, signed the last contract, taken the last drive, wrapped up the last unrequited and logically ridiculed detail…and then here—based solely on a haphazard and spur-of-the-moment decision to bid good-bye to Gertie—appears…Lynn. And I'm currently unable to decipher if this is based on some joke of Divine Providence, which I've reconciled that I don't believe in, or just the coincidences of the common circle of relationships. Either way, I look at Lynn and see…Tris._

 _"Okay, I'm just gonna out this shit. Did you leave because of some chick? Some married chick?"_

 _I shake my head in wonder at how the rumor train starts—how many games of Telephone our common correspondences had to have played before that asshat conclusion came out. I bury my face to avoid laughing at the complete bullshitness of that, but decide on a vague response just enough to counter a 'rumor' but not enough to give away an ounce of information. "Well…I'm pretty sure she's not married. At least, I hope not. 'Cause that…would be a surprise." I lift my head thinking about my luck and how karmically sensical it would be if Tris were indeed married during my efforts in the past month._

 _"Oh…right, right, right, right, right. Heard about that. Yay. Well, hope Round 2 went real well—real, real, well for ya!" she spits, my mind trying its damndest to follow her nonsense._

 _A part of me wants to scream that between my guessing game at packing boxes, too many run-ins with non-evolved individuals, a massively unhealthy diet, and a total and entire lack of good whiskey my Round 2 at life so far sucks ass!_

 _"Hasta la vista, Ghertrude!" With a swift slide across the table, Lynn's bag attempts to follow her nearly whipping me in the face before the contents end up on the floor._

 _I try to hold back a 'nah-nah-nee-boo-boo' in a that's-what-you-get-for-being-a-jerk way. But, my mind plays catch-up, and I end up on my knees scanning the magical appearance of photographs as if my physical responses have taken over the job of my emotional ones, filing each image away as if by nature's request—each image of Tris._

 _"Dude! Stop being chivalrous—"_

 _"I'm not," I mutter at the whip of Lynn's fingers. I briefly wonder if she can even hear my voice because I seem unable to, a million more questions waiting in the queue. Specifically— "What are these?"_

 _"Oooohhhh… Those? Those are pictures."_

 _"Why? I mean, what are you…doing with them?" I wonder, trying to understand why the girl who hates to be photographed is displayed in exactly that manner, dozens of times. The chameleon-like photos play tricks on my mind, each one able to exist on its own without explanation—they speak for themselves._

 _"Practicing."_

 _I glance at her sideways a brief passing thought to prompt her further, but my eyes and curiosity are instantly drawn back in as I run my finger across them._

 _"Uh…yeah… I'm not really into people's dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty fingers all over my pics—"_

 _"I'll be careful," I interrupt, making my way through each picture, putting them in the order that I deem appropriate—an order I can't quite explain._

 _"Well, in that case…" She swats my hands away, beginning to reorganize in her ridiculous way. "Let me tell you…ALL…about these."_

 _I sit back on my heels, suddenly wary of Lynn's conniving tone, but unwilling to let her stalwart my ocular obsession._

 _"Yeah, as you can see right here, well, she was goin' through a little somethin' somethin,' so she was drunk—like a lot. Ha! I really should have taken better shots, considering all my opportunities. But, then again, as you can see, she was taking all the shots. Get it? Shots and shots—"_

 _"I get it," I interject, again wondering if she can hear my voice. I'd much rather pass right through the idea of how much alcohol-induced fun Tris is having._

 _"Yeah. Tequila. Whoa."_

 _I snap my head to the right to meet Lynn's eyes at the mention of tequila, but I notice a frown as she stares at the pictures. An unexplained hint of annoyance crosses my mind, however—Tris broke it off…with me. She doesn't get to drink herself into a stupor using her liquor-to-forget of choice! I run my hands down my face, putting myself in check—I'm taking credit for her grief? Seriously, it probably has nothing to do with me._

 _"Well, then she stopped—cold friggin' turkey. And let me tell you, Tris Prior coming off weeks of binge drinking and other extra-curricular chemicals was not pretty…as you can literally see in these pics."_

 _I don't even bother to look at the ones she's pointing at, being too hung up on the word chemicals. "What do you mean…extra-curricular—"_

 _"None of your business."_

 _I nod my head, pathetically. One could deduce that if I were honestly disturbed by Tris's behavior, I would coerce Lynn into telling me more… They'd be wrong. The truth is, I don't want to know._

 _"Here, at least, she finally learned to grin."_

 _I gaze at the picture trying to hide my fondness for that particular look on Tris's face—the one that begs the question 'What's on your mind, Tris?', even though her response would, most likely, be unpleasant._

 _"Although, I have to say a lot of these were luck of the draw. Okay,…they were all luck of the draw."_

 _I furrow my eyebrows now developing a new appreciation for Lynn's efforts. These are candids taken at the perfect moment. Hmm. Wow, Lynn._

 _" I swear she just…looks good in pictures. She's like proportionate or something—"_

 _"Did she dye her hair?" I ask in unexplainable disgust as pictures of her with seemingly dark brown hair peek out from under the piles. I always loved her natural dirty blond hair—how sometimes I couldn't tell if it was brown or blond._

 _"No. That's my magic right there. Holga Wide Pinhole. The camera uses a super small….. instead of a lens. The hole focuses… light….. ….. ….. quantum physics ….. ….. ….. ….. ….."_

 _"What's with all the make-up?" I interrupt Lynn's details which I don't give a shit about as my attention is drawn to the more unnerving pictures reminiscent of one of the few nights I wish had never happened—Tris's date with David, the expert in necrophilia._

 _"Who cares?"_

 _The tone of Lynn's voice makes her seem as if she really wanted to know why I would care. Am I that much of a wall of blocked-off emotional fuckery?! I often wonder how it is that nobody can hear what goes on in my head. It's as if I'm a stroke victim—a volunteer stroke victim._

 _"Just…wondering."_

 _"Uh, well, in her defense, she was just…trying something new."_

 _I scoff at Lynn's 'defense'…aloud—I literally scoffed aloud. Tris wasn't trying anything new; she was covering something up._

 _"Anyway, she got over that pretty fast. She's back to normal Prior-wear now. Ya know, minimalist extraordinaire."_

 _"Yeah," I sigh in agreement of her description of Tris's style—I love it._

 _I notice that Lynn doesn't seem to be in such a hurry anymore. I can tell she's admiring her own work right along with me…for entirely different reasons, however. I watch as Lynn continues to shift the pictures, lingering on one where, if I were to venture a guess, I would say Tris was at Hangars, standing under a bar light. I smirk at her face that was caught mid-laugh-her ass-off. God, that smile… A picture perfect memory comes forth of her doubling over after we watched some guy tank down the bleachers at Wrigley—the joy that woman experiences at other people's expense shouldn't be as endearing to me as it is._

 _"She looks…happy. Is this…um…recent?" I realize how odd a question that is after I've already asked it, and I have no idea what my desired response would be._

 _"Last weekend. Oh, yeah, she does…definitely does. Super happy," Lynn responds with particular superlative emphasis._

 _Super happy. The elementary description decides to play on repeat in my head as I take in the picture of Tris with some guy's arms wrapped around her mid-section. I bite my lips between my teeth until I realize I've almost ceased breathing altogether at the sight. I push it aside when I really just want to rip it up and stomp on it over and over and over—_

 _"So, uh…this has been…real fun, but…" Lynn trails off as if she doesn't know what to say next._

 _And neither do I…because my mind is on lockdown upon what the last disgusting picture exposed underneath it. If I could put a time stamp on the moment that I knew I will never be able to move on from this girl, it's right now. Pictures—no, I can't call them pictures…these are portraits. In black and white, sepia, and dulled tones. They expose, embody, and put on display with perfect accuracy…who Tris is. They're simultaneously haunting and alluring. She's devoid of make-up in all of them, allowing her subtle beauty to shine through with perfect clarity. She's like the God-damned Mona Lisa…_

 _"She…let you take these?" I ask in entire disbelief._

 _Now it's Lynn's turn to scoff. "Well, I wasted a ton of film …. …. ….. … …. ….. let me tell you. They're my favorite. …. …. …. …., I must say. …. used my Rangefinder. You're basically ….. looking through a window….. ….. ….. ….."_

 _I now know I can't shut Tris out. I could accept the fact that I can't have her and possibly in the very, very distant, most likely non-existent future I may in some way, shape, or form decide to slightly move on in a very, very, relative way with someone else; but, it'll never work because now I have these...etched in my memory forever._

 _"Is she seeing anyone?" I breathe out, taking myself aback at my question. But it's real, and it came from somewhere deep. "I know it's none of my business, and I don't deserve to know, but…I think I…" I trail off not knowing how to explain._

 _"So, let me get this straight. You leave. And come back. See some pics where Prior looks, well, don't ever tell her I said this, but…beautiful, and now you want to know if she's seeing anyone? That's some Dawson's Creek shit right there! She's Joey."_

 _I purse my lips at the perfectly warranted albeit confusing reaction from Lynn. "I don't know what you're talking about, and…I know how that…sounded. But, this is…her…and…" I leave off the end of my sentence with a silent eye-plead to Lynn…and not understanding why she called Tris a boy's name—a little boy's name—_

 _"Yes," she states resolutely and matter-of-factly._

 _For a moment I had forgotten what my question was, having also been caught up in the geography of wherever the hell Dawson's Creek is. But then my eyes burn as the image of Tris in another fucker's arms glares at me from where I tossed it._

 _"Is it…serious?" I stare at Lynn, dying for a response that negates my always worst-case-scenario mind._

 _"Oh, yeah. Really…serious. Haven't seen her…like this…ever."_

 _Lynn just perfectly described the connection that I thought was only reserved for Tris and I—having heard those words from so many regarding her and I and the effect we had on each other. Those words, those last six words—'Haven't seen her…like this…ever'—that is my undoing._

 _I look down at my fingers as they press into the floor so hard the tips turn white. I need to escape. Redirecting my gaze toward Gertie, I push off the floor. Trying to control my gait, the look of complete understanding on Gertie's face makes me almost lose it right there. Slides a piece of paper in my head and nods to the door—her gift to me being not having to say good-bye._

 _"Hey, Four—"_

 _I close the door before Lynn could torture me anymore, taking a right instead of the would-make-the-most-sense left onto Lake Street. I round the corner when the building comes to an end and lean my back against it, breathing in and out to calm my racing heart. Or more so I don't punch the brick wall behind me. I fist my hands, feeling an unknown occupant crinkle in one of them. I look down at a picture that I had inconspicuously even to myself swiped. Suddenly, I'm voluntarily crushing it in my hand. But, I stop before I go too far. This is my Tris. Whoever she's with now can have the new one. But this one was mine._

 _I take a look at the smaller piece of paper from Ghertrude. In fancy scrawl— TU ME MANQUES. I shake my head and shrug. At least, Gertie misses me. God, she's weird._

* * *

Although I'm not sure what happened to Ghertrude's creepy note, I had slid Lynn's photograph behind that stupid orchid picture that somehow made its way to California in a box of random shit that the movers packed. I never displayed it. In fact, it still resides in the back of a closet, the glass cracked. Not putting it on a shelf was immaturity on my behalf. I was mad. Mad because I felt like a martyr—Tris would never know the lengths I went through to make up for my father's interference. Mad because I couldn't figure out _why_ I did it. But, now I'm just sad. Sad because they were things we may have done together. An entire month's worth of long drives, hard decisions, the perfect script, and many other things she may just hate me for.

But after this week, I hope to God I'm wrong. I had forgotten what it's like to just… _be…_ with her. And now I want it more than ever. And I want it _forever_ —

I hear a thunk that seemed to come from the back mudroom of the house. I _would_ chalk it up to a bird flying into the large windows— _Seriously, could there be a dumber animal?_ —but, it was too loud. I push off the edge of the counter and walk toward the back. Rounding the corner, I stop in my tracks at the sight—Tris's eyes, or at least, the upper half of her face is peering in through the window. I instantly smile—par for the course—and shake my head, still in disbelief that she won't _accept_ the garage code, and walk toward the very back of the house to let her in. But, I stop as soon as I notice that she doesn't seem like she's _trying_ to get in—she's just…staring into the mudroom. I crane my neck to see what the hell she's looking at. All I spy is the built-in floor to ceiling shelving. I've gotta admit—it's badass.

The small room was initially a lean-to that the original farm owners used for hogs. But, five owners later, it was dilapidated and being used as a store-whatever-shit-from-the-backyard room—bags of salt, snow shovels, worn tennis balls, empty dog food bags, years and years worth of yellowed mucky newspapers that had congealed to the floor among a lot of other refuse I'd rather not discuss: a nice mix of raccoon shit, dead mice, a syringe, and a few used condoms. Unfortunately, it was in utter disrepair and entirely in the way of where my builder needed access to restore the plumbing. So, down it went—the shelves are all that's left from whatever wood I could salvage. I look down at my hands, the stinging remembrance of a late 19th-century splinter being driven up under my fingernail a stark reminder of—

Suddenly, what I can only describe as a sack of potatoes being dropped along with a cross between a grunt and a squeak brings me out of my semi-trance—Tris is no longer at the window. I shake my head at myself at how quickly I get lost in reverie at the labor of love that is this house— _Labor…of…love? I'm an embarrassment to my own mind…_

I shift along the wall, stopping just short of the backdoor as she she peers her head in through the mullions, her eyes raking over the intricate cubby system—the one she designed. I watch the edge of her mouth twitch as if her face is begging her to allow it one smile, but she doesn't acquiesce. I chuckle at her—she won't even let _herself_ be proud of _herself._

Not being able to guess her next move, and still not quite sure what the hell she's doing, I back slowly into the half-bathroom and grab my phone out of my pocket. I frown, again, at the fact that I don't have an assigned picture next to her name on my _favorites_ list.

 **Tobias:** What are you doing?

I watch as she grabs her phone, a beautiful smile crossing her face, then a look of panic as she turns to see if my car is in the driveway—the same driveway she's standing on. _Idiot._ Little does she know my car is safely stowed in the detached garage. Well, semi-detached thanks to prohibition. There is still so much about this house that Tris doesn't know—nor does she seem like she wants to.

 **Tris:** Nothin.

 **Tris:** Just chillin.

She literally smacks her head with her phone mouthing her answer as if only an idiot would have responded with 'Just chillin.' _She's right._ Even more pathetic is that she probably had to go back and override the autocorrect for her outdated use of slang.

 **Tobias:** Yeah. It…is…pretty cold outside.

I observe her as she shivers, my more literal text physically reminding her that it's 22 degrees out. She bites her bottom lip and again looks back at the spot that my car had been parked in as if she's not entirely convinced I'm not home and not observing exactly how bonkers she is. _She really needs to go with her gut more._ Although, it definitely looks as though I'm not home seeing as the last time Tris was here was the _only_ time she was here…and she didn't exactly ask for a tour of the garage…which is fucking awesome by the way.

I stand up straighter, trying not to let the Eyeore in me come forth at her seeming disinterest in this place. I don't blame her if she is. It's not like I told her the house was initially renovated for her…or us…whatever...because what kind of foolish dip shit does that!? Married dip shits…they do this kind of stuff. Not dip shits for emotional closure and delusions of a subconscious sliver of hope for a minutely possible future whose likelihood of happenstance is a .0000000001! _Good Christ, what was I thinking?! I have a severe psychosis._

 **Tris:** Totes.

I hold in a laugh as she looks up to the sky shaking her phone at the gods in shame at her vague response number two. Yet, she seems to gain an ounce of recovery before texting again.

 **Tris:** How is your day going?

 **Tobias:** Interesting. One of my former hires is acting inappropriately.

 **Tris:** Oh. That sucks. What are they doing?

 **Tobias:** Pretty sure they're stalking me.

She squints her eyes as if she isn't sure she read the text correctly.

 **Tris:** Guy or girl?

I can't help but stifle another laugh as she rolls her eyes at herself and continues to text furiously.

 **Tris:** Not that it matters.

 **Tris:** It's weird either way.

 **Tris:** Totally irrelevant.

 **Tobias:** Girl. She showed up when she thought no one was here.

I watch with entirely too much amusement as Tris purses her lips, her face turning a slight shade of red. But then she takes a breath to calm herself, adding a shoulder shrug of indifference meant for only her benefit.

 **Tris:** That makes her stalker material?

 **Tobias:** Caught her trying to break in. And she's been known to show up at ALG unannounced. And was eavesdropping during one of my meetings.

I cringe, hoping I didn't take that too far. The initial meeting with Conrad Grayden, Inc., and her misinterpretation of my disturbing conversation with Carl Avery made Tris question…everything.

 **Tris:** No…way…

 **Tobias:** Way.

 **Tobias:** She was also in my apartment when I wasn't home. And one time she was even up on the roof.

The look of incredulity and near horror on her face is way too priceless for me to stop this.

 **Tris:** That is so fucked up! What a freak!

 **Tobias:** Indeed.

 **Tris:** What the hell are you going to do?

 **Tobias:** I should probably call the cops.

 **Tris:** Definitely! Holy fuck!

I move out into the small mudroom as she meanders down the driveway, seeming to be lost in thought. She always seems to sway a little when she walks without a purpose. Since I've been back, I haven't had the chance to just…observe her—seeing as I made the wine-induced promise to not show up unannounced at the bar because "people who are just dating don't do that." Tris's words. As if she were an expert…

She stops in her tracks and whips around, startling me into smacking my head on a shelf. _Ow, fuck!_ She is texting at mach speed.

 **Tris:** Was this before we were dating? And why am I just hearing about this?!

 **Tobias:** Shrug emoji.

"What the…?" she mouths to her phone.

 **Tris:** You know you don't have to write the words. You can actually SELECT the emoji.

 **Tobias:** Another shrug emoji.

I anticipate an eye roll, but she's wandering down the driveway again.

 **Tris:** Srsly. How long has this been going on?

 **Tobias:** Since forever. I've never used an emoji and I never will. And what the hell is 'srsly?'

 **Tris:** I'm not kidding, asshole!

 **Tobias:** Me neither. Emojis suck, and I still don't know what 'srsly' means.

 **Tris:** HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD A STALKER?!

 **Tobias:** Suspected stalker.

"Agggggggghhhhhh!"

I pretty much bark out a laugh at her dramatic frustration as I walk through the great room, still following her as she passes by the windows.

 **Tris:** WHATEVER!

 **Tobias:** Several months. But, she stopped for a while. Sad emoji.

 **Tris:** SAD

 **Tris:** EMOJI!

 **Tobias:** You know you don't have to write the words. You can actually SELECT the emoji.

 **Tris:** Are you fucking serious?

 **Tobias:** Yes. There are about 5000 emojis now. Did you know there's a poop emoji now?

 **Tris:** EVERYONE KNOWS THAT!

I look up to see Tris practically panting on the driveway, but she turns away from me again. A neighbor waves to her, but based on the look on the lady's face, Tris's response was expectedly shitty.

My phone vibrates in my hand. It's Tris. So, I select the automated message option _"Call you later"_ and reject the call. She looks stunned—fucking stunned. I slink to the nearest window and crack it open to see if she'll leave me a message of pure hellfire.

"Tobias…James…Eaton, let me get this straight, some dumb bitch had been stalking you for months, and YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?! You had a stage 5 creeper on your hands, and YOU COULDN'T INFORM ME OF THIS?! Did it not bother you enough?! That is shitty! Fucking shitty!"

"She does not disappoint," I mumble to myself.

"You keep secrets! _That's_ why you suck! You and your secrets! And ya know what else…YOU TOLD ME OVER A TEXT! This not text-worthy information! This supersedes texting! _Maybe it's a good thing that people who are just dating don't say "I love you!"_ she screeches.

"Now that's just plain mean," I whisper to myself, watching her bolt to the front of this house.

I figure now is the time to end the charade, so I stalk to the front door, preparing myself for my punishment. I'm half-way down the front porch stairs when a distinct huffing and grunting noise halts me in my tracks. Then, backing up the stairs, I see, plain as day, Tris actually climbing the large fieldstone rocks that jut out to make the house look like it has a stone foundation. I shove my hands in my pockets and stroll across the front porch as she makes her way around the corner of the house, leaning my forearms on the banister once I reach it.

I tilt my head, admiring her upper body strength as she pulls herself up to the next rock like a pro until she reaches the exterior limestone window sill and leans her weight on her forearms. I pick up on how expertly she just did that—too expertly. I glance down to the ground, noticing that she has a good six feet between her and the iced-over mulch, yet she seems somehow unaffected.

She roughly makes forehead contact with the exterior window pane, a sound again reminiscent of the thwack of a bird hitting the window. It is at this moment that I wish I had positioned myself in one of the two wing back chairs the stagers had brought in to be used for the small front room—They're right in her line of sight, and it would scare the shit out of her. But then she'd fall and possibly break an ankle. Howwwwwever…then I'd have to take care of her! I'll put it on my list of future-possible-maybes.

I shift my hip, so I'm closer to the window. Tris still hasn't spotted me, unbelievable as it is. I tilt my head, trying to study her face as she gazes through the window. She sighs with a relaxing hum as if whatever she's looking at had suddenly calmed her.

Frankly, it's an odd-shaped room that she insisted upon in her beyond-beginner drawings. I fondly remember a bright red asterisk with the words "front room for two." It was once a sizeable elongated closet that was part of the second addition to the house. I can understand why they did it, seeing as the place had no storage. But to achieve it, they had to add on to the front of the barn, so they put drywall on either side of a pre-existing original barn window and extended the front of the house. In Tris's plans, she had the drywall removed from both sides of the now-non-functional interior windows. So, if you're standing in the kitchen, you can see into the small 'front room for two' through the restored original barn windows. I also kept the shelving for _'books and knick-knacks and tchotchkes'_ according to Tris's plans. Yes, _knick-knacks_ and _tchotchkes_ are, shockingly, part of my vocabulary now.

I hear an awkward squeaky noise, and I glance up to see Tris rubbing a circle on the windowpane where it had frozen over from the condensation of her breath. _Okay, that's just crossing a line…_ "So, I decided _not_ to call the cops," I say lazily, ignoring her yelp while casually drumming my fingers on the banister. "…but I may bill you for the exterior window cleaning." I look up to see that she has lost her footing, and is now supporting her weight fully on her forearms, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks a burning force to be reckoned with. "Whatcha doin', Tris?"

"Not… _stalking…_ you!" she grits out loudly, having come to the apparent conclusion that she was the antagonist of our texting battle.

"Really."

"Yes, really!"

"Then what pray tell…are you doing?"

She purses her lips and adjusts her weight again. "Quit the praying and telling and help me, please!"

I look down to see her feet are hanging and she is no longer anywhere near a boulder in which she could leverage herself. "First, tell me what you're doing."

"No," she answers petulantly as if her keeping her secret from me will get her anywhere.

"No?"

"No."

"Why?" I question wryly.

"'Cause now I'm mad!"

"You're mad. Hopefully at yourself." I gesture to her current predicament.

"No. At you!"

"Tris Prior, you are _casing_ my house like a sub-par member in training for one of Ocean's 11…and _you're_ the one who gets to be mad?" I ask with absolute incredulity.

"I'm mad because you're making me feel like an idiot!"

"Oh. I'm doing that, huh?" I scan up and down her hanging-from-a-window form and then nod at a passing car slowly driving by, the kids pushing their noses up against the glass in curiosity.

"Yep. I was fine before you showed up!"

"I don't think so," I deadpan.

"Well, you think wrong. I was fine. You made me feel stupid. And I slipped."

"Just tell me what you're doing," I chuckle, watching her feet sway. "And don't bother lying."

She huffs. "I just wanted to look, okay? I'm just…looking. I've just been…looking!"

I furrow my eyebrows in utter confusion. "You could have just…asked to come over?" I offer as a would-have-been-perfectly-reasonable solution.

"Well, you could have just invited me to come over!"

I raise my eyebrows at her response which was so cup-runneth-over full of bullshit—I've suggested her to come over numerous times in the past week.

"And, yes, I know how stupid that sounded!"

"Good."

"Please, don't make me explain further," she whines. "I don't even understand right now."

I push off the banister and trot down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the jutting-out stone foundation from the second addition of the house. "18,62," I state, finding myself standing in the front yard just to see what she looks like from the sidewalk. As expected—imbecilic.

"What?!"

"18,62," I repeat with measured patience. "Say it."

"Why?!"

"Just do it."

"Fine. 18…62!"

"Say it again."

"Oh, my God. 1862! 1862! Jesus…pleeeeaaassee…" she begs over her shoulder, the small movement in her upper body causes a chain reaction in her lower body—her flexing ass muscles as she rights her equilibrium. _Yum…_ "Oh, my… Are you…? Tobias!" she screams, loud enough to make me cringe. "If you don't stop staring at my ass, I will shove a fucking pole so far up _yours_ that it will come out of your face!"

"Does she always swear that much?" questions an annoying voice directly to my left. Apparently, a person of short stature had decided that standing ungodly close to me is a social norm. _Kids these days._

"My guess would be _yes_ ," a man's voice responds as I jerk forward, a muzzle of some sort thrusting itself into my groin…from behind nonetheless.

"My mom wouldn't like that."

Regaining my balance, I look right and left not knowing who to address first—the tiny human or the adult whom I now recognize as the man who caught Tris and me in a suburban-style street brawl akin to a WWE championship. I decide on the guy if only to segregate the dog from my testicles. "Uh, yes. Well, she has problems."

"Uggghhhh," Tris growls, thwacking her head on my window again.

"Names Royce." He reaches his hand across his body to shake mine without taking his eyes off of Tris, shaking his head slowly at the sight.

"I'm…uh…" I take a deep breath. "Tobias." I have yet to accustom myself with using my given name in the Chicagoland area. It came surprisingly easy in California…particularly after my odd introduction to Maya.

"Hey, that's my name! But, don't call me that 'cause my mom hates it."

"Noted," I grumble to the kid.

"Yeah, soooo…" Royce rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes while I awkwardly try to impede his dogs progress of burrowing a hole in my balls. "…I don't suppose I should step in…again…this time."

"Nah, she's fine," I grunt.

"I'm…fine!" Tris agrees, trying to swing her legs toward the nearest stone.

"Mmm hmm." Royce lingers for a few more moments before moseying his way down the sidewalk, his dog still making a home in my groin. "S'go, Sniffs!" he yells over his shoulder.

I trip forward yet again as the appropriately named dog runs toward its owner. "Jesus," I mutter, wiping down the front of my pants, the nice damp mark of dog snot making it look like I pissed myself.

"Whatcha doin' up there, Tris?!" the little squirt yells as he tromps over to her.

"Yeah, Tris," I repeat, grunting my way over to them both. "Whatcha doin' up there?" I lean my shoulder on the house, right behind the kid. "Friend of yours?" I ask, nodding to him.

Her eyes suddenly move furiously between the two of us, and she seems at a loss for words. "Why you lookin' at us funny?" Tobias whose mom hates the name Tobias asks like the uneducated butthead he is.

"I…"

It's right then that I notice her fingers are purple from lack of circulation. It may be going to her head. "Come on, you creepy little voyeur." I wrap my arms around her legs and back up, grunting as she clamps her arms around my head and sits roughly on my right shoulder—it never seems to feel quite right. I hoist her off my shoulders and unceremoniously dump her on the ground, grabbing the back of her jacket, so she doesn't go ass over tea kettle.

"Ya know, my grandma's neighbor says this place was a cracked house." The kid tilts his head, looking up at the façade of my masterpiece. "But, looks fine to me."

"Crackhouse," I correct his ignorance…again. "But, I'm pretty sure it was meth."

"What's that?"

"Crystal methamphetamine. It's a strong and highly addictive drug that affects the central nervous system. Don't use it."

"What do you mean…use it?"

"Well, there are several ways—"

The grinding of the heel of Tris's cross-trainer into my toes halts all conversation. "Mgh! What was that for—"

"Toby, what are you doing here?" Tris asks in some only-use-when-communicating-with-small-people voice while I stand back in horror that anyone would willingly nickname their kid _Toby._

"I'm thirsty. Hey, Mr. Tobias. Didja know you have a barn in your house?"

"Don't call me that. And, I had an inkling."

"An ink-ing? Ya know, you talk funny."

"Says the kid who abuses familiar contractions ad nauseam."

He stands back looking at me with a more severe expression than any four-year-old should be capable of—like he's filing away my soul…and it's freaking me out. "Kinda hungry too…" he adds warily.

"Do you have a home that serves food?"

"Yeah. My mom makes good grilled cheeses sammiches."

" _Sand_ - _wiches._ You should go there. Right now—"

"Toby, your grandma wouldn't be thrilled with you coming into a random stranger's house," Tris interrupts, looking at me as if _I'm_ the one being rude as I stare back wondering who the hell this scruffy kid's grandma is.

"But, you're not a stranger." The kid crosses his arms, looking at her as if he's plotting his next damned move; but it's not going to be a smart one, I'll tell you that.

"You ever read Hansel and Gretel, kid?" I ask poignantly.

He backs up a step as that one sinks in, now looking at _Tris_ warily.

"Ignore him, Toby." Tris steps in front of me and gets down to his level like a pro. "You see, I don't live here. This really grouchy guy does."

He looks over her shoulder and glares at me. _Thanks, Tris. 'Cause you're always such a damned peach!_

"And, you don't know me very well either," she says softly.

"She could be a murderer," I state flatly, hopefully deterring this stray from any future poor choices. "What if she chained you to a wall in the basement? Didn't feed you for weeks. Let the rats nibble on your toes—"

"Tobias Eaton!"

"What?! He can't just be going into people's houses!"

"Still, you don't have to scare him!"

"Hey, the kid needs a reality check—"

"Now I get it," interrupts the little shit with the poor man's version of Tobias for a nickname. He crosses his arms and appraises us…and it's weirding me out. "It's okay. My friend Cori's parents don't live together no more. You guys gettin' a divorce?"

Speechless doesn't even explain Tris and me. We both look at each other in a panic at this odd moment. I don't even know what's being said as we both deliver a mix of stutters and fumbles and _wells_ and _ums_ and _maybes_ and _ya knows…_ and just all around confusion…the worst part being that it's directed at each other.

"We aren't married," she splutters.

He gives her the disbelieving side-eye. "You sure?"

 _What the hell kind of question is that?_

"Very," we both respond, giving sheepish looks to each other.

"Hmmph." He turns suddenly distracted and kicks a rock, making it skip impressively across the street. "You act like you're married."

An awkward look passes between Tris and I—a knowing look.

Toby lifts his chin toward the house, addressing me. "S'your house then?"

"Yes."

"Why you gotta fireplace on your front porch?"

"'Cause it's awesome."

"You got kids?" He looks around the side of the house as if waiting for our lovechild to jump out of the bushes.

"No," I state flatly, not just out of the absolutely-notness in my head, but at his questioning altogether. _Who does this kid think he is?_

"Why?"

 _Seriously, he needs to be medicated._ "Because I…" I trail off, not believing I have to explain this to this little fool. "I have…not…impregnated her."

"What does that mean?!"

"It's when a man's sperm—"

"Jesus, Tobias!" Tris interjects, smacking my arm.

"What? How am I supposed to answer that?!"

"He's not asking for logistics," she growls. "Toby, like we said, we aren't married. So, we don't have babies."

I squint my eyes at her logic.

"But…my mom's not married. And she had me when I was a baby."

If I were in a better mood, I would offer to pick up Tris's jaw off the lawn. "Well put," I murmur to her.

"You know, you already look like a dad," he points out while I speechlessly guffaw at him. "Your shirt is all wrinkled, and your tie is all funny. And you have dad shoes on. My friend Zachary's dad looks like you."

"Wh… I… I don't look like a DAD!" I look to Tris for back-up, but she seems to be sizing me up with skepticism, her eyes landing on my footwear. "What?! I don't! These shoes…are…very stylish! And…I had a long day!" I'm appalled that I'm rationalizing my attire to a four-year-old…or however old he is.

"Toby. Why don't you head back to your grandma's?" Tris suggests, her face still the epitome of a ripe tomato.

He sighs, looking longingly into my house as if he's expecting the Hostess delivery man to descend the stairs. "Okay." He points directly at me. "Don't tell my grandma I was here."

"I don't know your damned grandma."

I hear an exaggerated sigh come out of Tris. "Do you _have_ to sound like such an asshole?" she whispers.

"I heard that!" Toby shouts over his shoulder. "And she's right. You are kind of a grouch!"

 _That little son of a bitch!_ "I'm not a—!"

"Hey, why did you want her to say numbers anyway?"

I swallow glancing down at Tris.

"Ya know…1862? 1862! 18…62!" he screeches, mimicking Tris…and nailing it.

"Uh… That's the year the barn was erected."

"Er- _what?!"_

 _"_ _Built!_ It means…built!" I shout back to him, not knowing why I'm bothering. "Kid needs a serious vocabulary lesson," I murmur to Tris, taking note of her eye roll.

"Oh. I thought it was your garage code. Bye!"

 _I'm gonna kill that kid…_

* * *

 **Tris's POV:  
**

I wander around the loft, doing what I was dying to do the last time I was here—exploring every crack and crevice. There is cabinetry all along the back wall, with laminate countertops—odd to have in a high-end custom home. But apart from that, and Tobias's mattress on the left by the window, it's empty. Seeing as it's highly unlikely for Tobias to have included a playroom in a house, what the hell is it for? Seems almost like a waste. Could have expanded the bedrooms, in my totally humble opinion.

I gaze up at the ceiling which is still entirely exposed and take small slow steps toward the look-out door, a mixed emotion coming over me. In it, I envision an easel, my wooden table, and the picture I was working on of my dad's church.

I sigh, knowing it was probably destroyed and severely damaged by wind, seeing as I had left it where it lay the day I got the call from Campbell about Mom and Dad. I hadn't even bothered to close the door. After coming home from IDing the bodies—a formality that to this day I can't believe they made me do—(My parents' accident was the closest thing to CSI that Kittridge had ever seen.) I had looked up to the barn window and saw nothing but a waste of effort and time. They were dead—no need for the ridiculous gift anymore.

I turn at Tobias's grumbling as he walks up the stairs, returning from changing the house code. The exchange with Toby was one of the funniest things I had ever experienced. Tobias may be right—fatherhood just may not suit him. I stifle a laugh and then frown at the thought. He sighs showing up at the door, donning his running pants and a perfectly fitting t-shirt which I drag my eyes from with incredible reluctance.

"What?" he snaps. "Dad's don't wear this!"

I roll my eyes. "Not even close to what I was thinking. Man, you are _sen_ sitive. And, did you really need to immediately change the keypad code? Toby can't even reach it."

"Are you kidding? That kid's resourceful. I could see it all over his face. He'd rob us of snacks in a hot minute."

I smirk at the word _us,_ but then regain my composure. "Well, you don't keep anything here except protein bars anyway. Pretty sure a seven-year-old isn't into whey protein."

"Seven?!" Tobias asks as if he was slapped in the face by the number.

"Yeah…" I chuckle. "Could even be eight. Why? How old did you _think_ he was?"

"Well, uh…hadn't really thought about it…"

I bite my tongue—Tobias is the worst age predictor I've ever met. He probably thought Toby was four. _No. Even he's not that daft._

"Anyway, how do you know him?"

"That's Evey's son."

"Oh." He furrows his eyebrows, leaning against the door frame. "What was he doing in front of my house?"

"His grandma lives a few block over."

"Ah." He nods in understanding. "So, uh, have you and Evey become…close? Ya know, since…we…?"

Tobias and I have yet to discuss what we refer to as 'the interim' which is basically the time from when he walked out of my apartment to the time I walked into his house. I don't really want to open up the Evey can of worms—my stint in the hospital a secret I plan to keep well past my time of death.

"No. I, uh, actually just met Toby a couple days ago. His grandma, Evey's mom, is my…therapist."

I try to get a read on his face— _therapy_ being barely made mention by the two of us. Although, with me, I feel like it's blatantly obvious I've had couch time.

"Evey's mom? Was that on purpose?"

I shrug, looking down at my toes. "Not on my end. Evey referred her, but didn't explain their familial connection."

"That's odd."

I can see the wheels turning in his head as all the HIPPA policies he poured over come forth like microfiche film. "I suppose. But, Dr. Ramos is an amazing therapist and…person…and…" I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes at the idea of not seeing her anymore. I look up to meet Tobias's searching eyes, willing me to continue. "…well, she's just…been a big help," I laugh lightly.

"I'm glad," he says kindly, tentatively reaching forward and grabbing my fingers in his, tangling them together loosely. We've kept a sort of hands-off distance between the two of us this past week or so which has been aaaaaagony on my end, but it also augments every small touch, look, and gesture—everything feels more intimate and significant.

"Hey, do you remember the actual date we met?" He swings our entwined fingers back and forth.

"Mmmmm…June something or other?" I offer, wondering where this is coming from.

"June 13th."

I don't even bother to hide the smile and horrendous giggle that comes out of me at him knowing the exact date, along with the deep-seated stirrings it conjures up. "Okay?"

"Which is now the house code." He quirks an eyebrow in triumph while I deflate. "Now, no more attempted breaking and entering—"

"I wasn't trying to get in! And…just because I _know_ the code doesn't mean I'll use it."

He narrows his eyes at me and drops my fingers. "What's going on, Tris?"

"Noth—"

"Don't say 'Nothing.'"

"Ugh. What? I was just look—"

"Don't say you were 'just looking.'"

I put my hands out in exasperation. "Well, then what _can_ I say?!"

He sighs. "I want to know the reason…you were hanging…from my front room window…among other things, but let's just start there. I want to know… _why."_

I walk toward the middle of the large room, marveling at how warm it is, considering its original function of being a hayloft. He must have insulated the shit out of the roof. "Tobias, you did such an…amazing job on this house. Amazing doesn't do it justice." I shake my head slowly, turning to face him. "And the thing is…If I only look in from the outside, then I can be detached." I shrug in defeat.

He takes a quick shallow breath as if preparing to say something, but nothing comes out…except a very confused look on his face.

"Tobias, I'm in _love…_ with this house."

He stands up straighter, seeming to gather himself, yet still maintaining a look of incredulity. "You are?"

"Yes. You couldn't see that?" I laugh lightly, remembering how I was fawning all over this place when I first saw it.

"Apart from your total lack of questions, not wanting a tour, and declining my invitations to come over…no, I didn't see that."

"Oh." Now it's my turn to stand up straighter. "Little bit of self-preservation goes a long way."

"Indeed, it did. I thought you were…entirely uninterested." He grins and adorably scratches the back of his head.

"I know you're going to end up selling it," I admit resignedly. "I mean, that was your plan all along, right?"

He looks at me intently and possibly even a little amused. "I thought we had decided I wasn't...remember?"

I glance directly to the right of him, my libido honing in on the countertop spot where I was spread knees and bound ankles with Tobias's over-powering grip on my hips, his cock just inches away—

"Ahem." Tobias with a purposely exaggerated cartoonish throat-clear slides right over to the countertop and stands in my way, smirking like the cocky—yep, _cocky_ —bastard that he is.

"I like this spot," he comments pushing himself up to sit on the counter, his triceps flexing not going at all fucking unnoticed. He moves his rear back and forth as if to get more comfortable. "I can see why you did too."

My cheeks light on fire. "There's nothing binding about an off-the-cuff, heat-of-the-moment, out-of-nowhere comment."

"So, you think I'll change my mind?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because…" I throw my hands in the air. "This makes no sense! And deep down you know it. What, you're just going to… _live_ here? In this built-for-a-nuclear-family house? In Oak Park—a suburb?! Become an expert in lawn maintenance and holiday exterior lighting? Jesus, you just threw a twenty-something version of a hissy-fit panic-attack because a seven-year-old thought you looked like a dad!"

He stares at the floor and nods along slowly. "Still can't believe that kid's seven—"

"And anyway, when did you become so financially idiotic?! I can't imagine what this cost…and then you were just going to sell it? You were going to dump money down the drain like that? It's ridiculous!"

He crosses his arms, making his biceps just about double in size.

 _Swoon…_

"In my defense—not that I need to defend myself—I pretty much bought this place for what the land is worth. I would have earned back every penny I put into this house."

I scoff at his pipe dreams. "Yeah…if it _sold…_ which…it wouldn't." I cross my arms to make me look taller and more informed than I am. "I mean, you saw the plans!"

"Yes. I became quite familiar," he grumbles, clenching his jaw.

"The only thing original about this dinosaur is the bones." I gesture to the whatever the hell the wood is called that supports a roof—I'll just go with beams and board. "This house was a dinosaur carcass. You had to rebuild…everything. You Jurassic-Parked this place. Talk about re-inventing the wheel!" I laugh sarcastically, although it sounds more maniacal. "This house cost two times more than a new build because of labor costs alone! It would _never_ have sold for 1.8. Oh, and by the way, your realtor belongs in the nuthouse for even advising you to put such an outrageous price tag on this place."

He nods his head with a serious expression on his face—too serious _. Is he humoring me?_

"Why aren't you arguing with me about this?"

"Oh, sorry. Um… It's a desirable neighborhood, for God's sake!"

I roll my eyes. "Says the guy who lived in The West Loop," My voice oozes sarcasm at his very poor argument. "And anyway, It's still an 1864—"

"62."

"1862 converted barn. They would literally be buying a barn! Seriously, what the hell was your realtor thinking? You need to report those dipshits to the Better Business Bureau. Or maybe Amar knows Warren Buffet? Put a call in because they need to get their Berkshire and their Hathaways outta the real estate business." _Wow. My protective armor is in full mode._

He clears his throat, his previously borderline amused face now turning hard and… Angry?

"What?" I ask softly, realizing I may have possibly gotten a little too emotional.

I just don't like not being able to wrap my head around things! I mean, why would he get my hopes up…only to dash them?! _Jesus, Tris, listen to yourself. He was not trying to get your hopes—_

"I thought they were…shockingly accommodating," he murmurs with tight lips.

I scrutinize his face, trying not to look at his luscious lips any longer, wondering why he's upset about the realtors. "Sorry. I didn't realize you had such a soft spot for...them."

"I don't."

"I was only thinking about your possible buyers," I defend. "I'm sure, Mr.-thorough-in-all-areas-of-life, you read that torturous questionnaire. Which, by the way, was in no way, shape, or form merely a questionnaire. Unless it was the St. James version." I laugh thinking about how detailed, insane, over-reaching and all around… …. ….. My mouth drops open.

I've never seen Tobias look like a kicked puppy…until now. The very stern realtor's voice rings true _—" See if the horse's mouth will grace you with his presence!"_

"Oh, my God. You're the horse's mouth." _Don't laugh, Tris. Don't laugh, Tris. Don't laugh, Tris._

"I don't know what that means," he replies glumly and absentmindedly as he zones out, staring at nothing on the floor. "But upon reflection, it turned out that I wrote an overly extensive questionnaire with the subconscious goal of never finding a buyer for this place."

"Overly extensive? You wanted to know if their children would be cohabitating," I point out, kicking his toe to get him to look at me.

"I couldn't have this place riddled with promiscuity! Look, I almost asked for possible occupants' blood type, so…at least I reined it in slightly."

"Blood type?" I bite my bottom lip to keep from cracking up.

"Well, yeah. Because if they're O+, that's universal—more chance to save a life in case of a spontaneous blood donation."

He shrugs as if that were an entirely evident response. "So, you would weigh a buyer's worth on whether or not they could save a life in an alternate reality where there was such a thing as a spontaneous blood donation."

"Hey, the apocalypse could come tomorrow! Desperate times may call for desperate… measures…" He drops his head into his hands dramatically, as if he suddenly realized how crazy he sounds.

"So, am I hearing you say you don't want to sell it?" I prod, pulling his hands down off his face, hoping I'm right and trying desperately to keep the glee out of my voice.

The side of his mouth twitches in the way that signals he's holding something back. It's like his body trying to say what's on his mind, but his brain shuts that shit down. "I don't know. I may sell it at some point."

"Well. Hmmph." I march to the window to hide my emotions. "It's not going to sell, so you really shouldn't even try. Look at this place! It's beyond custom! It's retro-fitted! Pigeon-holed to a singular taste!" I spin around to show him exactly what I'm talking about. _Ugh… Take it down a couple, Prior._

"Your fault. You designed it like this. Could you turn around like that again—"

"But, you went through with it! You're in deep on this place, buddy. Irres _pon_ sibly deep!

Yeah, maybe you'll break even in, say, 50 years taking into account interest payments on your mortgage…uh…ya know, if you have one… And what if the housing market decides to crash again…which you yourself predict! So then, you'll have to wait an _other_ 50 years, and you'll be dead at that point!" I take a deep breath to center myself. "So, I have a plan. Don't sell it. You'll never get a return. There. Your money problems are over."

"I disagree. I think it'll be a great payout."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I give a cross between a grunt and a grumble as Tris plows through the door into the coffee shop without letting me hold it open for her. But, then I grin as I realize I can add that to my list of things that haven't changed about her.

Doubling over, she rests her hands on her thighs from over-exertion _. She actually thought she would beat me?_ So, of course, I hip check her, making her do a drunken cross-over to the right, and I swear her deep-seated authentic laugh just about makes me melt on the spot.

"Don't be so smug," she breathes out, trying to catch her breath. "Your legs are…two miles…longer than mine. Of course...you…beat me."

"Wrong. That wasn't smugness. That was a smidgeon of happiness," I quip, walking toward the counter, the torn feeling of hot versus iced coffee presenting itself—I'm on fire, but my skin is suffering from permafrost.

"Happy? Wow. How does this new emotion feel to you? Are you suffering from confusion? Hysteria? Breaking out into a cold sweat?" She reaches up feeling the back of my forehead as I flinch away. "Yep. There it is!"

"Enough out of you." I grab her from behind and pull her to me. "I'm perfectly capable of extreme bouts of happiness. You know that better than anyone." I kiss the top of her head which basically just gives me a lip full of salty frosted-over sweat.

"I wouldn't do that. That's my running hat."

"Rookie mistake," I murmur, wiping my mouth as she stifles a laugh and untangles my arms from around her waist.

We both browse the menu which is pointless because we always end up ordering the same thing. At least…we used to.

"Soooo…why the happiness?"

I see her bite her lips between her teeth, trying to hide her smile—she knows it has to do with her. "You didn't give me the chance to hold the door open for you. Made me happy that some things don't change," I answer, my gaze going back to the words _'Sumatra blend.'_

"Do you really think I've changed that much?"

I shrug my shoulders, holding back my answer of _"Yes, but only in good ways, and I hate that I missed it!"_

"Tell me—"

"Two twelve ounce Sumatras, please," I request, grabbing the barista's attention while deterring Tris at the same time.

"For here or to go?" he asks, glancing between the two of us.

I look to Tris, not wanting to assume that she wants to _stay_ and have coffee with me. We were only supposed to be going for a run, and I don't want to push—

"For here?" she suggests in a tone that almost sounds meek.

I nod my head in agreement, not even trying to hide my grin as I turn to the barista. "What she said."

"You got it," he says with a genuine smile. _God, I missed real smiles._

"I'm gonna grab that table," Tris whispers, resting her hand on my bicep while I resist the arrogant urge to flex, knowing how much of an asshole that would make me.

I watch her scoot between tables and plop herself down at a four-top right next to the window. She pulls her hat off, haphazardly smoothing down her static-cling infested tendrils, and then pulls the sleeve of her sweatshirt down over her knuckles. I've always thought that was cute, and I wonder if she even knows she does it. She gazes out the window, biting her bottom lip as if she were trying to hold back a smile. _What I wouldn't give to know what is going through her mind—_

"Here ya go, man."

I turn as the barista—whose name I see is John—pushes two large steaming mugs of coffee toward me. It smells mouthwatering, and I'm glad I chose the hot coffee. "Thanks—"

"Amaretto gelato," he says nodding his head knowingly.

"Huh?"

"It's like sex in a cup." He nods toward Tris and then back to me, holding up a large scooping spoon.

"Then I will take two scoops of sex in a cup," I respond, appreciating his sage advice. "'Cause that is the closest I will get," I mutter under my breath.

"Comin' right up, my friend."

I watch in slight awe as John quickly takes thin layers off the top of the frozen cream and forms it into what looks like two flower buds in a pre-chilled ceramic cup. Then he spins it in his hand, landing it effortlessly on a cork tray quickly accompanying it with two bamboo spoons stuck in the top of each bud.

"One cup, two spoons," he says with a wink while putting the coffee mugs on the tray. "Enjoy."

I furrow my brow at the corny gesture and hand him a twenty, all the while he mouths a _"Trust me. She'll love it"_ with two thumbs up. "Thanks. Keep the change."

Based on the slow nod he gives me, I would say he hears " _Keep the change"_ fairly often. Rightfully so.

I make my way over to Tris, hoping and praying I don't spill the contents of the tray. The split-second decision of setting it down on the table next to us, was a wise choice seeing as the coffee splashes over the side of each cup. I clear my throat and grab a napkin, wiping around Tris's mug. _Can I not be…AT ALL…smooth?_

"Thank you," she says kindly, accepting the mug with two hands.

"Well, one thing has definitely changed," I begin, hoping she'll ignore my faux pas.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

I finish wiping my mug and sit opposite her. "You let me pay for something without a bitch fest." I smile contentedly and reach for the gelato, placing the frosted cup between us.

"I'm learning to pick my battles."

Something about the way she says _"I'm learning"_ rather than _"I've learned"_ puts me at ease—as if she's learning with _me,_ rather than a lesson from someone else. _I am…profoundly ridiculous._

"Two spoons, one cup?" she asks with her eyebrow quirked, wrapping her hands around her mug of coffee. "Some things never change. Still a sucker for the cheese-factor."

I smirk, planning to take full credit for John's suggestion, and exhale a breath, leaning back into my chair. I watch intently as Tris does precisely what I knew she would—leans down to smell the coffee first, her closed-mouth satisfied smile making it know that she approves.

"Together?" she suggests, holding her mug up.

I grin and do the same. "Together."

We both take a small drink of the brew. It's full-bodied and earthy, with a smooth aftertaste. Perfect—if Gertie's coffee hadn't existed. I make eye-contact with Tris, knowing we're thinking the same thing.

"Eh," we both say, laughing congenially.

"It's actually good," she comments. "I just feel like I'm cheating on Gertie. She can smell the coffee on me like a French Blood Hound."

"That's why I don't do Colombian blends. In her book that's a double cheat—a physical _and_ emotional affair. Thank you for…still visiting her, by the way," I mumble, through an extra quick sip of my coffee.

Tris narrows her eyes at me in summation. "We've become…close."

I'm actually grateful for this because Gertie could be the loneliest person I know, and Tris has isolationist tendencies herself. "I'm glad you spent time with her…ya know, while I was…gone."

"She missed you," she responds, taking a slow sip then rubbing her lips together. "So, you were saying…you think I've changed?"

I sigh and nod my head.

"What? I'm just curious because _I_ feel like I have…" She chews on her bottom lip and runs her index finger over my knuckles that are clutching my coffee mug. "But I'd like to hear some observations from you."

"Well, you don't second guess yourself as much. You seem happier…emotionally…" I cringe at the therapy-esque word. "…ya know, more at ease. I don't know… It's all good…stuff." I shrug, touching my index finger to hers. I don't want to get into specifics because it hurts…and I'm a pussy.

Tris ducks her head, trying to get my attention. "There are things about you too."

"Such as…?" I drone, knowing she's full of shit. I don't feel like I've changed one bit.

"Words don't seem to fail you as much. You're more… _open_ …about your feelings. Ugh. I hate the word _'open,'_ but I don't know a better one."

I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking. I sure spilled my guts to Maya…maybe that was a turning point. _Huh._

"Were you seeing someone?" Tris asks, surprising the shit out of me because I thought this was territory yet to remain unchartered. How do I answer if I don't even know the ans—"

"A therapist?! A therapist. I mean, just…a therapist," she sputters, dousing me in relief.

"Yes!" I say with more excitement than needed. "A therapist. Yes, I was…seeing one. Uh, I was a shit patient," I sigh. "I just went through the motions. Just about got fired, even though, looking back, I think it was a tactical move on his part to get me motivated."

"Did it work?"

"Apparently?" I point out, referring to her observations.

Maya's over-eager face as she drank in the blabbery I was feeding her. Her asking all the right questions and seeming engaged was great at the time, but now I think I would find it annoying. I must have some sort of innate thirst for someone who challenges my bullshit, instead of pacifying me.

"Did you…uh…do that on your own?" she asks softly with a hint of guilt.

"Do what?"

"Get a therapist."

I unintentionally clench my jaw, immediately trying to hide it upon the memory of Tris basically telling me therapy is worthless unless I sought help on my own. That was a tough pill to swallow—part of me thinks she was right.

"You don't have to answer that," she says quickly, grabbing my hand. "Just know, whether you found someone on your own or because of…any other reason, it would have counted. I was _wrong_ when said that to you… _that_ night."

 _That…night—_ the night she ended us. I'm done with the blame game, but eventually, we're going to have to talk about _that night_ because some things you just can't unhear…on both of our ends.

"Turns out," she continues. "I'm a bit of a hypocrite because the therapist _I_ found on my own was a total quack."

My chest tightens at the expression on her face, she looks so _fucking_ sorry. Damn it.

"He was a behavioral sociologist…he was studying me." She drums her fingers on the table, and I can just see in her eyes the shame at being duped. "And I…I feel like he had an…agenda…"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I knock lightly on the worn wooden door with the backs of my knuckles without having any intention of waiting for a response from this fuckin' asshole. Dr. DuBois's dumbfuck face turns a shocking red as I roughly push the mountain of papers off the left side of his desk, making room for myself as I perch my right leg on the edge. "Well, hi there," I say, laying on the thick fake congeniality in the most viscous way possible._

 _"Are you going to beat me up?" he asks, meekly covering his face with his hands._

 _I chuckle condescendingly. "No one says 'beat up' unless they're a total pussy or have been living under a boulder since the 40s which…from the looks of this place…" I look over my shoulder at the hoarder's paradise shit-hole that, somehow, he pulls off as an office. "…you have."_

 _He slumps his shoulders and looks at me as if I'm supposed to have an ounce of pity for his chosen profession and the social isolation that accompanies it. "So…you're not going to…hurt me?"_

 _I shrug my shoulders noncommittally—making him believe I haven't made that decision yet. "Here's the thing." I lean my forearm on my right leg and lower my head toward him. "It would only take one strategic punch right to the throat to briefly incapacitate your esophagus, a follow-up box to the ear to send you reeling into a bout of forced vertigo, one swift kick to the ribs once your writhing on the ground to cause a nice snapping sound similar to a chicken bone, and then, well, because I have been known to have sociopathic tendencies, I would punch you in the face for no other reason than to feel a sense of completion." I sit up straighter enjoying the way his pupils dilate out of fear. "But…I'm also a fairly calculating guy, and leaving you bloody on the floor would do me no good, and honestly you deserve worse than a beating—people heal from a straight-forward ass-kicking, you deserve no such reprieve."_

 _"So, what are you…or…what do you want?"_

 _"Start from the beginning."_

 _"Beginning of what?"_

 _"Of mankind."_

 _"Really?!" he asks sitting up straight. What a stupid shithead._

 _I kick his chair into the wall, making perfect contact with the worn avocado and metal exposed area near his groin. If it didn't defy all man-code, I would have gladly kicked him in the testicles—had he any._

 _"How did you meet Marcus Eaton?!" I growl._

 _"He showed up! He just showed up! I don't know how he even knew who the hell I was!"_

 _I take a semi-calming breath—not too much because I still want him to fear me. "Continue…"_

 _Dr. Ass Mug must sense my attempt at collecting myself because he seems to relax, a semi-smug look appearing on his face. "Is he dangerous?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"So, am I in danger?"_

 _"Most likely, yes," I lie because I genuinely think Dr. Du-assface is so inconsequential to my father that he may as well not even exist. The doctor's sole purpose being to get under my skin which as far as my father knows…he has achieved._

 _"Will you protect me if I tell you?"_

 _"No," I respond not even trying to mask the ridiculousness of that idea._

 _"Then, I won't tell you anything."_

 _I sigh at this social-no one who's trying to bargain with me. "Fine," I state curtly, righting myself off his desk. "Good day, Dr. DuBrumphett." I exit the room, closing the door behind me politely, and make my way down the singular flight of stairs—_

 _"Wait."_

 _I try to hide my smirk at the sound of his voice, looking over my shoulder at him standing just outside his door._

 _"That was too easy. What are you planning to do?"_

 _"I'm not sure what you mean."_

 _"You didn't just stop by my office to say 'Hi.' I'm sure you had some sort of goal…which you gave up far too easily. I'm not an imbecile—you're obviously going to do something if I don't help you—in fact, probably something to me."_

 _I stare at him impassively. "The President of Columbia College has an open-door policy. I thought about making sure you never get another job in higher education again."_

 _"How do you plan to do that? I'm a tenured professor."_

 _"A tenured professor who brainwashed a victim of severe sexual assault to sever ties with the only stable relationship she had… And, wait…did I mention you took money for it? $50,000, I believe."_

 _"Accepting a cash gift for personal reasons won't get me fired."_

 _I cross my arms, knowing how it makes my jacket stretch across my biceps. I'm not trying to be vain, but a little intimidation goes a long way._

 _He swallows. "I thought it was harmless. The good I could have done with Mrs. Grayden would have been worth the small price of nudging someone in a different direction."_

 _"Nudging…"_

 _"Yes. That's all it was. How was I to know that she would react the way she did?"_

 _"Maybe…years of sociological experimentation on human subjects. You appear to be quite the expert—seemed to know exactly the right things to say."_

 _"They were all willing. They all signed a release."_

 _"Even Tris?"_

 _"Yes. She filled out all the paperwork…will…ing…ly."_

 _"I'll bet even desperately," I add, ignoring his patronizing tone. "Bet she wrote so fast you could barely read her writing."_

 _He clears his throat nervously, most likely conjuring the image of Tris's Aramaic script. "I didn't know she had been through trauma."_

 _"Trauma doesn't even begin to cover it," I add lightly while pulling out my phone from my open front suit pocket. I select end to stop the recording. "That should do it."_

 _Doctor DuDingleberry turns four shades of paler than he already is. "What? What did you just do?"_

 _"You're a tenured professor!" I exalt, quoting him. "Does it matter? You didn't do anything wrong, remember?"_

 _"What are you going to do with that?" he growls, staring at my phone._

 _"Like I said…President Clearie has an open door policy—"_

 _"What do you want?" he chokes, still keeping his eyes on my phone._

 _"Two things—Tris's files, and your letter of resignation from Columbia College."_

 _He groans, backing into the wall to brace himself._

 _"Oh! Changed my mind—three things. Your student-professor experimentation will never be seen in the world of academia…ever."_

 _He closes his eyes, smacking his head on the wall._

 _"Now. Let's start that letter. Shall we?"_

* * *

Tris leans in with her eyes down-turned in guilt as I sit back, my first reaction being to get as far away from her probable apology as possible. But, I end up squeezing her fingers instead, wishing I could communicate through touch that none of that was her fault—that my father is deranged and for some God forsaken reason has gotten it into his head that she is a threat…forever a threat. _A threat to whom...or to what? Who the fuck knows?!_ So far it has taken everything in me to not march up to his office and give him the satisfaction of that exact question— _What exactly is he afraid of?_

"He just kept…asking about _you_ and…" She purses her lip. "Tobias, I don't think any apology could ever cover…" she trails off as I avert my eyes. I wait a couple beats, feeling her eyes on me, trying to read my mind.

"Ya know…" I begin, looking at her seriously. "You were always a fast runner, but you got _really_ fast."

She looks caught off guard at my subject change, but I detect instant relief as well.

"Seriously." I nod my head to the sidewalk that she nearly beat me on—only by a few yards and only because she didn't give me a fair warning, otherwise, of course, I would have smoked her.

"Well, I don't belong to a gym anymore, so the cold streets of Chicago are my sanctuary." I watch her fingers as she folds them into her palms, warming the tops of them on her coffee mug.

"Where do you run?" I grumble, hoping it's in any other location aside from her neighborhood—and several others which I would deem even more dangerous. In fact, she should stick to Near North, Old Town, the River Walk, Grant Park, the Lincoln Park Zoo and Logan Square—although, she may get injured from tripping over baby strollers—

"I have _several_ …routes." She looks at me challengingly in a what-the-fuck-are-you-going-to-do-about-it way.

"Well, maybe I'll join you on your… _routes."_ I squeeze her fingertips tightly on the word 'routes.' "It can be our thing."

"Our thing, huh? Ya know, if you wanted to make sure I'm safe, I could just share my location with you on my phone. Then you'd know where I am 24-hours a day."

My eyes widen. "Really?!"

"No."

I slump my shoulders and glare at her and her rude get-my-hopes-up suggestion.

"Aw." She pats my hand. "Don't pout. But…I think a running buddy would be fun. I agree that it could be our 'thing.' We need a 'thing.' People who date have…'things,' don't they—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I interrupt, choking on my coffee. "We are not buddies."

"Uh…someone you run with on a consistent basis is a running… _buddy."_

I wipe under my eyes to prevent them from watering at the hot coffee that poured itself down my throat. "Not if the person she's running with purposefully lets his partner run in front of him so he can admire her gorgeous butt." I sniff, as she looks at with me with amusement. "Plus, I already have a buddy. And…let me tell you, he's the jealous type."

"Aw, you and Will are so damned adorable together. Tell me, what is the secret to your very successful relationship? I think I could use some pointers," she jokes.

"You definitely could," I agree, giving her a moment to shoot me a nasty look before moving to the other side of the table, giving her no choice except to scoot over. "Anyway, buddies don't do this," I whisper softly in her ear.

"I'm pretty sure you and Will do." She nods in a non-sarcastic way, making me take note of my position—arm around the back of her chair, leaning in to say something in her ear.

And in some weird version of coveted déjà vu, I see Will and I…in a loud bar…doing precisely the same—"No, we don't," I retort, interrupting my own disturbing thoughts while I grab her right hand, enclosing her fingers and running my thumbs over her knuckles.

"Apparently, we have reached hand-holding stage? It's happened a few times today, but this…" She spreads her fingers, forcing mine to fall into the space between. "…feels legit."

"Tris, if we can cuddle on the couch, we can hold hands." I smile, remembering how Mid-Iron Man 2 she huffed out a breath, scooted close to me, and crashed her head onto my shoulder causing us both pain. But, it ended on a happy note with me reclining back, pulling her to me to rest her head on my chest, her leg slung over mine. "We can even do this." I tilt my head and place my lips lightly on her post-frigid-run burning cheek, taking a moment to ghost my mouth—

Suddenly, my lips meet something far plusher than her cheek. I pull back only enough to smile at her sneaky gesture before going back in and moving my lips against hers. I close my eyes as if it's our first time, and honestly, it feels like it is. It's just a kiss over coffee, with nowhere to rush off to, nowhere to be…apart from with her. I tuck her hair behind her ear and run my thumb along her jaw, not missing for a second the way she inhales and leans into me further, closing her lips and then opening them in a fluid motion. We pull apart at the same time and appraise each other.

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow," I agree, still breathing her in.

"Hand-holding and a first kiss?"

"Did I cross a line?" I murmur, kissing her cheek. "I wouldn't want to…pressure you…" I move my hand down to her waist and pull her closer. "…into doing anything you're not ready for." I feel the muscles in her cheeks flex into a grin against my lips.

"I don't think not being ready is the issue."

I exhale a long breath and nod my head, resignedly. How I got roped into the no-sex thing is still a mystery to me. But, I don't suppose it's all bad—every touch and moment seem more charged and, I hate to say it, meaningful.

"Yeah, yeah—your whole hamster-sex-wheel analogy."

"I believe I called it a hamster wheel of sex which takes on a very different meaning."

I furrow my eyebrows at my semantical error, envisioning hamsters mating on a wheel.

"And you agreed," she adds as if that seals some deal.

"Yep." I add extra emphasis on the P, making my point of HATING THIS IDEA!

"So, tell me about your day yesterday."

I roll my eyes. "Horrendous Segway…and…not…much…to tell." _Because I sat at the office thinking about you._ "What about you?"

"Well, I will tell you that I woke up in a very good mood."

"Yeah?" I grin thinking about our nightly chat sessions—they last about twenty minutes and usually end up being a lot of poorly hidden sexual innuendos and Freudian not at all slips.

"Mmm hmm. I've been having good dreams." She leans into my ear, running her nose up my earlobe. "Really...vividly...good dreams."

I move my left leg to adjust the position of my growing erection. "Continue…"

"Then I went for a run. Then went to dance. Then came home. The went to work. No downtime."

 _Not what I meant by 'continue.'_

"I have to keep myself very busy," she murmurs before taking a tentative sip of coffee.

"Oh, really? Now, why…is that?" I ask laying the sarcasm on thick in regards to her insistence that we keep our time together at _"appropriate dating level." Whatever the fuck that is. Made up shit. That's what it is._

She rolls her eyes. "Actually, I'm quite used to keeping busy."

I look at her questioningly because this is nothing new.

"Not to tread whatever line we've drawn, but I had to keep certain things at bay, and staying consistently occupied was the only way to do that," she admits.

So many questions run through my mind along with the comment _'I'm pretty sure you kept yourself plenty busy while I was away.'_ But along with that thought of immaturity comes a moment of clarity—I'm not ready to cross the very ambiguous line we've drawn.

"This is getting harder…isn't it?" Tris mutters, looking away from me out the window.

I fight the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, so I tuck her hair behind her ear, resigning myself to failure. "So, tell me about dance. How is that going?"

"Horrendous segway. But, dance is good. Rita lets me teach." She smirks, her face turning just a shade redder. "And she pays me for it."

"As she should. I miss watching you dance. When do I get to see it again?" When I was in California, I had two—count them two—wet dreams involving Tris, me, and a chair.

She shrugs. "You know…I never had plans to tell you this… But, I choreographed a number for you a while back. You actually saw it…that night that I didn't know you were there…at the bar…" she trails off lowering her chin but keeping her eyes on mine.

I try with all my might to hide my grin, knowing exactly which dance she's talking about. The backstage conversation I overheard between her and Kevin both warmed and broke my heart. "Which one?"

"Doesn't matter. I don't think I ever really intended to show you. But, it was for you, and now you know," she quips.

I unintentionally frown in amusement.

"You think I'm crazy."

"No. Well, maybe a little. But, only because you went out of your way to tell me without really telling me. You are nothing if not confusing, Tris Prior." I smile and kiss her cheek softly at her scowl. "But, what I _do_ understand is doing something, but not wanting recognition for it."

She sighs. "My therapist said something very similar." She smiles faintly, seeming momentarily lost in thought.

"Um… So, how is…therapy going—"

"So, this gelato looks like someone shoved bamboo up two buttholes." She grabs the butthole bamboo and shoves a bite in my mouth before I can react to either her comment or her action.

"Mmmm! Don't feed me," I mumble with a mouthful of gelato, John's glowering at her words from behind the cash register not going undetected. "And…horrendous segueway."

"Oh, that wasn't a segueway. That was a straight up distraction."

"Why?"

"I don't want to talk about my therapy. Here…" She holds up another spoonful of the bamboo butthole sex in a cup—it is pretty friggin' good. _Is Amaretto an aphrodisiac_ —"Mmmmgh! Don't…feed…me," I growl with my second mouthful of gelato as she snorts out a laugh.

"What? I'm dating. We're dating. People who date do cute things. I'm trying it out."

"You _do_ know you just called our barista's masterpiece two buttholes in a cup, and then you shoved said butthole in my mouth…twice. Not…cute!" I reciprocate and lithely push a portion of the heavenly substance into her mouth.

She chokes at my over-eagerness. "Geez…watch the gag reflex."

I groan sooooo loudly in my head at the words _gag reflex—_ the masculating feeling of the tip of my dick against the back of her throat, but it only lasts for a moment before the guilt kicks in that _that_ could not possibly be a pleasant feeling for her. "How long does cute last for?" I ask hastily, trying to reign in the tension in my balls. "I don't like cute. Let's move past cute."

"Okay. Mr. Two-scoops-in-one-cup-sit-on-the-same-side-of-the-table blah, blah, blah—"

My lips are on hers before she can be any more annoying, although her annoying is never really _that_ annoying. And because I just can't help it, I deepen the kiss with the gentle probing of my tongue. She sighs, reciprocating the action. I feel her left thumb graze my earlobe as she rests her palm on my face, causing a shocking reaction straight to my groin. She must know it because she does it again and I can sense the smirk going through her mind. I find myself reaching for one of the spoons, slipping it much gracelessly than anticipated between our joined lips, making a mess of an already messy moment. But, the errant giggle that comes out of her mouth and the way I get to watch her tongue skim her bottom lip to collect part of the dessert makes it worth it.

"Was that cute?" I ask, trying to be cheeky instead of embarrassed.

"I don't know _what_ that was—"

"Never change," croaks a small New Jersey-accented voice to our right. "Always canoodle in public."

I turn to see an old woman, possibly 80s or 90s, with a severe bout of Scoliosis hobble past our table.

"Frankie, for the love of Mike! These kids don't know canoodle from cannoli. You can't talk to them like that!" A gentleman, her husband I assume, scoots toward her, his gait just as awkward.

"No one asked you! Now go pay the poor kid before he loses his marbles!"

"I wanted the coffee first, and I will not apologize!" The man points his finger in the air in a very Frank Costanza way. "We get great coffee at Jerry's and don't pay until we leave! That is satisfaction guaranteed!"

"Does this place look like Jerry's? Where do you think we are?! This is a pay to play establishment. This ain't Jerry's Café! Now go pay the man, ya cheap Jew!" She smacks him hard on the arm, but the only effect it has on him is a reddened face.

But soon enough, he looks at her adoringly before pointing to me…literally pointing right in my face. "Make sure you find a broad with chutzpah."

"I'm on it," I respond, watching the guy teeter toward the register.

"Son!" He yells at the impassive face of John the barista. "You guys need to rethink your policy if you want to keep your business going!"

I can feel Tris's shoulders shake from contained laughter, so I instantly put my arm around her and pull her closely.

"Bah! I'm Italian, and I married a Jew!" She waves her hand in the air. "But, that's Jersey for ya. But, like I said before Old. Mr. Tightwad interrupted—"

"Francesca, I heard that! I have two hearing aids, you know!"

"Oy," she says in the cutest old lady way possible. "My fault for listening to the doctor on that one. Anyway, you two reminded me of Saul and me when we first met. We used to neck in the park! Plain as day! Never be afraid to _…show_ …someone you love them, you understand?" Her attention is directed right at Tris.

"Well, we're just dating." She nudges me with her elbow. "Right, Tobias?"

"Right," I grunt, knowing I started the whole 'dating' ordeal. I sigh and look toward Saul who is counting out several coins to give to John as a tip.

"Oh, my, my, my…" Frankie or Francesca—whatever her name is—cups my chin forcing my head from side to side. "Honey, you hold oooooonto him."

Tris lets out a ridiculous laugh as I pinch her shoulder in retribution.

"Come on, old lady. Let's go get your back pills!"

"We get 'em shipped here from Mexico," Frankie whispers conspiratorially while hobbling toward the door. I notice Saul give her a nice ripe butt squeeze as he lets her pass through the door.

We watch them through the window. They seem to have mastered the art of animated conversation where you can't tell if they're arguing or laughing—or both.

Tris turns to me. "It's so sad that when people are just dating, they don't say 'I love you.'"

"Mmmm. I agree. So very sad… But, they can always… _show…_ it," I remark, channeling the wise words of Frankie. I smirk and cradle the side of Tris's face, leaning in slowly. Her delicious lips part just enough for me to shove a giant spoonful of gelato into her mouth.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you to the guest reviewer who pointed out that I was writing "El' instead of "L" referring to the Chicago mode of inter-city transportation. Funny thing is, I was on the Blue Line when I read your comment! I laughed aloud and asked for a show of hands on who thought it was "El' and who thought it was "L." It was a good 60-40, favoring the 'L." So, thank you very much. It made for a great conversation. But, because I am a notorious over-correcter, it's named the "L," not because of the shape, but as a shortened version of " **El-** evated" train.


	37. Knowing Again

**Chapter 37 - Knowing Again**

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

I take a moment to marvel at the drawing in front of me—I don't even know if it's exactly what Mr. Park wants, and a part of me is just thrilled that he likes the designs of the first building in Korea Town, enough to already commission me for the next. (Although, I wish he would be willing to work with Zara instead of me). This is one of my favorite aspects of architecture—an unbuilt building, drawn out of my imagination, rendered on my computer—the initial phase of visual non-existence: no plans submitted, no foundations laid, no exterior limitations in play. Just me and the fruit of my creativity all wrapped up in a—

"You're doing it again."

I purse my lips and clear my throat at the sound of Will at my door. "No, I'm not."

"Oh, right. So, it was someone else's masculine full-bodied voice set to a rhythmic warble coming out of this obnoxiously large corner office?"

"Must have been," I quip, not giving him the satisfaction of admitting I was probably humming a sonata to my own convoluted tune…along with the fact that he awesomely used the word 'warble.' "And if I hadn't accepted this office, you'd still be in a cubicle. So, I think the appropriate response is 'You're welcome.'"

"Oh, don't get all snippy."

"Snippy?" I quirk my eyebrow at his ridiculous use of an outdated word.

"Yep. As in 'curt or sharp in a condescending manner.'"

"I know what the hell it means," I grumble, knowing Will is using my ability to quote the dictionary against me. "And I do believe you're the one unnecessarily pointing out something slightly shameful just to make me feel like an idiot," I snip back to him…thus proving his point. _Damn it!_

"Oh." He sighs in understanding. "Hey, man, sorry. Sometimes my sarcasm doesn't come off well. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"Just…watch your tone, okay?" I suggest, trying to avoid future hurt feelings.

"Yeah, I'll work on it—"

"Do you _hear_ yourselves?!" Zoe hisses from the hallway in passing.

Will watches after her, frowning in confusion before seating himself across from me. "She said we sound like we just got out of a couples' therapy marathon."

"What?!"

"I know. It's ridiculous. That's not even a real thing."

"And like we'd ever need therapy," I dismiss.

"Right?"

"Now what do you need? Apart from personal gratification by pointing out my idiosyncrasies…which some find adorable, I might add." I smirk at the memory of Tris telling me she finds my humming 'balls-out endearing.' _That was sweet._

"I'll admit. You're humming does take on a note of cuteness."

"You think?"

"Sure. But, your high notes need work. Yeesh. A goat giving birth would give you a run for your money at that octave."

"Damn. Am I loud?" I ask in all seriousness. Seeing as it's a habit I'm unaware of, I can't have the staff hearing that shit!

"No. It takes a certain ear." He grins proudly with a wink.

I nod in relief. "Ok. Good. Now, what do you want?" I ask, grabbing my coffee mug.

"To extend an invitation. Zoe and I are going to Pinot's Palette this Saturday. Do you and Beatrice want to go?"

I stifle a laugh, coffee nearly comes out of my nose at the name 'Beatrice.' "What is…Pinot's…. …. ….Palette?" I cough in recovery.

"It's a paint n' sip hot spot." Will waggles his eyebrows as if he's just said the coolest thing on the planet.

"Paint…and…sip?"

"Well, it sounds cooler when you say paint… _n_ …sip."

"Mmm hmm," I hum doubtfully. "What the hell is it?"

"It's an _'n'_ in place of _'and'_ —"

"What's a paint…n…sip…hot spot?" I grit out in annoyance.

"Oh. Okay, I'll admit I added the _hot spot_ part. It's just my own personal opinion—that place is jammin.'"

I scrutinize Will's face, a sudden bought of frustration hitting me. "Jammin'? Hot spot? You sound like Matthew." To my personal horror, Will doesn't seem at all shocked by my observation, heinous as it is.

"What? Matthew and I have become…friends…while you were gone…"

I glare at him, wanting to wipe the sheepish look right off his face.

"Zo and I would date double-style with him and his girlfriend."

"Double-style," I scoff at his Matthew-esque word. "Hard pass on the Pinot thing," I deadpan, opening my desk drawers, pretending to be searching for…something.

"Why?"

"Because I'm unavailable," I quip indifferently.

"I haven't even suggested a date."

"Why don't you just go and ask your new pal to go with you…to…whatever the hell a paint…AND…sip is."

"I would, but he no longer has a double to date with."

I tighten my jaw so that it doesn't drop on the floor. "So, he _is_ your new pal? Well, then just let me fill right in!" If I had a pile of papers on my desk, I would have thrown them up in the air for pure dramatic effect.

"Four. You were gone. You cut yourself off from me. I could only wait around for so long, ya know. And, geez, it's not like I _totally_ moved on. He was a poor man's Four, buddy!"

"Hmmph," I grunt, realizing I gave the same excuse to Zeke _. But, mine was way better!_ "A poor man's Four? If you're referring to yourself as the poor man, you better have been the poster child for poverty—emotionally downtrodden, lacking in all financial ability, unable to clothe yourself, and…super homeless."

"Super homeless? Is that different than regular homeless?"

"Yes. Regular homeless people have options—shelters, food pantries, churches. Super homeless have been totally shunned by society."

"Like lepers?"

"Exactly."

"So, I'd have to have no internal worth, be unable to count change and/or wear clothes, and develop a latent bought of leprosy in order to befriend Matthew."

I open my lap top, entirely ignoring Will's attempt to trivialize this situation.

"He's not that bad, you know."

"Um… Not following," I respond absentmindedly.

He sighs. "Can I, at least, entice you with the paintings? There's Northern Lights Over the Pines which is, well, duh, the Northern Lights over some Pine trees, but my personal favorite is Midwinter Solstice. Something about the reflection of the moon—ya know what? Let me just…" He reaches into his pocket and starts browsing on his phone. "…gotta find the…website—"

"Wait," I interrupt as what he's suggesting finally connects. "We would actually be painting?"

"I mean, not _just_ painting. We'd be sipping too!" he replies with too much excitement in his voice.

"Sipping…what?"

"Wine."

I furrow my eyebrows in contemplation. Painting and drinking wine is right up Tris's alley. And I've been dying to see her in action—she's never let me watch her creative magic in progress.

"Hey, I knew you'd like the idea!"

"How do you know I like the idea?"

"You have your weird face on. The one you use when you're trying not to show joy."

"Whatever," I mumble at his totally inaccurate assessment.

"This'll be great! We never did this with Tris and Christina. God, we kinda sucked," he admits, looking ashamed. "Do you know that I never even took Chris out on a proper date? I mean, we'd get a quick bite, or go for drinks, or meet for lunch—if meeting downstairs in the café counts as lunch. Ha ha. I think I'm making up for irresponsible dating practices with Zoe."

 _Irresponsible…dating…practices…_ I chuckle in an awkward and contrived totally-know-what-you-mean way.

"So, how about this Friday—"

"No." I shock myself at the finality of my answer.

"Why?"

I groan, resting my face in my hands. "Because _I_ haven't even taken Tr—Beatrice..." I quickly glance up to see if Will caught my almost-faux pas, and based on the look of understanding on his face, he did.

"You know, it's okay to think about your ex—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I wave him off. If only he knew about much I think about my ex who is no longer my ex, even though she's also technically not my girlfriend which seems crazier and crazier by the minute. "That's not the problem. The thing is…" I take a semi-deep breath. "… _I_ still haven't taken her on a date…single-style. So, is it even street legal to go on a double-style date?"

"You _still_ haven't achieved the most basic of things people do whilst dating?!"

"Don't say _whilst—"_

"Have…you…learned… _NOTHING?!"_

* * *

I flop down on the mattress—the cold, cold, cold mattress. One would think I'd get used to it. Well, I _was_ used it until a sneaky temptress wiggled her way back into my life…or maybe I tried to use our physical attraction to each other to my advantage in order to reel her in—either way. But, now that I do seem to have Tris back in my life, it seems like my bed—if one would call a mattress on the floor a bed—is, at all times, a few degrees cooler than it should be.

I relax my jaw, just now noticing how hard I've been clenching it—the verbal beating I took from Will was, admittedly, warranted. Even when I explained that… _Beatrice…_ is a self-proclaimed date-hater, Zoe—who seems to listen outside my door often—stepped in, informing me that _"Most down-to-Earth girls say things like that because they're low-maintenance and don't like frills and fluff. So, skip all that and do something fun."_

"Something fun," I grumble, knowing I'm the least fun person in the world. I pick up my phone, lamenting over the generic gray screen saver, and decide to shoot Tris a text.

 **(3:42) Tobias:** Hi.

 **(3:42) Tris:** Hi.

I grin widely at how quickly Tris replied to my text. I feel like I look at my phone 100 times a day just waiting to hear from her. The fact that I haven't seen her in two days is maddening. Especially considering how great of a time we had—going for a run, out for coffee and then just hanging out at… _my…_ house. ( _If only she knew how much of that house is, in my mind,…her…house.)_ We caught up on surface level things such as what projects I'm working on and her new responsibilities at Hangars. I found out that she's teaching a healing class at The Studio. That must be some sort of yoga-y holistic thing—we got side-tracked into another topic before I could ask her further because she immediately changes the subject anytime anything comes up about what we've been doing for the last few months. Particularly if it's related to California. It's almost like she geographically and mentally wants to wipe it out.

I get that the subject of my happenings across the country would open up some nonexistent door leading to questions _she's_ unwilling to answer about her own… _activities,_ and I suppose she is doing me a favor—I'm not sure I could handle the what, and the who, and the how she was doing for the last few months, more specifically related to the life-altering guy she was with. And, if I'm honest with myself, I suppose I'd rather not answer California-related questions seeing as I myself still have some unreconciled feelings lurking on the West Coast. But…I can't help but feel as if this is starting to be borderline unhealthy.

I stand quickly and walk toward the hayloft door, channeling my mind elsewhere. I envision Tris's easel set up in this exact spot, angled just right for proper lighting. On it the random splotches of paint, marker, glue, and whatever other medium she used had built up over the years adding to the worn wood a strange history—a story only Tris's work would be able to tell. Shit…maybe she wouldn't even want it here. Or maybe she'd want a new one? I don't have a God damned clue because…well, I never fucking asked her!

I shake my head at my delusions. This whole house is one big damned delusion! She may not feel the same way about me anymore! Tris was in an all-out relationship with someone when the mere thought of my hands on anyone apart from her was revolting! I have to admit, I do hold out on hope that she may not have slept with him. It would make sense, right? After her attack, sex was something she _thought_ she wanted, but when it came down to the actual moment…she wasn't ready. And if she wasn't ready with me—the person who was THERE FOR HER THE WHOLE TIME—then how could she have been with anyone else?

I groan aloud suddenly remembering Lynn's words. Again. Her damned words _—"…never seen her like this…ever."_

Man, I have become a lowly, lowly, self-deprecating son of a bitch.

Realizing I'm clenching my jaw again, I lie back down on the mattress and focus on the knots in the ceiling, drawing in breath through my nose and out my mouth. Thinking about California usually calms me—the obnoxious and not-at-all-soothing waves of the ocean, the weirdness of the Santa Ana winds that seem more like warm wisps of seasonal weather confusion rather than the normsl Midwestern signal of the coming of fall or the shave-your-skin-off-and-slap-you-in-the-face chill of mid-winter, the out of control political correctness, earthquakes, wildfires, mudslides, how the whole damned city shuts down when it sprinkles, and the use of _'Ok, so'_ at the beginning of every anecdote along with the over-pronunciation of the _'r'_ sound…

"Ahhhhh," I breathe out, my heartbeat suddenly regulating as the awfulness of California reaffirms my decision to come back to Chicago, semi-permanent as that may be… "Gratitude," I breathe out, reciting the self-help mantra I got from a website before I found Dr. Karsson. "Find…gratitude… Express…gratitude…"

I should be grateful—grateful that Tris found some kind of happiness or, at least, solace. I suppose I have to accept the fact that she was more evolved than me—more open to healing. I know I should be happy that someone was able to break her emotional shell—to give her something meaningful. Fuck, he must have been a decent guy. God, how would I act if we ever met? A manly handshake with a strong bicep grab of appreciation? What would I say? ' _Hello, my friend. Thank for filling in. Not that big of shoes to fill. But, I begrudgingly appreciate your existence. Feel free to die now.'_

"Hoping for instant fatality is not gratitude, asshole," I mumble, scrubbing at my face, returning to my breathing technique once again.

I should be glad things transpired the way they did. Glad. Yes, glad. That's such a hum drum word— _glaaaaad._ Oh, well. I'm going with it. I'm _glad_ for California. It turned out to be exactly what I needed, and it brought me Maya… Yeah. Maya.

 _"So, are ya gonna take me on a date or what?"_ I smirk, remembering her rather bold question along with her tinkling laugh and her mischievous grin after I had pretty much talked her ear off for an hour. A date. She wanted a date. Suddenly I find myself frowning as I remember Will's cracking the whip conversation at my date failure rate. I find myself pacing the room. A date. Maybe that's what Tris is waiting for. No, she hates that shit. But, she's not always forthcoming. I look at my watch and add up the time—I haven't seen Tris in two days, fifteen hours, thirty nine minutes, and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen seconds!

Fuck this. I'm…taking…her…on…a…date! And…she…will…like…it! I swipe my phone from off the mattress and just about yelp as I see the line of responses from Tris.

 **(3:51) Tris:** Lol.

 **(3:54) Tris:** Did you mean to text me?

 **(3:54) Tris:** NO big deal if you didn't!

 **(3:54) Tris:** Just wondering.

 **(4:05) Tris:** Ok. Text me later if you want.

I check the time on my phone in a panic. "4:11! What the…?!" Turning my piece of shit device to the side, I see that I hadn't taken it off 'silent' after my meeting with Amar today.

 **(4:11) Tobias:** No! No! No!

I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I had, at least, responded. But the relief is short-lived as I wonder what my next step is? Do I call her? We don't talk much on the phone. Except…excruciatingly…at night when she's all tucked in, undoubtedly not wearing a bra, make-up free, whispering all cute and—

 **(4:12) Tris:** K

"K? Oh, shit!" I exclaim, the realization hitting me of how that text was interpreted.

 **(4:12) Tobias:** I didn't mean it like that!

 **(4:12) Tobias** : Please hold.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. _Man up, you fuckin' worthless pansy!_ I select the icon of a phone next to her name and wait…and wait…and wait…as the phone rings…and rings…and rings—

"Hello?"

I huff out a breath of frustration at the over-sweetness of her voice—she kept me waiting on purpose. "I'm taking you on a date. Be ready at…" I bite my tongue until I feel blood. "…whatever time I tell you when I call you back in a few minutes."

"But… Well, we don't—

"People who are dating go on dates! Get on board! Got it?" I grit out pointing at her as if she were right in front of me. I pause with my eyes closed waiting for her response...to which I get…none. "Please?" I amend.

"Okay."

"Uh. Really?" I clench my jaw, hoping my response didn't come across dripping with the dread I feel.

"Yeeeesssss?" she answers questioningly.

 _Shit._ "Well, I didn't mean ' _Really?'_ like it probably sounded, I meant 'Really' as in an actual fact, as opposed to what is said or imagined to be true or possible."

I hear her sigh through the phone. "Stop quoting the dictionary and just tell me what we're doing."

My mind is suddenly a gluttonous mess of sludge. "It's a surprise?"

"You have no idea, do you?"

"Not a damned clue."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Okay, deep breaths, deep breaths. You're going on a date. It's happening. No need to be nervous. It's just Tobias. It's…just…Tobias? There is no _JUST_ _TOBIAS!_

I sigh, assessing my mess of a face in the mirror, my reflection only solidifying the fact that I may be screwing everything up. It's such a roller coaster when we're together—one minute it's easy and natural between us, but the instant I recognize _how_ easy and natural things are, I start to get nervous and pull away…in the most literal way possible—I physically move away from him! Because this is all too good! I can't believe he's back in my life. How? I don't deserve it! I was the epitome of a heinous, ungrateful, loathsome, dirty, rotten bitch to him. I drove him to California, figuratively! Okay, I'm probably giving myself too much credit on that account, but, I definitely drove him out of my life only to hand him over to some blond-haired, perfect, dumb-ass, excuse of a woman—someone who is most likely ten times the person I am. Although, I don't set the bar particularly high.

I line the outer edges of my eyelids in a dark triangle to give myself the supposed smokey-eye look that Christina says makes me look like sex on a stick. However, when I do it, it looks more like I have sticks on my face. Ugh… I furrow my eyebrows, a flash of Beatrice swooshes right in taking the place of my reflection and I feel like I'm back to square one. Tobias is too handsome, too sweet, waaaaay too good of a kisser—amaretto, coffee, tantalizing tongues, dim lighting—

"Jesus, Mary, and Martha Stewart! Did Harold attack your face with the black version of his Purple Crayon?!"

I stare at Lynn, the vision of a children's book toddler drawing on my face a very strong comparison to…my actual face. I groan and bury my fucked face in my hands. "Why…are you still here?"

"Sof's car is buried between two jackasses who's parallel parking skills match that of a T-rex," she replies, flailing her arms like a helpless prehistoric beast. "She's waiting for a tow."

I look nervously at my digital clock, hoping Lynn will be gone within the next 45 minutes.

"So, what are you... _doing?_ Working on your application to Clown College?"

"I hate you…so much," I say softly and quite honestly.

"Lies," she sighs, bracing me by my shoulders, appraising my disaster.

"I have a date," I mumble.

"With the anti-Four?!"

"Stop calling him the anti-Four! If you thought… _Four…_ " I trail off, the taste of his nickname bitter on my tongue. "God. That stupid fucking nickname. Tobias. He's just…Tobias. No more Four. Okay?"

"You're asking my permission on how _you_ will be referring to your ex-boyfriend? Whatever you say, nut job. But, in case it has slipped your slippery mind, both of these certifiable young men are named Tobias, so I may need a little clarification if I'm to continue listening to your blather."

I swallow, having no idea how I would do that. So, I opt for the subject change instead. "You know, if you thought… _Four…_ was such an asshole, then why did you go out of your way to say he was a good guy?" I cross my arms, waiting for her response.

"I… Wh… When did I say that?!"

"When we first started dating. At Hangars. It's the only nice thing I've ever heard you say about anyone besides Sofi. So, if he's such a _good guy…_ then what changed?" If I didn't know Lynn better, I would say she almost looks nervous—shifting her weight.

"Do you have a shiv up your ass? Answer me."

"He, uh…"

"You're diggin' pretty deep, Madelynn—"

"He, he…he had some interesting verbal vomit directed right at your cold little heart when you guys had your blowout. And I didn't like it one iota."

"Mmmm…no. You don't get to use that against him. You're the one who said _I_ was twisting his words. Plus, I wasn't exactly emitting rays of sunshine at that moment. I had several choice phrases for him as well."

We stand there, scrutinizing each other for a moment. I can almost see her brain move as she filters through the half-truths built up in her arsenal while simultaneously feeling like she's picking my brain apart with a toothpick.

"You're pretty damned defensive of Four—"

"Just tell me what the hell he ever did to—"

We both stop and stare each other down again, silently daring the other to continue.

"What the hell are you hiding—"

"Just fucking tell me what—"

"Gah! Stop talking when I'm talking! Egh. I can't even look at you." She pushes me back into the bathroom by my shoulders. "Move. Move. Retreat. Cease. Back up, lady!"

I brace myself on the door frame. "Don't manhandle me!"

"I'm a woman," she grits out, twisting the thin skin on my stomach.

"Agh! Fine. Then…" I rip one of her hands away. "Stop womanhandling me! What…ARE YOU DOING?!" I shout, finally letting go of the door and standing up straight in just enough time to see Lynn pulling a brown paper towel out of the single-use wall-mounted dispenser we got from the back of Antonio's truck. It's quite the space saver.

"I'm about to fix your ugly mug."

I fold my arms, but stay stationary, knowing I really don't have much of a choice. I've never been on a date-date, and I would like to look like a… _person_ …for the occasion.

"Look up."

I press my lips together and start to count the water spots on the popcorn ceiling. I wonder how many times the pipes have burst in this—

"Your eyes! Not your whole face, genius. Putting make-up on your neck isn't going to impress _any_ one."

"Sorry," I mumble, moving just my eyeballs up until they're rolled into the back of my head. "This is giving me a headache."

"Just deal. Because honestly, your face, the way it is now, could be a deal _breaker."_

I slump my shoulders as Lynn wipes the Raggedy Ann make-up from under my eyes, following it up with a dab of…something. Honestly, I can't fucking see, so I have no clue.

"Thank God for concealer because this stuff isn't coming off. By the way, what was your game here? You don't need all… _this."_

I assume she's gesturing toward the myriad of thirteenth century torture mechanisms dumped all around the sink.

"Seriously, Prior, a little concealer, darken up the hedges, tad of shimmer, smidgeon of blush, some lip gloss, and your golden."

I furrow my brows—

"Don't furrow your hedges."

"I don't have hedges!" _Or do I?_ "And tell me, again, why you care?"

"About your hedges? I don't. But, let me tell you, you're lucky the full brow look is in—"

"I'm not talking about my hedges!"

"Ah. She admits it," Lynn whispers conspiratorially to no one. "And, for the record, just because I give a partial shit about you, doesn't make me Friend-of-the-Year."

"Trust me. I would never accuse you of such a thing." I grab her wrist as she attempts to go into attack mode on my eyebrows with a dark pencil. "Don't touch…the brows."

"You're serious? This is a waste of good foliage." She pauses and stares at me as if she were expecting me to change my mind. "Fine. Don't look fierce." She throws the pencil into the sink, and grabs the eyeshadow palette of twenty colors I'll never wear.

"Fierce? You sound like Christina."

"No," she scoffs, taking my bait. "When I say fierce, I mean literally you look like you could kick ass; she means it in a knock-off, amateur-version-of-Project-Runway, overused buzzword."

"Mmm hmm. Whatever you say. Anyway, I don't need to look fierce for this particular date. For your information, _Tobias_ prefers me without make-up." I smile internally at my little secret, but also wonder how long I have to keep our relationship—if that's what you'd call it—a secret.

"Seems to be a common opinion," she murmurs, brushing my lids with some random shade.

"What do you mean?" I ask, slightly taken aback. "Who else thinks that?" I can't think of anyone else who agrees with that ass hat assessment apart from the actual Tobias, and I'd never mentioned that to Lynn. Blinking my eyes to get them used to crap on my lids, I wait for her answer.

"Oh, uh… The camera. Cameras. My photos. They all seem to agree with your face better sans goop."

"Is that your back-assward version of a compliment?"

She chuckles in a way that makes me feel like I'm missing something. "Truthfully, no. Now, close your damned eyes," she orders. "So, where did you get the idea that dates are awful? Seriously, your apathy is bazaar."

* * *

 ** _Flashback:_**

 _Eric grabs me by the arm, whipping me around to face him. "What the fuck was that?!"_

 _I'm at a loss for words at his quick change of personality. He seemed fine in the restaurant. "What?" I try to ignore the burning in my muscles as he grips me tighter._

 _"What?" he mimics, making my voice sound nasally and empty. "You couldn't be any stupider, could you?" He pushes me away roughly, my back hitting hard the passenger side door of his truck, making me drop the bouquet of roses he handed me when I met him at the restaurant._

 _Taking an inconspicuous breath, I try to make myself seem calm. Eric slapped me when he lost his temper a couple weeks ago. It scared the Heck out of me. But, he felt so bad afterwards which in turn made me feel bad—he was in misery about it. And when I replayed the scene in my mind, I think where I went wrong is that I didn't stay calm—I didn't talk him through it._

 _"Hey…" I rest my hand softly on his bicep. "Where is this coming from—"_

 _"You had the fucking audicity…to…make me look like a fucking idiot in front of my fucking father! He already thinks I don't live up to his fucking expectations!"_

 _Ignoring both his foul language and the irony of his statement based on his mispronunciation of "audacity," I'm still trying to make sense of what he's talking about. I thought dinner went really well. Our first date— dinner at the Swanson Supper Club. The addition of his father was…unexpected, but Eric is almost always unexpected. Especially his mood swings which seem to be getting worse and worse. But, maybe I'm just hyper-aware ever since I found the bottle of Lithium on the floor behind the toilet._

 _"What do you mean? Did I say something that—"_

 _"You think you're Little Miss I-know-shit-about-the-industry because you've read a few articles off your Facebook news feed? What was that bullshit about organic farming?! Beatrice, are you the world's biggest dumb ass? My father runs the largest farming operation in the Midwest. You think your po-dunk organic-talk is going to matter to him? He's trying to feed the world, not get caught up in some hype and conspiracy that some do-gooders are stuffing down the throat of gullible idiots like you! Everything we use is FDA approved! Pesticides are toxic? Are you fucking kidding me? I've grown up living and breathing that stuff. Do you see anything wrong with me?!"_

 _"I wasn't suggesting anything. I was just contributing—"_

 _"Shut the fuck up while I'm speaking!" He stomps on the roses, grinding them into the ground. "What a fucking waste," he laughs, gesturing to the flowers as if I'm the one who destroyed them. "Just like that God-damned meal. Do you know how much that cost me? $50! I even had to make reservations! And just so you can make me look like a fool in front of my father!"_

 _"Oh. Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry. I could have…paid for my own—"_

 _"Oh, that would have looked great in front of the old man! His son doesn't even pick up the tab for his own girlfriend! Did you want me to look even more stupid?!"_

 _"No," I murmur, nudging the roses with the toe of my two-inch heels. "Eric, I still don't know what I did wrong. Just tell me, so I can fix it."_

 _"Fix it? It's beyond repair, sweet heart," he says condescendingly. "My father already thinks I'm stupid. He's fuckin' wrong, but he thinks it! And you…you…" He jabs his knuckle into my shoulder and twists it making me yelp. "You think you're oh-so-full of knowledge, don't you?! Talking to my father about farming pollution and sustainability shit! You really think he was listening to you?! You think you can save the planet by making me look bad, Beatrice?!"_

 _I grab my throbbing shoulder and look across the parking lot, hoping for some loiterers. "How did I make you look bad?"_

 _"I couldn't get a damned word in the whole dinner! And when I did…you corrected me!"_

 _My mouth falls open as I pinpoint the exact moment he's talking about. He said nitric acid instead of nitrous oxide…and I stopped him mid-sentence. Bea, you idiot! I sigh, feeling instantly guilty. I hadn't even noticed that he had been quiet._

 _"You don't get to correct me. You defer to me, you dumb bitch!"_

 _He swoops down and grabs the bouquet. But, all that registers next is the stinging of what feels like hundreds of thorns tearing through the thin skin of my cheeks. With each syllable comes a lashing blow._

 _"You…defer…to…ME! Do you…fucking…hear—"_

 _"Eric. Cool it, man."_

 _Hearing gravel afoot, I keep my forearms covering my face to hide my sobbing and save myself the embarrassment from whoever it is._

 _"Fuck you, Hayes."_

 _Eric literally spits in the direction of his friend Peter, so I turn quickly and open the truck door, sliding into the passenger seat. Wiping the tears from under my chin, I cry out at the sting, the liquid salt irritating the slashes in my forearms. Suddenly, the driver's side door slams shut, and I stiffen at Eric's heavy breathing. I can feel his eyes on me._

 _"What? You aren't going to look at me?"_

 _I bite my bottom lip to keep it from shaking, and slowly turn to face Eric. The twitching in his lips suddenly turns into a sneer._

 _"Whoa. Sorry I asked," he chuckles sarcastically, reaching over and swiping his thumb across my cheek. "Well, upside…you looked like a hooker, anyway…with all that stuff on your face."_

* * *

"I don't know." I shrug, remembering the burning of his comment even more than the sting of the deep scratches on my face—I spent almost two fucking hours trying to look perfect for that piece of shit.

"You're lying."

I clear my throat to distract my tear ducts, ignoring Lynn's accurate comment. "I just don't _get_ the whole flowers, dressing up, expensive stuffy dinner mess of things. They're just…all things I've never needed _. 'An ounce of pretention is worth a pound of manure,'"_ I say, in my best middle-aged man's voice.

"Who says that? Sounds like a movie line."

I laugh at Lynn's disgusted expression. "My dad. It's funny—sometimes he was so down to earth, but other times he was more disconnected than anyone I've ever met, even Myrtle the Turtle."

"Ya lost me on that last part." She steps back, assessing my facial damage. "You never mention your parents."

At least, I _thought_ she was surveying the damage. "Uhhhh… Is that an observation or an accusation?"

"It's an accu-vation."

"Well, I don't have anything to say about them," I quip, taking note of her new addition to the English language. "They're dead. So, I moved here."

"I thought you moved here to get away from psycho-boy," she accu-verves challengingly, more interested than she's ever been.

Eric's disgusting face enters my mind uninvited for the second time in the last five minutes—how he'd immediately start sweating when his nerves were on high alert, how he'd sneer at me when he knew he'd struck a chord, the power-hungry look in his eyes when he was baiting me…hoping I would do something…anything…to set him off. "There was nothing left for me there," I respond, my mind suddenly in a bit of a haze.

"Except your brother, who you also rarely mention."

I purse my lips, unwilling to play the pour-my-heart-out game. Because, number one, it's Lynn. And, because number two, I'm not drunk enough; in fact, I'm not drunk at all, but, I wish I was. And, because number three, it's Lynn.

"And…she goes into shut-down mode, as expected." Lynn backs away clapping her hands as if she had an audience, having anticipated my response.

"Lynn, go grab a towel because your hypocrisy is oozing from your pores."

"I've told you plenty about me—way more info than I've ever gotten out of you. I introduced you to my weird family, for Christ's sake!"

"And how exactly should I reciprocate? I don't have any weird family to introduce you to!"

"Your brother is in the crazy house. That more than qualifies."

I hold in my breath, thinking about Caleb—his appearance, how he's innately changed as a person, his outbursts… "You don't want to meet him."

"Why?"

"Because he's suffered mental trauma and has impulse control issues especially in heated moments, and you don't exactly inspire a calm environment."

She scoffs at my very accurate dig. "Fine. At least tell me what kind of trauma?"

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _I could barely bring myself to come to this miserable shrine of memories, let alone make it all the way across the room because the broken man lying in the hospital bed, attached to cords and machines, couldn't possibly be Caleb. I could honest to God snap him in two._

 _"Beatrice—"_

 _"Tris."_

 _"Okay. Tris, do you have any questions?" asks the nervous voice of an unqualified Doogie Howser of a doctor who obviously works in this ER because no decent hospital would take him._

 _"Why do his fingers look like sausages?" I murmur, realizing how trite that question sounds in light of…well, any other possible question on the planet._

 _"It's the swelling from the injuries on his arms."_

 _My eyes move up to the bandages wrapped tightly around his forearms, small droplets of orange puss already leaking through them._

 _"We suspect he wasn't using clean syringes—"_

 _"How astute."_

 _He pauses, clearing his throat to ease his obvious nerves. "And, he also has numerous horizontal lacerations. We don't know what those could…be…" the doctor trails off as I turn to him slowly._

 _"He was cutting," I grit out, my teeth grinding._

 _"Cutting? As in…himself? Why would anybody—"_

 _"And why the fuck haven't his bandages been changed?" Then a scene from Grey's Anatomy hits me—a mother dying right in front of her seven-year-old child. "Have you checked him for sepsis?" I ask in a panic, having no idea if I'm on the money or just making shit up. The doctor's mouth dropping open as if he doesn't know how to answer is all the ammo I need._

 _"Tris. Can we call someone for you—"_

 _"Yes. A different hospital. Call a different hospital," I state urgently._

 _He looks at me as if I had several heads. "Why?"_

 _"Because I need to get my brother the hell out of here! This place is decrepit." I gesture to the carpeted floor, the water-marked ceiling, and the monitor that looks like a collector's model. "And you're unfit. How do I get a transfer?"_

 _He swallows with an almost imperceptible nod because he knows he sucks. "We'd need a recommendation from an admitting physician—"_

 _"Then get one."_

 _"Tris," he steps toward me pacifyingly. "Even if a patient wants to leave, the hospital you pick might not even have a bed or even want to take Caleb. You can't just check him in. And anyway…just…well, look at him." He gestures toward my entirely immobile brother in disgust, the formality of his doctoral syntax long gone._

 _"Get out," I growl, gripping his arm and shoving him toward the door. Based on the look he gives me, I've officially scared him. "NOW!" I roar, sealing the deal on the fear-scale. The scurry of his skinny ass is the last thing of him I see as I grab a chair and shove it under the door handle, barring anyone else's entrance and buying myself time before security shows up. Resting my right palm on my forehead, I enjoy the brief juxtaposition of my hot skin and the coolness of the new sheen of sweat on my brow. "Shit, shit, shit." I glance at Caleb, not knowing what the hell to do._

 _Is he even employed? Does he have insurance? Who makes these decisions? Me? Is that some 'next of kin' thing? "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?" I stop suddenly in my tracks, past experiences telling me that panicking will get me nowhere. I need to be resourceful. How can I be resourceful when I have no resources?!_

 _"I'm in here because of you."_

 _I turn at the raspy sounding voice coming from the body that is supposedly my brother. "What do you…? What do you mean—"_

 _"You left. I had no one," Caleb coughs out with excruciating effort. His red eyes where white should be the rightful color a sharp contrast to the dark blue circles planted in large crescents like tattooed half-moons._

 _"You had Susan." The desperation in my voice sounds pitiful and defensive._

 _"Fuck her."_

 _I'm at a loss of words at his language. I don't think I've ever heard Caleb curse. And his respect for Susan has always been annoyingly beyond reproach. In fact, I found that I couldn't even stand to be around them anymore—my jealousy at their healthy relationship winning out._

 _"You don't mean that. She loves you." My defending Susan, the traitorous anti-friend, brings the word 'nausea' to whole new levels._

 _"Or…we can return…to the present. You know, the one where our…parents died, you left, I became a worthless…druggie, and my girlfriend…" He barks out a forced laugh. "…well, in her words—'I could never love…this.'" He waves his fingers toward his decaying form, attempting to mimic Susan._

 _I clench my jaw, envisioning exactly how that conversation went. Susan's overuse of demonstrative adjectives was the single most annoying thing about her. It was her assholic way of talking shit without talking shit.—'Why are you acting like…_ that?' _'I don't know how I feel about…_ this.' _'I can't believe all of…_ those _…things he said!'_

 _"Well, sis, what do you think of the new me? You surprised? Well, you wouldn't be if you'd stuck around for five God-damned minutes!"_

 _I take a couple steps back, his sudden surge of anger and energy lights my nerves on fire._

 _"You don't think I think about what I did…every…damned…day? Every fucking day? I would perform my own entire frontal lobotomy to get away from my own head! I can't…think! I can't…function—"_

 _"Caleb, please—"_

 _"—You…left…me…" he trails off, leaning back against his pillow, his chest heaving from exertion._

 _The nurturer in me suddenly comes to life, and I find myself at his side. I sit on the bed tentatively, watching his severely protruding Adam's apple bob as he tries to swallow. Spotting a plastic pitcher of water and a cup, I reach over him to grab it, hoping some hydration will help—_

 _Suddenly, my forehead is flush with Caleb's with a painful crack that I swear I actually heard. Feeling the taut strings of my hoodie enclosing around my face, I grab his wrists, noticing how thin they are as he winds the strings around his hands. Tears stream down my face not from pain, but from guilt as my pathetic brother uses every last ounce of his strength to do no more than break my sweatshirt._

 _"You left me to drown in a town that hated me! You're the one who deserves…to be…dead! It should have been you," he whines in a defeated tone, slumping his forehead onto his arm, taking my upper body with him._

 _Gently I disentangle his hands and leverage myself off of him, leaving him sobbing in the fetal position. I back away with my hands in front of me as if to keep a preying animal at bay…entirely unnecessary, I realize._

 _"I hope you burn in Hell—just so you know what…it feels like—for what you did to me!"_

 _A cold, swift, rush of hatred hits me as Caleb dishonors everything our father stood for—according to Andrew Prior, our entire existence in the world is based solely on our duties and abilities to denounce Satan and his imminent domain at every turn…and Caleb just threw that all to the dogs. I turn toward the door, having heard enough, my guilt being replaced by disdain. I throw the wedged chair aside ignoring a now-hysterical Caleb, his screeches of "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" thankfully ingrained in my memory where I can access them on a future date of weakness._

* * *

"Prior, you _know_ I only have a 10-second waiting period before my self-imposed ADD kicks in."

"He didn't get his airbags fixed, my parents' heads suffered the consequences, drug addiction ensued along with a messy overdose, and a fried brain. Kay?" I paste my best ask-me-no-further-questions face and stare at Lynn challengingly.

"I have no further questions." She backs away with her hands up and scurries into her room.

I stand on the toilet indulging in the annoyance my roommate provides me with. _Fuckin' Lynn—she wants information, but then she doesn't know what to do with it._ I turn, needing to do a quick ass-check—these jeans are tighter than tight and I have no interest in being the 2000s version of Sandy from Grease. I stand on my toes to get a better view, pulling my Henley down to its proper just-an-inch-higher-than-lower-butt-cheek place. _Now how to make it stay there?_

"I'm leaving—Ugh! Get off the shitter! We're out of Super Glue!"

I wriggle my feet a little, the plastic of the toilet seat snapping slightly. _Damn._ "I'll Duct tape it if the seat falls off again, I need to see myself." I ignore Lynn's protests and continue my plotting. _What if I used safety pins—_

"You look fine. I mean, you look like you always look." She shrugs, slinging her bag across her chest. "With a few enhancements. You're welcome by the way."

"Thanks," I mutter, watching after her as she slams the door. "I look like I always look. What the hell does that mean?" I sigh, knowing in the back of my mind that it means that I look plain. _Great._

I shake my hair out of my pony tail holder, and wander into the kitchen. The click of the plastic numbers on the 1980s clock radio under-mount reveals that it has just turned 6:22. Lynn left just in time. _Phew._ My eyes are drawn to the top of the fridge where we keep the booze. I had snagged a bottle of Jack with only a couple inches left from Hangars—couldn't help myself.

I wonder if I should offer Tobias a drink. He turned down the wine I brought over last week—much to my dismay—nervously saying he _"wasn't really in the mood for Apothic."_ He was unnecessarily skittish about his reasoning and the petulant side of me wanted to _say "Look, you snobby shithead, I know this may not be straight outta Napa, but get your ass out of the Golden State and join the Land of Lincoln!"_ But I didn't, because first, I don't even know where the Apothic Vineyards are, they could very well be _in_ Napa. And is that even the name of the vineyard? What if it's the name of the grape? Apothic grapes? Who knows! I sure as hell don't. But, second, maybe he was just being selective seeing as he has more than toned down his drinking. Tobias had nursed a glass of whiskey on ice for the entire time he was at Hangars last week—that's what I was going with.

But then, like everything else, that just brought a string of questions into my mind—What drove him to make that call? His therapist? That's what Dr. Ramos did to me—she therapied me out of drinking, well, at least drinking-to-cope. Damn. This whole get-to-know-each-other thing can only last so long—

A rough knock on the door makes me almost jump out of my jeans—now that would be a feat! I sneak over to the window and move a mini-blind to see Tobias, bouncing on his toes, staring up at the sky as if he were praying to the sun. He looks so handsome all clean-shaven and what not, his breath fogging up the air. I can just imagine what he smells like. I back up quickly, my nerves suddenly attacking my belly. Fuck. This is a date. A date-date. I look down at my dark jeans, white fitted shirt and brown bootie things that I hope go out of style as soon as possible because they're fucking ugly…and something we will soon regret…like clogs and go-go boots. Seriously, why wear half of a boot?

Tobias knocks again, and I can only assume he's freezing, based on the amount of steam moving past the mini blinds. I skirt into the bathroom, licking my fingers and smoothing down my hair while simultaneously gagging on whatever foul residue was left on my fingertips. My hair looks…wavy, long, blondish—like it always looks. I sigh and run to Lynn's room grabbing the black scarf with sparkly shit on it and wrap it around my neck, trying to make it look stylish— _FAIL!_

"Fuck. What am I doing? I am who I am!" I grit out, stomping my stupid bootie thing. "He loves me for me. He loves me. Yeah. He loves me. I _know_ he does. He tells me I'm beautiful...no matter what. Those were _his words._ Keep that in mind."

I roll my shoulders down and back, take a deep breath, and walk with purpose the two steps it takes to arrive at the door, and trying to take down the dramatics, I open it at an obnoxiously slow pace. And there he is—donning a very attractive long navy dress coat and scarf that make him look like he should be on the cover of Esquire, sporting an obvious haircut, and, I haven't even let him inside, but I can already catch a whiff of his scent— _Jesus, did Hugo mate with Heaven?_

"Hi," I sigh nervously as he eyes me up and down. My cheeks redden and I mentally prepare myself for his token completely undeserved compliment.

"You can't wear that."

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

"Oh," she steps back, an insta-blush taking over her face while I stand there dumbfounded at the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Wait, don't go!" I reach out as if to stop her from fleeing, her look of where-the-fuck-would-I-go, adding to my embarrassment. "Ha, not that you…could—I'm in your way. But…here." I overeagerly shove a bouquet of flowers…right at her face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to…attack you."

She pushes the flowers away gingerly, her hair getting caught in the leaves. "Calla Lilies," she states, pulling them from my hands.

"Is that okay? I couldn't find Tiger Lilies. So, I just went with the first Lily I could find."

"Um, yeah, thank you. Let me…just…put these in some water."

I sigh, watching after her as she grabs scissors and cuts the ends off—Notation #1, find a florist who sells flowers that are the proper length! Notation #2, she obviously has an aversion to Cala Lilies! I step toward her, getting nothing but a side profile—her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, an outfit that is the perfect amount of understated form-fitting, her boot-things look like someone stopped mid-manufacture, but what the hell do I know? On almost any other occasion, she would be perfection, but—

"You didn't…tell me what to wear," she mumbles, putting the flowers in a drinking glass, her face ten severe shades of red.

If I could kick myself in the nuts right now, I would—Okay, no I wouldn't, but a quick shot to the shins I would gladly take. "You're right. I'm sorry. Hey…" I take her arm lightly. "Tris, you look beautiful—"

She scoffs, interrupting me.

"Just listen. You _always_ look beautiful—"

Another scoff—I just got double scoffed. "You look—Tris, you're _always_ perfect to me. Don't change a thing, okay?"

"Except my outfit," she adds in an unwelcomed tone.

"Yes. Change that." I sigh a breath of relief now that we're on the same page. My eye is drawn to a bottle over the fridge—she has upgraded her whiskey. Should I… _ask…_ for a quick—

"Tobias."

"What?"

"What…should…I…wear?" she growls with her fists clenched.

I scratch the back of my head to relieve my scalp—She's never asked me to pick out her clothes before. "I don't…know…?"

"Holy shit. Are we going skydiving? To The Oscars? Camping in the Rio Grande? Boating in the Maldives? Backpacking in the Pyrenees? Boot Camp?"

"Nooooo…?"

"Am I dressing up or down, TOBIAS?!"

"Oh. Up, Up!" I yell, trying to keep up with her decibel until I realize I should _not_ be doing that. "Sorry. I'm not mad—"

"You better fucking _not_ be."

I swallow, feeling like the biggest…idiot…ever. "How about a dress?" I suggest.

"I don't have a damned…dress."

"Seriously?—Hey…" I back up in defense of her sudden rage at my disbelief. "Don't totally blame me for this. Don't girl's usually have a dress?"

"If you hadn't noticed, I _live_ in a closet; therefore, I don't _have_ a closet. So, half my clothes are in storage and I have had no need for a dress!"

"Oh, God," I groan, wandering over to the couch. "We're fighting and we're dating. This is just…great. I'm a moron," I state, roughly seating myself.

"Yes. Right now, you are a moron."

"Can we start over?"

The rough screeching of anger being taken out on a closet rod in Lynn's room leads me to believe that we, indeed, cannot…start over. I lift my head, grateful that Will cut my hair, or I'd be a disheveled mess; although, why he keeps his clippers at work still alludes me. I look up, the bathroom door shutting as angrily as the closet rod screeched and walk into the kitchen staring at the bottle on top of the fridge, deciding against helping myself.

I hear Tris rummaging around in the bathroom, reminding me of how much I used to love watching her get ready for work…on the few occasions that our schedules left us a window of opportunity. She was usually in one of my t-shirts, and when she would bend over I could see just a smidge of butt cheek. I remember how she would bounce up and down and then swing her hips from side to slide in order to fit into whatever form-fitting pants she was wearing. But, her effortless movements almost always contradicted the look…on…her…face—the sting of an unintentional face palm stings harder than had I delivered an intentional one at the knowledge that on this day… _I…_ am the one to put said contradiction on her face. Even if I was only referring to her _outfit_ , I know how a certain self-judging woman in the bathroom's mind works.

Quietly, I get up from the creaky couch and exit the apartment, taking special care not to make the door fall off its rickety hinges. Backing down the stairs, I give the metal screen door with no screen a gentle push to close it—

"Hey, watch it!"

My body instinctively moves to the right at the raspy voice of a sudden front stoop intruder, my quick grasp of the rusty wrought iron handrail the only thing to save a neck-breaking fall into the cellar of the dilapidated brownstone. An unfamiliar crunch under my shoes as I right my posture adds to the confusion of the moment.

"You break 'em. You buy 'em. I have a very strict policy." The throaty voice belongs to a haggard-looking middle-aged white woman, who at this very moment is on her hands and knees, retrieving whatever has taken the wrath of the bottom of my very un-dad-like shoes.

"Buy…what?"

"My…merchandise!" she grunts, standing and shaking a bag in my face.

I flinch away assessing its contents. "Crackers?"

"Yes," she states proudly, her orange hair a stark contrast to the dingy brownness of the street scene behind her. "I'm a certified rep and vendor. Today's special is Triscuits. Now don't you complain!"

"I wouldn't know how to."

"I know they ain't the best, but ever since Luisa down at the bodega stopped giving me the discounted rate my profit margins have taken the Nestea Plunge, so you all'l have to deal, got it?"

"Yes," I respond slowly and cautiously because this woman is clearly nuts.

"Well?! I don't got all day! Where's my twenty bucks?!"

"Twenty…dollars…? For…crackers out of a sandwich bag?"

"Wipe that judgment off your face. I have overhead!" She pokes me in the chest, but then backs up and blows warm breath into her reddened fisted fingers.

Empathy instantly fills me. _Jesus, this lady is selling crackers in 20-degree weather._ I grab my wallet and pull out the first bill that my fingers graze—a fifty. "Here. Keep the change—"

"I don't need your pity." She rips the bill out of my hand and unzips a pale purple fanny pack containing an obscene amount of bills both large and small, handing me my change with shockingly adept fingers in spite of the temperature. "Don't judge a magazine by its cover, gorgeous, because I ain't no _National Enquirer."_

"I…wasn't trying to—"

"Now you better scram. You're scarin' off my business!"

My eyes can't help but take in the surroundings—AKA her entire _lack_ of possible business.

"No one's gonna buy my goods with _you_ standing here dressed like you're in the Mafia." She squints her eyes as if she's just putting a connection together. "You in the Mafia?"

"No."

"You work for the IRS?"

"No."

She nods her head toward the door of Tris's apartment. "Business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure." I grin, leading her to her own set of assumptions.

"Hmmph. I see how it is. Little Miss I'm-Too-Good-For-Spray-Cheese's got herself a sugar daddy. She's not so innocent as I thought. 'Least I'm assuming it's her since the other one prefers the cat."

I purse my lips in thought because I didn't think people actually used the words _sugar daddy_ outside of the realm of hyperbole, but this lady is…quite literal. "Well, I have to say…" I lean in, surprising her a little. "…no one's too good for spray cheese." I end our conversation with a wink and knock on the door.

"I like you," red-headed crazy lady points out as Tris dramatically swings the door open with a look of incredulity.

"I thought you…" Trailing off, a very angry Tris zeroes in on the cracker mistress, smacking her hand on the metal of the useless screen door without a screen. "Rosa! You're not on the schedule for another two hours. Get off my porch!"

"I need overtime. And my ICA fees are due—"

"How many times do we have to tell you? The Illinois Cracker Association is not a union. It's not even a thing!" Tris yells, pulling me into the apartment and slamming the door. She marches, her heels clicking angrily on the floor, over to the fridge and reaches up to the top, grabbing the bottle of Jack. "I know you aren't drinking, ….. no pressure, I just…really need ….. take the edge off…. ….. ….. Sorry…. ….. … … Rosa….. ….. ….. …..fucking crackers….. ….. …..bonkers…. ….. ….."

I hear words, but they aren't making much sense because I can't remove my eyes from Tris—dressed in an all-black pants suit thing that hugs her in every single right place. She turns to me and I register her hands resting fitfully on her waist accentuating her curves and making her chest appear very…accessible.

"Now, you listen to me, you big jerk. I don't care if I look like Hilary Clinton. It's the only possible thing Lynn's obscene closet had to offer and—"

"Change…nothing. You look stunning—as in the I'm-not-worthy-of-being-seen-with-you stunning. I'm stunned. And…I don't know what else to say…" I hold my breath, hoping she won't fault me for not saying those exact words when I first saw her.

"Well…that was pretty good." She nods her head with a small self-satisfied smirk and turns back to her task. "I would have been happy with a _'You don't look like Hillary Clinton.'"_

"Your expectations were that low," I sigh, fighting against the temptation to scratch the skin off my face.

Her eyes flit to mine and I see a hint of forgiveness in them…maybe even with a side of empathy. "I don't think either of us really know what we're doing, so… Anyway, I am now going in with _no_ expectations. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect to me," I agree, admiring her side profile—the way the strands of hair fall out from where she had it pinned up, whether intentional or not, is sexy as hell. I find myself reaching out to tuck one behind her ear, relishing in the blush that overtakes her cheek.

"So, was that was a 'no' on the quick drink offer? I totally understand if you're not—"

"I'd love one," I breathe out in relief as she steals another glass from the cabinet. I detect a hint of relief on her face as well.

"Good. 'Cause I don't drink alone anymore. Ya know, except for last week…when you turned into a wine snob. You left me no choice."

I cringe slightly at her insinuation, taking my glass from her hand. Truth be told, I had never bought into the whole _nutrition is an experience_ thing. To me, food and drink has been nothing but fuel. But, I now know it to be true that such indulgences are in fact uniquely tied to experiences…and that night I had no desire for Apothic Red.

"Cheers," I murmur, leading her to believe that my taste in tannins had changed.

"Bottoms up." Tris gulps back the beverage before I even finish my first sip, leaving me chuckling.

"Still don't taste your liquor, huh."

"My throat does the tasting for me," she giggles, swiping her bottom lip with her thumb.

Instinct running through my veins, I take her hand quickly and pin it loosely on her lower back, cupping her face with my other. Tris's rather long earrings tickle the thin skin on the back of my hand as my thumb grazes her face from her temple to cheekbone and back, leaving in its wake a subtle blush. Leaning in, I kiss her cheek softly. "I can only apologize for my shitty candor so many times, and I think I've used up my quota," I murmur. "But, I want you to know that you are never anything short of beautiful to me."

She sighs and nods her head slightly, mumbling a "Thank you," trying to appease me.

"But can I just say that…right now you look fucking hot on top of your normal beauty." I pull my head away and trail my index finger along the fitted lapels which run dangerously close to where her breasts are at their fullest and dive down deeper than I'm usually comfortable with before being secured by a sturdy button. Were she at work, I'd lose my shit, but she's with me…on my arm…as my date…with _me._ This being the only scenario where I will smugly allow other men to check her out. _Tobias, let these thoughts never exit your brain through your mouth._

When I've had my fill of her body, I look up catching her eye as she grins sheepishly, embarrassed at my comments. I can just about hear her heart beat, the continuous spasms on her chest a measure of just how hard it's working.

"You… Uh… Sorry." She shakes out her hands, averting her eyes. "You're making me nervous. I don't know…what to say to…all that—"

"What…are… _those?"_ I realize I had 100% interrupted her, but I have no regrets because she is wearing the most provoking shoes I have ever seen.

"Shoes."

"Not… _just…_ shoes," I mutter, pushing her away from me by her hips so I have a better vantage point of these contraptions—thin straps of crystals stretching diagonally across her foot that somehow attach to a velvety-looking material that ties up around her ankles. I can see quite clearly an image of Tris lying nude with just those shoes on, one leg hiked up on the mattress, the other one stretched long over her head.

"I thought you didn't like me in heels."

I do vaguely recall telling her that her heels were stupid at one point—but that was only because she hated wearing them, and my comment made her smile. And maybe the ones she had been wearing weren't particularly intriguing. But—"Those aren't just… _heels._ Those are…works of art." The stream of naughty images mounts an offensive attack on my self-control, and I swear if we didn't have reservations I would definitely test the limits of what _dating_ should really mean for the two of us. "Can you walk in them?"

She stifles a laugh. "Put it this way—I have learned how to do _much more_ than walk in them."

"Really."

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Maybe I'll show you sometime."

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

Tobias is shockingly quiet all of a sudden. In fact, I would go as far as to say he's… _pouting._ I glance to my left for what feels like the hundredth time, finally deciding I'm not making this shit up—he has literally said nothing since opening the car door for me. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just…thinking."

"About what—"

"So, did you like the flowers?" he asks, swiftly changing the subject.

I roll my eyes. Apparently, this is going to be a mood swing night. On a whim I had _almost_ asked Tobias to come to one of the heels classes I teach at The Studio, but then I remembered his rash fits of jealousy that he buries in the passive aggressive portion of his mind stowed away for a later date and decided that would be a bad call.

"Didn't think so," he mutters childlike, oddly reminding me of Toby.

"Tobias, geez, stop. Yes, I liked the flowers very much." I look out the window trying to swallow my laughter at the bouquet of Calla Lilies on my counter—lovingly prepared for the funeral they will never see. The Kittridge florist always did a number at the funeral's in town, my father always specifically pointing out the paganism of such symbolism _—"Flowers to symbolize the purification of the departed soul? There is only one Man who can make such a call and that is Our Lord Jesus Christ!"_ He didn't enjoy my follow-up smartass recitation of Genesis 1:29—" _And God said, 'Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth!'"_

"Sorry I didn't get you the right size."

"Right size? They were plenty big enough."

"Apparently so big that you had to chop the stem off. I knew I should have just had the florist deliver—"

"Stop. Oh, my God, just…stop." I cover my face to hide my laughter. "Tobias, that's what you have to do with flowers before you put them in water."

He purses his lips, gripping the steering wheel harder, his hatred of ignorance coming through loud and clear…and I love it.

I clear my throat readying myself to deliver a botany speech. "By cutting the stems just before placing them in water, you expose the…uh…fresh stuff or fresh part…or whatever it's called, so that the flowers can suck up the water better." My attempt at being informative ended up coming out more like a high-schooler delivering a Cliff Notes version of a book report.

"You know, last time I got you flowers you thought they were for Christina," he points out, thankfully not making light of my inability to sound smart. "So, maybe it was a good thing I delivered them in person. Wouldn't want to confuse you again."

I think back to the night he came into Hangar's, looking like someone sucked the pride out of his soul. It feels like a lifetime ago, even though a year hasn't even gone by. "I recall that you were quite put out because I hadn't recognized your floral efforts." I laugh lightly, remembering how Tobias whipped the Jimmy John's wrapper at my face after Al ate the sandwich intended for me.

"If _I_ recall correctly, I believe the fact that you were, in my mind, uninterested trumped my need of recognition."

I laugh. "Bruised ego. You weren't accustomed to women turning you down."

"You have definitely made me more humble," he sighs. "But, you're a little off the mark."

"How so?"

"Bruised ego is…inaccurate…because when it came to being in love, I had no ego to bruise."

I look at his profile, watching his brows furrow and his neck flush. It makes the small rash of red dots appear even brighter where whoever clipped his hair got way too close. I smile at his sweet words while thinking back to that night myself—my feelings were definitely strong for him—stronger than any I had ever felt—but, did I love him yet?

"Do you really think you knew that soon?"

"No. I definitely didn't know it. But, it doesn't mean that I didn't."

The need to straddle him right in the middle of LaSalle overcomes me, but the nice smile of the Middle Eastern cab driver in the cab next to us holds me back. Sometimes Tobias says the most perfect things…sometimes…a very _some_ -times. I sigh and lean my head back against his leather heated seat, appreciating again what it's like to be in a nice vehicle.

"So…can you at least tell me what you're going to feed me? I know you wanted this to be a surprise—unnecessary, by the way—but—"

"You didn't eat anything?!"

"Wh…? You didn't…" I cross my arms to control my reaction of acting like a two-year-old who isn't getting their ice cream. But, damn-it, I'm fucking hungry! "I…guess I just assumed…" I insinuate, trying not to sound like a snotty bitch.

"You assumed what?" he snips as if he were mad at me.

"Dinner?"

"Did I _say_ we were going to dinner?"

"Obviously not based solely on the definition of the word _assumed,_ you dictionary diva!"

"Wow, Tris. For someone who doesn't _do_ dates…you certainly have high expectations." He laughs under his breath at my apparent high maintenance.

"I didn't think dinner was a high expec—"

"You know you're making me feel terrible right now! I'm already insecure enough!"

My mouth is open, but words are proving difficult. "I'm—Well, I'm sorry if—I wasn't _trying_ to make you feel terrible. I… I appreciate…everything you're trying to do…whatever that may be. Okay?" I look at him sheepishly, trying not to get distracted as we speed right past Bob's Red Hots.

"Obviously not."

"Tobias, are you, seriously, mad? Jesus. How do I know what to appreciate if you don't even tell me what I'm going to be appreciating?! I would have a _ppre_ ciated a heads-up on well… _everything._ I would have been fine heating up some Ramen—"

"Don't eat that shit."

"Well, I WOULD rather EAT with you—"

"Perfect. Because we're here."

I brace myself in my seat and look out the window as Tobias pulls the car to an abrupt stop. I get only a quick glimpse out of the window before a valet opens the door for me and proffers his hand. _Oh, God…_

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Laughing at her expense, I drink in her reaction—wide eyes, hands gripping the seat, speechless. I swear, messing with Tris is one of my favorite hobbies. "So, yeah, _I'm_ not feeding you…but the best chef in the city will be," I state proudly, as the valet from _Alinea_ gestures for her to take his hand. Then he does it again, and again before peering in the door toward me asking with his eyes if she has special needs. "Uh, she doesn't like germs. Thank you." I reach over Tris and pull the door closed, not missing out on the word _asshole_ crossing the valet's lips. "Hey, don't freak out," I plead, squeezing her cheeks into a fish face until she reluctantly turns her head toward me. "This will be fun. We're not here because it's fancy and flashy and expensive. I swear this place is supposed to be seriously phenomenal—more about the experience than the food. But, yeah, uh, the food better be good too." I laugh awkwardly as she stares at me as if this were the worst place ever. I slump my shoulders in defeat. "I take it you've heard of this place?"

She nods her head slowly as I internally debate whether or not I should beg her to just try it. Although, I have to say, eighteen courses sounds semi-asinine, so I understand her distaste.

"Tris, I just couldn't think of anything good to do—Skate on State is over, and I couldn't stomach a musical, and I didn't want to go to a see a band because I want to actually talk to you, and I can't cook—we _know_ I can't cook—and I didn't want to take you to a bar because you work at a bar and—

"Let's go in," she interrupts pulling my hand away from her face that I now realize I was still squeezing.

"Okay. Are you sure—Yesssss…" I trail off, watching after her as she exits the car purposefully. "…she is." Hopping out of the car, I jog to catch up with her, ready to make a grand entrance at a swanky restaurant with my more-gorgeous-than-words-can-describe person I'm dating. I rest my hand on her lower back as the doorman does the job that should be mine, but whatever. "It's Central American cuisine…which, in my opinion, is pretty vague, but…maybe we'll learn something new?"

Some sort of a noise between a whine and a groan comes out of Tris, and I'm brought back to square one again.

"You don't like—Well, I guess we've never had the Latino food discussion. See? Something I didn't know about you," I point out, scratching the back of my neck like a mutt, feeling the warm sensation of razor burn. _Fuckin' great._ "Do you, at least, want to try it? If it's terrible, we can bail."

"Sure," she responds meekly, keeping her head down and urging me in front of her.

The over-excitable voice of the maître-d interrupts my protest. "Buenas noches, Señores. Under which _nombre_ is your _reserva?"_

I take immediate note of his total non-attempt at any sort of even a semi-Hispanic accent. "Tobias Eaton."

"Ah, sí, sí, Señor. It is right here…or…aquí está. Right this way, sir. Or wait, um…hold on." He looks down at the podium, running his finger down a list of phrases. "Got it. _¡Favor de venir conmigo!"_ He gestures grandly, and not-at-all in jest toward the restaurant.

We follow him, his path winding us through what seems like dozens of smaller rooms each containing only one table, and each decorated uniquely. I notice the same music, however, carries throughout the whole place—the Mariachi melody too lively for the sedate and private atmosphere of this place.

"Aquí estamos, Señores. Your…uh…" We wait as he seems to go through every ridiculous word he didn't both to remember.

"Mesa," I offer, preventing a catastrophic brain injury on this guy's behalf.

"Sí, sí, sí, sí, Señor. Uh, yes. Thank you."

I nod my head, lightly leading Tris toward the table, even though she seems almost reluctant to indulge me. Gently I pull out her—

"Perdón," a curt voice with a tried and true accent and his solid shoulder—which stops at my mid-bicep—interrupts my incredibly chivalrous gesture.

I look down to see his actions on the right side of her chair, mirroring mine on the left as he tries to shoulder me out of the way…unnecessarily because pulling out Tris's chair is clearly my job. We have a momentary Mexican stand-off which is far more intense than your everyday Mexican stand-off because I'm almost certain this guy is indeed Mexican. His eyes penetrate mine and I would swear I hear the twang of a guitar, the wisp of tumbleweed and the shake of a rattlesnake's tail. I release my iron-clad grip from Tris's chair, deciding to back down because damn that guy is good.

I then walk to the other side of the table, attempting to beat him there but he's quick and yanks out the chair before I can. So, I begrudgingly sit, roughly pulling the bottom of the seat in toward the table to establish at least _some_ semblance of dominance.

"Gracias," Tris mumbles, looking down at her hands immediately.

"Pues, claro, Señorita. Es mi trabajo—literalmente mi trabajo entero—sacando pinche sillas por gringos ricos," he says responding to her with a kinder tone than deserves based on his commentary. "Buen pinche provecho!" he says in the most jovial manner possible before retreating to wherever he came from.

I smirk as Tris grins sweetly at him, having no idea the expletive comment that just came out of his mouth. I should respond to him in kind, shocking the shit out of him, but, his job obviously sucks, and I don't blame him for using American ignorance to entertain himself.

The maître d steps forward again. " Su mesero llegararar…garar…llegarara…" He sighs, closing his eyes knowing he's entirely fucking over the Spanish language based solely on the lack of proper pronunciation of the _ll_ sound, let along his addition of extra syllables on the future tense. "Your server will arrive shortly."

I watch the sub-par employee scurry toward the front of the restaurant, wondering about the hiring policies of a restaurant which is supposed to be the most upscale in Chicago.

"You used your real name for the reservation."

I look up, meeting Tris's imploring eyes for the first time tonight—things so far having played out poorly, looking in her eyes and seeing the true disappointment in them wasn't high on my list. "Yeah." I scratch the back of head because the way she is diving deep into my eyes is as unnerving as the subject at hand. "I decided to stop running from who I am and just accept…who I am…unfortunately." I laugh uneasily.

Tris narrows her eyes at me, but I have full confidence she won't even try to pull me out of my moment of self-deprecation, knowing there's no use. She seems to have learned when to save her breath.

"When? I mean…" She shakes her head as if to rid it of her wording. "That was a weird question. And, irrelevant—"

"November 2nd." The words were out of my mouth before my mind could even rationally ponder the exact date.

Then I recall the picture version of my memory—a boarding pass fresh from the kiosk printer with the date in its mimeographed font, Lynn's words still ringing in my ear like the torturous bird from The Raven. And then, upon the elderly woman's question of my name seated next to me on the plane, I responded _Tobias._ I hadn't even taken much stock in my answer. I was Tobias Eaton—liar to his friends and family, deserter to the one he loved. Four wouldn't have gotten one last threat from his father and bailed on everyone, that was 100% Tobias James Eaton.

I take a risk and attempt to meet eyes with Tris. It's an easy task because she's already staring at me, her cheeks reddening even more than they already had been, and she seems speechless—her common reaction lately when she wants to ask a further question but doesn't want to know my answer.

"Okay. Well, that's good," she says in a crisp voice. "I'm glad. I really am. I'm happy…for you. That's good. Great even."

I scrutinize her face, which now seems to be angled toward anywhere but at me. "Sounds like there's a _but_ in there."

Pursing her lips, Tris seems like she's actually about to ask a meaningful question, but a menu is thrust in front of her face before she can get a word out.

 _"Bienvenidos a_ Alinea _. Ustedes van a gozar de varios platos de comida centro-americano. Esta noche comenzamos con una cena de diéciocho platos,"_ the server announces proudly, as if we're supposed to clap at his use of very, very basic, entirely memorized but doubtfully understood, present-tense Spanish. "I detect no Spanish speakers at the table," he chuckles incorrectly as if he has told a joke—one he has rehearsed at least a dozen times. "The meal here is an _experiencia._ And I see that according to your reservation, you have the basic menu of eighteen courses."

I cringe, opening one eye in expectation of Tris's what-the-actual-fuck onslaught of astonishment, but she seems entirely unfazed. If anything, she's disinterested, turning her head to face away from the server.

"May I recommend you start with a small tequila to whet your palettes? I have a list." Placing the list in front of me, I flash my eyes at Tris hoping for some sort of signal that Tequila interests her. But she, instead, pulls her hairband out and moves the wavy mass as if to cover the side of her face. Sometimes she can be so damned self-conscious.

Aware of the hovering presence of the server, I look toward the bottom of the list, knowing those tequilas will be more expensive, but also more tolerable seeing as I'm not a huge fan of the fiery liquid. Once I find the words _extra añejo,_ I venture a guess that it would be a safe choice. "1800 Colección, please. Tris?" I tilt my head, trying to meet her eyes, but she doesn't even grant me the damned courtesy apart from a quick head nod.

"Ah, Señor, that would be an excellent choice, but regretfully that bottle has _burned_ through rather quickly. And I mean that quite literally."

I must give him some kind of quizzical look, unintentional because I have no problem choosing a different option. And Tris sure as hell doesn't seem to have any shits to give.

"A particularly intoxicated woman attempted to steal the bottle, but she wasn't dressed appropriately for the staff to _not_ see the detailed cask hidden beneath her garments."

I laugh lightly garnering no reaction from him. In fact, the guy—who carries himself as if he were an upper-class member on The Titanic—seems to be reliving the incident in his head as his voice becomes monotone and eyes trancelike.

"Yet, still, she chose to run…" he trails off, devastated.

"She got away with the bottle?"

"…straight into a table." He picks up right where he had left off as I bite my lips to keep from laughing, waiting for Tris to do the same, knowing she won't be able to resist laughter at someone else's expense.

"'Scuse me," she mumbles, suddenly out of her seat and swiftly around the corner through a door which I assume is the bathroom. I'm always amazed at how women seem to have a sixth sense about where bathrooms are—although, this one seemed especially hidden.

"Very rare, indeed…" the server continues as if Tris were no interest. "…was that bottle. The Beckman family only distilled 40 decanters, aged seven years in French barrels. But, ours—up in flames in seconds."

I find myself wondering _how_ literal he is being. "Flames—"

"Cameron." The voice of another man across the restaurant brings the server's attention to him rather than me. The way he flits two of his fingers over his head lends me to the belief that he is some type of manager.

"Apologies, sir. Please continue to look over the menu."

I watch after our server as he hurries over to the man, lending him his ear before turning and looking back at me in a seemingly accusatorial way. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder to see if there is someone behind me who is receiving his deadly eye lasers. But…there isn't.

Tris emerges from the bathroom, keeping her head down until she's met half-way by the manager who takes her arm rougher than appropriate, pushing her toward back toward the front of the restaurant. I'm out of my chair before he can do anything further.

"What the hell are you doing—"

"We're going to have to ask you to leave," the manager douche in the gorilla suit answers feigning both politeness and patience.

"What? Why?!" I pull Tris to me protectively by her waist, although the man keeps his fat mitt wrapped around her arm. "Take your hands off her… _now."_

He backs up slightly, dropping her arm. "Just making sure she exits."

"I'll repeat. Why?" I look to Tris for some sort of explanation, but her eyes are squeezed shut as if that will make the world stop turning.

"I'd rather not have a repeat incident."

"Tobias, let's go." Tris walks past me grabbing my arm, but I stay resolute.

"Repeat incident? She's never been here. What the hell kind of place is this—"

"Security footage says otherwise. Along with my astute memory."

I look to Tris to back me up, but she offers me nothing but a blank stare. And then a sense of understanding comes over me, along with a bright shade of embarrassment spread across my face. _Apparently, I was wrong…_

"Now either you leave, or I sue you for damages like I should have done in the first place."

"Because I spilled some tequila?" Tris asks as if she had the right to be annoyed.

"You lit a table on fire," the manager growls, taking a dangerous step toward Tris.

"Easy," I respond in a low tone of voice both to myself and the manager. _I should let him throw her ass out of here._

"I didn't know…that we—"

"How much was the bottle of tequila?" I ask clearing my throat at the same time, not wanting to hear the end of her sentence…especially because it included the word _we._

"1700 dollars."

I feel the dry drag of my Adam's apple and the slight burn of my teeth clenching the inside of my lips. "Right," I respond deadpan, pulling out my wallet, ignoring Tris's gasp next to me.

Quicker than quick, the plastic card is pulled out of my hand and the manager stalks across the restaurant.

"Wait! Please!" Tris yells, running after him before I can stop her. "I'll pay! I can…pay!"

Sighing, I walk after her as she frantically, with shaking hands, pulls out her wallet. "Um…here." She thrusts three cards at him. "I don't have a, a, a, a high balance on this one, but…this is my bank card, so…it should work."

By the time I reach her, seeing the shame on her face causes a stabbing sensation of guilt. The manager, however, expresses no such sympathy as he looks at her like she's the scum of the Earth, holding whatever cards she's shoved in his hands with contempt. I notice one of them is her health insurance card, and another is a punch card for a random coffee shop.

"Tris—"

She bats my hand away as the manager makes eye contact with me. He must sense some sort of subliminal message that I _didn't_ send him as he proceeds to run my card and tosses hers at her haphazardly.

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" she yells as I try for her arm again, moving in closer to her this time. "Let GO!"

Not having anticipated the strong hip check she gave me, allowed me plenty of time to watch the domino effect it caused as the kinetic energy I absorbed from her passed on to the nearest table, which passed it on to the full tequila sipping glasses, which passed it on to the lit candles.

* * *

 **Tris's POV:**

"At least now both of us can say we've lit tables on fire?" I offer, trying to lighten the mood. "It was that night I went out with David," I mumble. I should have told you right when we got there. I'm sorry—"

"Don't."

"Don't _don't_ me. I want to explain—"

"Shh."

 _"Shhing_ me and _don'ting_ me fall under the same category." I throw my head back against the seat a mix of anger at myself for letting dinner get so far, and anger at his not understanding. I look out window widening my eyes as if the excess real estate around my tear ducts will absorb what's threatening to spill over.

He'd always been so unwilling to talk about that night with David. Not that I blame him—I never, ever, ever wanted to know about his evening with Kirsten. At the time, the thought of Tobias's hands on another woman's body made me sick. But now, I don't know, maybe I've matured because now the thought of him sharing a life with someone else is what makes me sick. I think it's because all I've ever wanted out of Tobias was for him to share a part of himself that he closed off from the world—his past; his mother, his father, Jack, his childhood in general. It shaped him, but he'd never let me into the _how_ of it all.

I give him a sideways glance, fully aware of the wall he has put up between the two of us. Maybe it's been there the whole time for the past few weeks, but I was too caught up in the _dating_ aspect of our relationship that I didn't see it as a problem—more as a benefit. That wall is what kept me from unwanted knowledge.

I suck in a startled breath as he quickly shifts from first to second after rounding a severe curve in the street. "Jesus. Stop angry-driving."

"That's not a thing. And this is just how I drive," he quips with a bullshit shrug of total crap.

And I don't know why, but his subtle denial made me all the more upset as if he had just added concrete to the wall between us. Two stubborn tears suddenly spill, causing me to look away nonchalantly and slowly dab under my eyes with my right shirt sleeve, so he won't—

"Stop crying. Please," he breathes out as if my emotion is such a God-damned burden to him. He revs the engine, waiting about two seconds too long to shift into the next gear.

"Tobias, I will put this car into neutral if you don't cool it."

He downshifts suddenly as if to spite me. "I just want to get home. Don't worry, I know it's just _my_ home because we're _just dating."_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He turns the corner onto Marion Street without even signaling. So, without the forethought that would benefit the situation, I throw the gear shift into neutral, praying the airbags don't deploy.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he shouts the roar of the engine overtaking whatever else comes out of his mouth. I open the car door before the car can even fully stop, my heel catching on the floor matt causing me to bring it with me right into the mud along the side of the street.

"I warned you!" I yell, catching myself on the ground before my ass goes over my head.

"Once!" he responds in what comes across as more of a shocked wheeze than a shout as he himself exits the car. "You warned me…once! Warnings don't count unless you give them twice! _At least_ twice!" He smacks the top of the car in a stupidly frustrated way while I start limping down the sidewalk, already feeling the beginnings of a small pool of blood beneath the thin layer of skin at the back of my heel.

"Where are you going?" he groans, thudding his head on the top of his car.

I just then realize that my flight mode had kicked in, and I find myself marching—if that were possible in these shoes—toward…nowhere. _Shit._ My purse is still in the car, so I have absolutely no means to get...anywhere, but—"To _your_ home!" I actually do realize how ridiculous I'm being at the moment—attempting to walk to our common destination seeing as I'm well over a mile away from his house—but at this point, I'm totally committed.

"You're going to walk? In those shoes? Seriously?!" he scoffs.

 _Challenge accepted, asshole!_ I hobble stubbornly about two steps before realizing the impossibility. So, I do the next most logical thing, and take them off my feet, whipping them so they slide over the hood of his car. _It was a stupid challenge anyway!_

"I'm walking to… _your_ …home. There's your damned second warning!"

All I register is a massive amount of grumbling, a door slamming shut, and an angry car with an even angrier engine speeding past me. I furiously wipe away the burning tears that seem to be Niagara-falling out of my eyes, and continue down the sidewalk, side-stepping grim and salt with an epic rate of failure. Cringing, I make my way along the walkway over the tracks, stopping for a rest on a bench under the minimal coverage of the Metra stop. I brush the refuse off the bottoms of my feet, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I'm not shocked that he left me, I know as well as the next that Tobias can only be pushed so far. And, it's not like he ditched me along I-294. _He wouldn't have ditched me along I-294, right?_

The welcoming light of the downtown area begs for my company, at least, for long enough for a rest…and, maybe a pair of loner shoes from one of the boutiques? I'm dressed to the 9s; I look like the type to pay them back. Except I will be arriving in their store…without shoes—they'll probably pull a _Pretty Woman_ on me. _I_ would.

I gingerly arrive in front of the first café I come upon, standing under the warmth of the light at the entrance. I gaze inside, watching the people laughing easily, arms resting on the backs of chairs, some curled up on sofas, reading with their ear buds in. It's probably the most enticing thing I've seen all night, and I'm dying to join in—pretending this entire evening didn't happen: Tobias _didn't_ make an ass out of himself with his nondescript idea of date, _I_ didn't make an ass out of myself at the restaurant—no tables lit on fire, we didn't have a blow out right on the side of the road…and I'd have shoes on. I look down at my feet, flexing my toes to keep them warm. Maybe if I mess up my hair and rip my clothes they'll think I'm homeless and take pity on me—I know my face already looks pretty wrecked. I look left knowing Tobias's house is only two blocks down and two blocks over.

"Shit," I sigh. "Well, I've been through worse." I push off the building, making my way down the sidewalk, knowing the muddy grass will be a blessing as soon as I can get to it which, contrary to the true measure, seems about a million miles away. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." _I sound like a deranged parrot…_

The familiar sound of the simultaneous pounding and scraping of a person's running shoes makes my ears perk, my eyes following suit to see…Tobias rounding the corner in a dead sprint, looking like a total fool in his long overcoat and neon green cross trainers. I stare, feeling my mouth dry at the sight of him. Skidding to a stop in front of me, he says nothing, but turns around crouching down slightly and gesturing with his hands that I am to hop on his back. _Who the hell am I to argue with that offer?!_ I hop up with the gusto of Peter Rabbit—although, in reality I'm more comparable to the used-Velveteen Rabbit—right onto his back.

With a grunt he hikes me up, securing his arms under my knees. "You didn't really think I'd let you walk, did you?!"

"Let me?" I chuckle, resting my chin on his shoulder. "I chose this."

"Poor choice."

"And, yes, the fact that you drove away did, in fact, lead me to believe that I was going to make the trek by foot."

"Well, you were wrong. I just knew there was no way you were getting back in that car. Thought I'd show you the error of your ways."

"Error?" I smile slightly, resting my lips on the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath of his scent. "I think this is working out pretty well."

He lets out a husky laugh, adjusting his hands so they're cradling my butt. "I agree."

* * *

I'm stuck in a self-imposed position—lying down on Tobias's bed, hands glued together at the back of my head, ankles crossed, trying really hard not to bury my face in his pillow…again…for the fifth time. Basically, I've been quarantined, ordered to not move a damned muscle. Normally, I wouldn't let him boss me around, but after walking three blocks with me on his back, I figured I'd not put up a fight.

Now that my head is clear, I can see that I _ruined_ this night so hardcore. I clench my jaw in both guilt and anger, remembering the evolution of Tobias's face at the restaurant upon putting two and two together—stubbornness, confusion, clarity, and then…disappointment. At me? At himself? Who cares. All I know is that I royally mishandled that situation. And he doesn't even want to hear my apology. Literally, he politely asked me to make my mouth stop talking.

Well, I can at least be thankful that one bullet was successfully dodged—I didn't have to succumb to the humiliation of my credit cards being denied. Otherwise, I would have been adding a side order of disapproval onto the ever-growing list of Tobias's expressions.

The whole I'm-putting-my-medical-bills-on-credit-cards isn't on my list of talking points. Plus, it would beg the question of _How much do you owe, Tris?_ He wouldn't like me answer: _Oh, ya know, just had a run-in—a little side-job of an almost-OD. Cost me an extra 16,000 based on my adamance about seeing Evey at an out-of-network hospital._ An extra shrug in there for good measure.

"16,000 dollars," I say aloud, the number always sounding more shocking when I hear them rather than see them.

I know very well—all too well—that there is a solution to this problem—my parents' house and property. It's under contract and the buyer has been shockingly accommodating every time I push back the closing date. But, per my bi-monthly phone call from Mr. Reese, the buyer is now eager to close. According to him, _"It'll be good for the community, Beatrice. The plans for the land have already been approved by the county!"_ I loathe the thought of anything commercial being put up on our land, but I had loathed the feeling even more of selling to Joseph Monroe. A reflex shiver goes through my body at the memory of his voice: a five-minute phone call, no less.

* * *

 **Flashback:**

 _"Hangars. This is Tris." Every time I answer the phone I add on an unintentional sigh. It's like my body mimics my mood._

 _"Beatrice? This is Joseph Monroe."_

 _I swallow the silence as if it were my source of oxygen._

 _"I'd recognize your voice anywhere. Shortened your name? It fits you much better."_

 _My silence, an admittance._

 _"I hear Caleb is doing pretty damned good again. Glad that transfer worked out so good. Those strings weren't so easy to pull."_

 _Now, I just about choke on the silence—the idea that Joseph is_ _still keeping tabs on Caleb makes my skin crawl. I clear my throat, trying to contain my panic. "As we had discussed, those strings were quite necessary." My threat to expose his son's abuse got Caleb a spot in one of the most esteemed institutions in the United States._

 _Joseph Monroe is, by all means, a self-righteous, power-hungry, greedy, bigot of a man, but, for some reason he always had a soft spot for me. And the way he paled and stumbled over his words when I_ thoroughly _informed him of his son's activities, how he awkwardly reached out to comfort me—he hadn't a clue of the abuse I was enduring. Probably because he took minimal interest in his disappointment of an off spring._

 _"Not much gets past me around here, Beatrice—May I still call you Beatrice?—I, uh, I fully know you had a run-in with my son."_

 _I scoff at his inaccurate assessment of his awareness. "No, you may not. And, that's an interesting choice of words seeing as he almost killed me." I glance at Lynn, who noticeably blanches, her fork stuck in her mouth with pan-fried noodles hanging off both sides. I close my eyes, not wanting to go back to that night, but I find myself clutching my side anyway, still feeling the pain—it never truly goes away._

 _"As you know, my lawyer's been in touch with your realtor—the local guy Mr. Reese. And, as I understand it, you don't want the property turned into a piece of commercial real estate. So, I'd like to offer you 80,000. Think about the community—no developer coming in and building track houses, no super store or mini-mall—"_

 _"That's 20,000 more than my asking price."_

 _I hear nothing but the slight wheeze of Joseph's breathing—years of smoking has probably turned his lungs black. It's his turn to be silent. This is silence as an admission._

 _"You knew everything, Joseph. You knew your son was a sadist because I_ _told you," I grunt, sounding as animalistic as I feel. "He was looking for me and you_ let _him._ You lead Eric to Marcus Eaton _—" I stop short, a cold rush goes down my spine._

 _Tobias. How perfect was it for everyone that_ I _was dating Marcus's son? How realistic is it to believe that our relationship was_ that much of a coincidence— 'Beatrice, a coincidence is God's way of being anonymous.' _I flinch away as the words of my father come at me like a literal phantasm—an actual whisper in my ear. And it saves me—saves me from going down a dark path—bringing me back to the present._

 _"Joseph, did you know how far Eric was going to take it?" I choke out in almost a whisper. I just want to hear the words. I need to place blame on someone other than myself. But…he doesn't speak. "Your money absolves you of nothing," I murmur, hanging up the phone quietly._

 _"Another piece to the Prior Puzzle, snapped into place." Lynn makes a clicking noise with her mouth._

 _I avert my eyes, knowing no explanation would be needed—Lynn prefers the power of observation. Suddenly, my cell phone rings and I grab for it, welcoming the distraction wholeheartedly. "Hello?"_

 _"Beatrice, this is—"_

 _I groan before he can even get his name out. "Mr. Reese, I will never_ …ever _…sell my parents' property to Joseph Monroe. So, you can tell him to go and shove his money and his face up his—"_

 _"BEFORE…" he yells, interrupting me. "…you continue with your…colorful words, give me the courtesy of speech."_

 _"Sorry," I mumble, chastised but happy that Mr. Reese is stepping up his game._

 _"I just got a call. A gentleman from Alliance, LLC. An LLC is a Limited Liability Company—"_

 _"It's a company any asshole off the street can start up for the sole purpose of sheltering money and giving themselves tax breaks."_

 _"That is a…very cynical way of looking at it, but, I am not making this call to argue. This man is prepared to offer you 40,000."_

 _I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the low-ball offer, and hating it even more that it's an LLC. Then a thought hits me—this could very well be Joseph Monroe behind it. What are the chances that I get an offer on the property moments after I turned down_ his _offer?_ _'Coincidence is God's way of being anonymous.'_ I step to the side, spilling some papers on the floor—that feeling of my father over my shoulder returning.

God at work? Well, the so help me, God! _"Fine. Yep. Great. I accept the offer. Draw up the paperwork…or…do whatever you do in this…situation. Shit. Do I need a…lawyer?"_

 _"I don't think that's necessary. The buyer is willing to pay cash, so there's no bank involvement. It's very cut and dry, Beatrice. And oddly enough, they even offered to pay closing costs. You can even pre-sign the paperwork—no need to be at the closing."_

 _I sigh—or moan or groan. I'm not really sure. "Do they even want an inspection?"_

 _"No, my dear. It doesn't sound like they…um… I would imagine they don't need one."_

 _"They're just going to put in a mini-mart, aren't they?"_

 _"Let's hope it's a Casey's."_

 _"Yeah," I nod in agreement. "Those are pretty nice."_

* * *

I caved. The house is worthless, I know, but the barns and farm equipment in addition to the property was worth every bit of 60,000, yet I _still_ accepted their offer just to avoid selling to Joseph Monroe. Tobias would tell me I'm being ridiculous. I literally gave away 40,000.

"Gah," I grunt, sitting up. I need to stop thinking about this.

Pushing myself up off the mattress I realize there is no movement coming from downstairs, at least, none that I can hear. I make my way the long flight of stairs, looking all around the great room—all lights dimmed, there is a charming little fire going in wood burning stove in both the kitchen and the quaint family room portion of the room. I notice a glow coming from the front porch—"Huhhhhh…" I suck in a panicked breath as my feet slide out from under me, pain shooting up my vertebrae. Grimacing, I press the heel of my hands on the stairs to get up, feeling something soft—the sleeve of a sweatshirt? A bright blue sparkly kids-sized sweatshirt? Then, I notice a pair of gray men's-sized sweatpants, fluffy socks, bunny slippers and a coat made for the Iditarod.

I spot a piece of paper with Tobias's unmistakable handwriting on it in large print lying at the bottom of the stairs:

 _HOPE YOU DIDN'T FALL. BUT IF YOU DID, I'M SORRY I MISSED IT. PUT THESE ON AND MEET ME ON THE FRONT PORCH._

I snort out a laugh, and sweep up the clothes, running to the bathroom. With the utmost happiness, I rid myself of the obnoxious pants suit, sighing in relief at the freedom of my boobs. I pull the sweatshirt on, yanking forcefully so it fits over my head. The hem terminates about an inch below my belly button and the sleeves end about two inches higher than my wrist. I sigh, knowing I have no other option, and pull on the sweatpants, rolling them four times. Shockingly he gets the sizes of the comfy socks and bunny slippers right. Although, it's not that hard when you only have small, medium, and large to choose from—but, he still deserves a little credit. I shrug on the gigantic winter coat, wondering if Tobias will even be able to find me in it, before heading toward the front door.

I shuffle out onto the porch, stopping short and taking in the scene—a perfectly made fire, pillows doubled up against the railing of the deck, several blankets laid out on top of each other, a bottle of José Cuervo, three bags of Taco Bell…and Tobias, lounging under the blankets, winter coat and all as if it were the most normal thing he's ever done.

"Took you long enough to _not_ listen to me."

I feel my lip attempt to twitch up into a smile, but it never quite makes it to my face. Instead, I stand there, just staring at him, thinking about how beyond perfect this is.

"Ah…" He rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I know this is…entirely sub-par, but—"

"Hole-in-one," I murmur so quietly that for a moment I'm unsure if he heard me.

He grins adorably, a cross between pride and embarrassment and pulls the top two blankets away, gesturing for me to sit by him.

"You made a floor bed? I'm impressed." I seat myself beside him as he reaches over to tuck the blanket over my legs.

"Technically, it's a porch bed. Does it pass inspection?"

I look right and left, taking note that he didn't put pillows on the sides. And I shimmy a little, also taking note of the need of more padding. "You covered the minimum. So, it's a pass."

"Perfect. I aimed for mediocrity."

I chuckle turning my head toward him, but my coat is so big that the hood doesn't turn with me, I just get a face full of fake fur. I pull the side of the hood away from my face, only to find his an inch away from mine.

He runs his thumb from the top of my lips to the bottom, staring at them as if he'd never seen them before. "I've wanted to do this all night," he says softly. "Well, almost all night." Before I can protest and/or give a decent eye roll, he cups the back of my head with his hand, his always soft lips capturing mine in a firm unrelenting kiss. I'm literally at his mercy as he pulls me closer by my lower back. It's the most passionate kiss I've gotten out of him since we've been _dating._

I inhale through my nose—a mix of Tobias, the nip of the frigid air, and the scorched oak scent of the fire puts my senses into overdrive and I find myself straddling his lap wanting more of only one scent in particular. He sits up straighter, clutching the back of my jacket while I attempt to wrap my arms around his neck, settling for gripping his shoulders instead—a side effect of wearing a men's medium jacket. A kiss like this normally would make me want more, but, seeing as we're _just dating,_ that's off the table, leaving me time to just enjoy this moment…until a car gives us a short beep beep of encouragement.

"We must look pretty dumb," he chuckles, pulling away.

"Why? Because we look like two amateur Everest climbers at the ready for Base Camp making out on a suburban Chicago front porch?"

"You're always so poetic, Tris Prior." He tucks my flyaway strands behind both my ears. "Now, let's eat."

"Yesssss… I'm starving. What'dja get?" I ask, excitedly.

"Just a bunch of stuff that ends in -rito and -chito, and -ita, and -upa. Oh, and nachos because nachos."

"Of course. How about a plain taco?"

He stops short of his rummaging, looking at me incredulously. "Who the hell order plain tacos from Taco Bell?"

"Me? Just plain, hard shell, beef tacos. They're my favorite."

"Tell me you did _not_ just say hard shell?!"

I shrug. "Chalk it up to _'getting to know me again.'_ Your words," I point out.

"And you love to use them against me."

"Yes. I do. Now, just pick something for me."

"I'd rather not take the risk, seeing as I've already made every mistake in the book tonight—"

"Enough. I'm hungry!"

He sits back against the pillows stubbornly crossing his arms.

"Fine. We'll have to do this scientifically." I lay out all the items—twelve in total. I laugh under my breath. "You are nothing if not thorough, Tobias Eaton. Now, eenie, meenie, miney, mo—"

"What the…hell are you doing?"

"Taco science."

"There couldn't be less science in what you're doing, let along _taco science._ "

"Says the guy who didn't believe there was a science to floor bed making."

"There's not."

"May I fucking finish, please?"

"As if I had control over you?"

Continuing with my pattern, I ignore his grumbling of _"I can't believe this is actually happening"_ and " _This could be the dumbest thing I've ever witnessed."_

 _"…_ my…mother…told…me…not…to…pick…this…one. There! One down—"

"One…down?! And what the hell was that last part?!"

"It's process of elimination—" My mouth drops open as he grabs the wrapped item that I've clearly chosen not to eat, opens it, and hands it to me. "I can't eat that now."

"Why?" he groans.

"Because it's been tainted. It's bad luck."

"Fine. I'll eat the bad luck. Seems to practically be on my menu tonight—"

"Jesus. Get over yourself!" I state with frustration ripping open whatever taco-burrito thing that's closest. "I ruined things too. Now, we're here, it's freezing, we have a fire, Taco Bell, and tequila. This is perfect. Can you just be happy?"

He shrugs, but I can see the sheepish side coming out. "I'm happy that you're happy." He nudges my knee and I catch a small grin. "And, also because this -chito-rito thing tastes like a Dorito."

I spy the obnoxious green label of the handle of Cuervo and smile smugly. "However…this is the only thing your over-achieving self has failed on…"

"Hey, that last bottle put my tequila budget over the edge. Bottom of the barrel José Cuervo is all I can afford."

I sigh, briefly reliving the embarrassment of Tobias paying the literal price for my recklessness. "I tried to pay for it," I respond unintentionally defensive.

Now it's Tobias's turn to sigh. "I got the feeling that that wouldn't have…worked out…very well…?"

Averting my eyes, I unwrap what turns out to be a chalupa, hoping his statement slash question fades to black. But, he stays resolute, keeping his eyes on me. "Please don't ask. Dating people don't talk about finances."

"Well, dating people _do_ let the guy pay for drinks. So…since we're _dating_ …suck it up about the bottle of tequila."

I nod my head, conceding the argument, but only because I need a bite of my Chalupa. "I'll pay you back."

"Chew your food. And, no."

"Ugh. Why?"

"Because it's rude. And, because I prefer you to suffer." He pulls out two mugs, salt, and limes like a rabbit out of a hat.

"So, this is punishment tequila? No, thank you," I reply, pushing his proffered mug away. I reflect on our night for a beat, coming to the conclusion that we have some things to discuss. "You're mad." Of course, I make sure I have food in my mouth when I'm talking.

He shakes his head slightly, swishing the tequila in his mug.

"Or…disappointed or…maybe even…sad? I don't know. Will you please tell me?" I nudge his knee which he now rests his forearms on, leaning back against the porch rails, furrowing his eyebrows at the fire as if it did something wrong.

"I am all those things…at myself. Tris, you didn't do anything wrong…well, apart from being belligerent and an asshole at a high-class restaurant. But, you shouldn't even have been out on a date with another man in the first place."

"God, Tobias. Can we not go back there? I've told you…so many times that I don't blame you."

"I know. And, I believe you. But, it doesn't change the fact that I made the wrong choice—let my father run my life."

"You didn't know he was," I say adamantly.

"But, deep down, I think I actually did know. Otherwise, I wouldn't have let you go so easily. It's almost as if I felt like there was no use." He laughs, tossing back his tequila, then sucking on a lime. "I had tried to live my life divorced from Marcus, but…turns out, I've always been under his thumb."

"That's not true. You're your own person. You've lived entirely independent of Marcus since you were eighteen—independant of his love and duties as a father since you were born. Tobias, he wants you to think he can still get to you. In fact, I'm sure he would take great pleasure knowing that your giving credence to his ideals. But, your life, as it is right now, has nothing to do with him." I notice that I had placed my hand on his bi-cep and I think he's dying to brush it off. So, I casually do it for him. "Have you talked to him—"

"No."

I watch the fire for a bit, getting the message from his tone in that one word that Marcus is now off-limits. I shiver, not certain if it's because of the fire or because of the sudden emotional distance between us. So, I do the next best thing and start eating the nachos.

* * *

 **Tobias's POV:**

Twice. I let my father ruin my life…twice. Well, almost. Each time a great big almost. What about now? Am I letting him off the hook by pretending he doesn't exist? Or, am I just fueling his need to show dominance?

I watch Tris out of the corner of my eye, detecting a frown on her face from her profile as she tosses her lime into the fire. That speech she just gave me was well-intentioned, but inaccurate _—"But, your life, as it is right now, has nothing to do with him."_ If Tris only know that Marcus is the whole reason we're even here on this porch _'knowing each other'_ again. I want to scream at her— _He made me unknow you!_ I run my hands through my hair, putting myself in check—I can't place blame on anyone but me. This asshole, right here, sitting next to the girl he loves more than himself. The girl who is for some reason _not_ in his arms right now.

Scooting myself back all the way, I widen the space between my legs, pulling lightly on Tris's arm for her to occupy it. She, of course, grabs the mugs first before settling herself, reclining back and resting her head on my shoulder. I cage her in with my legs and wrap my arms around her, resting my forehead on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I just hate talking about him," I say, my speech being muffled by her huge jacket. Pretty sure I got her the wrong size everything on my last-minute Target run-of-remorse.

"You know, I get it—what you were saying about trying not run from who you are anymore." She pauses, allowing it to register that she has just let me off the hook. "Because that was exactly what I was doing the night I went out with David—I wanted to be someone else entirely. I didn't want to look like myself, I didn't want to act like myself. I just…" She takes a deep breath—the kind she takes when she's about to recite something that's been in her head. "I didn't want to be the person I was with you with anyone else."

I smirk unintentionally—a smug, self-righteous smirk full of pompous narcissism because _I_ was the only one she wanted to be herself with. I immediately cover it up with a sip of tequila, the after burn my punishment.

"I like knowing you again, Tris Prior." I kiss her cheek softly, feeling her grin against my lips. I hadn't noticed, but at some point I must have linked our left hands. Slowly disentangling my fingers, I write with the ultimate precision a capital I, then a heart, and then a capital U, following up my invisible art with a kiss to the back of her hand.

* * *

 **Thanks for hanging in there, everyone!**


End file.
